by Marci Bolden
“Breathe, Caroline.”
She inhaled, swallowed hard, and exhaled. The front yard, the house, the tree that had grown, and grown, and was now overgrown. “Jesus, John. Have you done any upkeep?”
He shrugged and answered with his usual lack of concern. “Some.”
“The neighbors must love you.”
“I’ve never really been too concerned with what those assholes think. Are you done judging me, so we can go in?”
She dragged her fingers under her eyes. “No, but I guess I can’t run forever, right?” She unbuckled and turned her seat to open the side door and get his chair out.
“I want to walk,” he said.
She didn’t argue. That actually gave her one more thing to focus on instead of thinking about where she was. What day it was. What being here was doing to her heart and soul. She managed to keep herself together pretty well until they made it to the front door. John struggled with his keys and finally gave up, holding his hand open and allowing her to take them.
She didn’t do much better. His fingers might not have been working right, but hers wouldn’t stop trembling. She almost dropped the keys, but managed to catch them before they fell. Closing her eyes, she mentally braced herself as John put his hand on her shoulder. “I got it,” she whispered.
She slid the key into the lock and eased the door open. The past reached out and punched her in the gut before she even crossed the threshold.
“Look at me,” John whispered. “Caroline. Look at me.” He put his arm around her shoulder, using her for support as much as he was offering it. “We had good times here, too. Birthdays and Christmases. Anniversaries. Parties. Focus on the good times.”
She did. She tried to use the memories of laughter to cover the sound of her screaming. She tried to think of walking into this house beaming with pride after Katie’s first gymnastics class. She tried to focus on opening presents. Stuffing stockings. Filling Easter baskets.
There had been good times here. She had good memories here.
But when she looked up, she was standing in the living room and her knees grew weak. He hadn’t changed a thing. The furniture was newer, but the couch and recliner sat in the exact places they had the last time she was here. The photos that she’d hung on the walls over two decades ago remained. She stopped scanning the room as her gaze landed on the sliding glass door.
She saw the pool as clear now as she had twenty-four years ago. She saw John grabbing her, shaking her, both of them soaking wet as they kneeled over Katie’s limp body.
Caroline. Help me.
Putting her hand to her mouth, she tried to stop the fruit she’d had for breakfast from rising, but the acidic burn was too far up her throat. She ran to the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and vomited. When the fruit had left her, she dry-heaved for several minutes before she was able to rinse the sink and her mouth.
When she stood, John was beside her, his eyes filled with sympathy.
“Better?”
She swallowed but the tightness of her throat nearly made her gag. “How can you still live here?”
“You may have had her ashes, but I had her spirit here in this house with me.”
She lowered her face as a sob left her. “I guess you won, huh?”
He filled a glass with water and held it out to her. “I don’t know. You managed to have a life after leaving. I never did. I was stuck in the past. Doesn’t seem like much of a win now that I think about it.”
“Everything’s the same, John,” she whispered, ignoring the glass in his hand.
“For the most part.”
Carol’s voice cracked as she asked, “Her room?”
“The same.”
She couldn’t stop herself from moving around him and deeper into the house until she stood outside the room where she’d spent hours playing and reading with her daughter. Standing there, she could almost hear Katie’s laugh and her voice as she spoke for her dolls.
“Time for bed, Mr. Bear,” she’d say. And then she’d deepen her voice and respond, “Just one more story. Please.” Because that was what she said every night before bed. “One more story, Mama. Please.”
Carol’s entire body started to tremble as she reached for the knob. The door creaked as she eased it open, and once again the air was sucked from her lungs.
The room hadn’t changed. Not one thing had been moved. Katie’s bed still sat against the far wall. Her pile of stuffed animals still filled a corner of the room. There was still a pair of shoes tossed carelessly next to her dresser. And there, by the foot of the bed, sat two red rain boots. To think he’d lectured her about leaving an urn to collect dust. This room was a museum.
The only thing that had changed was the rocker that used to sit in their bedroom, the one Carol had used to rock Katie to sleep in, now sat in the middle of the room. Carol eased down into the chair where John obviously sat and stared at the empty bed.
The last time she had been in this room was the night she’d left. She had grabbed a few of Katie’s things—her bear, the tooth she’d put under her pillow for the tooth fairy, her baby book, and a few other knickknacks—before disappearing into the night. She couldn’t believe he had never…after all these years…he’d never emptied Katie’s room.
“I spend more time in here than is probably healthy,” he said from the door. “I feel like she’s here. In this room.”
“This is why you couldn’t move on, John. This house is holding you prisoner.”
“Or am I holding it prisoner? Either way, I’ll be free soon.”
She lifted her head to look up at him. Something in his voice was more resolute, more accepting of his imminent fate.
“You’re going to have to update the house when I’m gone. What will you do in here?”
“I’ll probably do hardwood throughout. It’s easier to clean. New paint. New furniture.”
“But here. Katie’s room.”
