by Misha Crews
As she slipped her key into the lock, the welcome sound of barking erupted from inside. She pushed open the door and was met by a large cold nose shoving insistently into her free hand. Jenna smiled again as the barking gave way to a snuffling sound of greeting and the puppyish whimperings of happiness.
“Calm down, Fritz.” Jenna entered the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “You’re too old for that.” She spoke stiffly, even sternly, but she dropped her purse on the floor to give the German Shepherd’s ears a good rubbing, and she patted him hard on the side, just the way he liked.
She pushed past him and turned on the kitchen light, wincing at the sudden harsh brightness that filled the tiny space. She retrieved her pocketbook from the linoleum and placed it on the kitchen table. Then she picked up the telephone receiver and winced with each rotation of the dial.
But a promise was a promise, and she didn’t want the Appletons to worry. The phone rang only once before it was picked up, and Jenna heard her mother-in-law’s voice on the other end.
She swallowed and spoke lightly. “Hello, Mother? I’m here. I made it back safely.”
“Jenna.” Kitty’s voice was soft and just a bit less precise than usual. “I’m so glad to hear from you. How were the roads?”
“Not too bad,” Jenna lied. “The car handled perfectly. Will you thank