She looked around. “Yellow paint would be nice. Then it wouldn’t be geared toward boys or girls. Put a crib along that wall, like you said. And a new twin bed.” She gestured toward Katie’s old frame that hadn’t moved since she was old enough to sleep in a big-girl bed. “A shelf with books for all ages. Some games. New toys.” She blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. “I think we should leave her picture on the living room wall. Maybe a plaque to let families know why we donated the house.”
“That’d be nice. Everyone who stays in her house should know about her.”
Carol smiled slightly. “Katie’s House. That’s what we should call it. Hmm? Welcome to Katie’s House.”
John squeezed her shoulder. “Do that, okay? Make sure they remember her.”
“I will,” she said, putting her hand over his.
He moved slowly, holding her shoulders as he bent forward and put a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m tired. I’m going to rest.”
“Need help?”
“No. Don’t stay in here too long. You’ll go a little mad. Trust me, I know.”
She didn’t doubt that he did. Gripping his hand before he stepped away, she looked up at him. “It wasn’t all bad, John. I remember that now. We had a lot of good times here. We really did.”
“I’m glad you remember, Caroline.” Putting his hand to her cheek, he rubbed his thumb over her skin and smiled. “I’m very glad.”
She rocked for a few minutes, remembering. Always remembering. That was all her life seemed to be since Tobias’s death. Reliving the past. Crying for the present. Dreading the future.
That must have been the cycle John found himself stuck in for the last twenty-four years. How sad for him. To never take a step forward.
Eventually she pushed herself up and walked down the hall to the master bedroom. The door opened without a sound and she frowned.
Just like Katie’s room, this room hadn’t changed since she’d gone. She expected to see John there. He’d said he wanted to rest, but the bed was empty. “J
ohn?”
He didn’t answer as she ventured into the room toward the bathroom. He wasn’t there either.
That feeling—the one she’d felt twenty-four years ago to the day—gripped her stomach. Something was wrong.
Just like Katie, a voice whispered in her mind.
She trotted through the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living area. There on the kitchen counter, next to the sink where she’d vomited earlier, was a prescription bottle. That hadn’t been there before. She hadn’t brought his meds in.
Standing there, staring at it, she recalled this morning. How strange he’d been acting when she’d emerged from the bathroom. How…at peace he’d seemed all day. She attributed it to finally agreeing to take him home. But, thinking back, she hadn’t put his medications away after his morning dose. She’d left them on the table and gone to the bathroom. When she returned, John was packing the overnight bag. Including his prescriptions.
He must have tucked this bottle in his pocket. She looked at the label and a hot poker stabbed at her heart.
“If you were to accidentally ingest…that would be fatal.”
That was what she’d told him. Followed up by a request that he not overdose in her RV.
Jesus. While she’d been in the hotel bathroom, bracing herself for facing Katie’s death, he’d been plotting his own.
Looking at the glass door, as she’d done years ago, the same knowing dread hit her. She knew exactly what she was going to find when she opened that door.
“John,” she whispered.
She crossed the living room. Staring out at the yard, she found him precisely where her instinct told her he’d be, lying on the grass in the same spot where he’d put Katie after pulling her from the water. The same spot where he’d pressed on her little chest, desperate to force life back into her body. The same spot where they’d both known, even if they hadn’t said the words, that she was gone.
“John!” Carol had to force herself to move, but she ran out and eased down beside his unresponsive body. Swallowing hard, she checked for any sign of life. Finally he gasped and opened his eyes. She offered as much of a smile as she could muster for him, but a quiver rushed through her chin as she tried.
His lips curled into that lopsided grin. “Sorry, Caroline. I just couldn’t do this anymore.”
Brushing his hair back, she hushed him. “I know. It’s okay.”
“She’s here. Katie’s here. Do you feel her?”
Carol held her breath, stilled her mind, as a strange sensation filled her—a fluttering that made her think maybe they weren’t alone. “Yeah. She’s here.”
“She’s waiting for me.”
Choking back a sob, Carol ran her hand over his arm, stopping at his wrist to check his pulse. Weak wasn’t quite the word. The beats were so faint and far between, she wasn’t quite sure how he was still conscious.
John touched her hand, and she held his tight. His eyes no longer looked as if he was lost somewhere between the past and the present. His smile wavered a bit, relaxed around the edges, but didn’t fade completely. “The best thing that ever happened to me was you, Caroline. It’s okay. I know you can’t say the same.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have had her without you, John. So, yes, I can. You’re the best thing because you gave me Katie.”
He cupped her face. “Forgive me?”
“Yes. I forgive you. I’m sorry it took this long.”
“It’s okay.” Serenity filled his eyes. “It’s okay. You’re here. We’re all here.”
She nodded. “I’m right here. I’m with you. It’s okay.” She brushed her hand over his chest, the way she’d always done to soothe him. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”
He smiled as his eyes swam out of focus. “Hey, kitty cat,” he whispered. “Daddy’s home.”
Carol choked on her cry as his body relaxed. Air whispered from his lips as his eyes lost their light. But the little smile on his lips remained.
Kissing his forehead, she swallowed the need to scream out for him. This wasn’t like Katie or Tobias. John hadn’t been ruthlessly ripped from her life. John had made his peace and exited on his terms. There was no other way she could imagine his life ending. Instead of screaming and collapsing and cursing his loss, she closed his eyes, kissed his head again, and whispered, “Guh-night, Daddy. We love you.”
Epilogue
Carol sipped her wine as she stared at the box on the counter. The postal service had affixed a sticker to the front telling her and anyone who encountered the package exactly what was inside.
Human remains.
She’d signed for the box and went about her day as if it wasn’t there taunting her throughout the afternoon and into the evening.
After setting her glass down, she tore off the tape, pulled the sides apart, and removed the bubble-wrapped urn. She meticulously unwrapped it, then traced her fingers over the lettering.
Johnathan Robert Bowman
September 3, 1961
June 22, 2019
She recalled her threat to flush him down the toilet and smiled. “I should do it, you know,” she said to the urn. Twenty-five years ago, she probably wouldn’t have hesitated, but after their road trip, she knew he deserved more. He deserved to be with Katie in all the places they never got to see.
She heaved a sigh as she pushed herself up and walked across the bare living room. She set his remains on the mantle between Katie’s urn and Tobias’s picture. Taking a moment to look around the near-empty room, she realized this was it. She’d been waiting for John. She had no more excuses now.
With two bidders warring over her house, what was left of the furniture would be auctioned by her real estate agent when she left. Elijah and Mary had flown down and driven back to St. Louis in Tobias’s car, taking with them the few items—photos and some keepsakes—Carol intended to keep. Everything else had been sold.
Her co-workers had held a lovely retirement luncheon for her the week before. She had nothing left to do but put a few bags and two urns into her RV.
Oh, and the map sprawled across the kitchen counter.
Standing at the counter, she looked over the list again.
New Orleans. Disney World. Everglades National Park. Biltmore Estate. Shenandoah Caverns. Washington, D.C. Statue of Liberty. Niagara Falls.
From there… Well, she’d figure out where to go from there.
Twisting the wedding ring on her finger, she looked out at Tobias’s garden. Her next list would be for him. She’d take John and Katie, too, but the next list would be for Tobias. He’d want to see mountains and glaciers and go white-water rafting down the Colorado River.
Yeah. The next list was for Tobias.
Until then, she needed to get some rest. She wanted to get up and get on the road first thing in the morning. She could easily make New Orleans, but it was the next leg of her journey she was bracing herself for. Once she headed toward Florida, she’d feel obligated to see her mother. Considering all the things she’d faced in the last few weeks, she had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to smile and fake her way through a visit. She had some things to say about the way her mother had always treated her, and she was finally ready to say them. That wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and, as much as it needed to be had, she was dreading it. While Carol’s anger at John could become an all-consuming tsunami at times, the rage toward her mother was more like an undertow—never quite overcoming her, but never letting her go either. She was ready to free herself, and her mother, from that trap.
She’d deal with that when she got to Florida, though. She was learning not to worry about what was ahead and to go with life’s natural ebbs and flows. She had promised John she’d do better, be better, live more for today. That was what she planned to do. He’d wanted that for her. Katie would have wanted that for her. As would Tobias.
She had a lot of living to make up for, too. She’d spent too much of her life hiding. It was time to live. For her and for them.
/>
“Okay,” she said to the empty room. “One more night. Then… Then I’m a retired woman living in an RV.” That sounded terrifying, but she was learning to embrace that life was terrifying. Tobias had spent the entirety of their marriage dragging her from her comfort zone, but John had made her accept that she was going to have to do that for herself now. If she didn’t, she really would sit in her office for the rest of her life. The idea of living without Tobias by her side was terrifying, but she could do this. She could visit these places. Sprinkle John’s and the rest of Katie’s ashes. Let them go and heal. She could even learn to live on her own. Not that she was alone. She had her family with her.
Tobias. Katie. And John.
Heading up the stairs to spend her final night in the room she’d shared with Tobias for nearly fifteen years, she stopped halfway up and turned around. She didn’t hear the words so much as she felt them. Looking at the two urns and the photo on the mantle, she froze and listened with her heart.
Guh-night, Mommy, the room seemed to say. We love you.
Carol smiled at the tranquility that rolled through her and seemed to hug her slowly mending soul. “Guh-night. I love you, too.”
The End
Hidden Hearts Excerpt
Julia Fredrickson pushed her cart toward the exit of the local food mart. As the tinted glass doors parted, they admitted a burst of summer sunlight and the sounds of cars navigating the parking lot. A siren wailing in the distance.
Leaving the grocery store shouldn’t be a fear-inducing event, but a jolt of terror rolled through her like an electric shock. She felt her throat tighten as she forced herself to swallow. Breathing became a chore almost too hard to manage.
Now that the tall glass door had opened, she felt exposed. She was standing in the lobby of her neighborhood grocery store, but she might as well have been standing on a stage in full view of the world. As it had so many times over the last few weeks, the hair on her nape stood and her nerves came alive. Though she couldn’t see any danger, she felt peril down to her bones.
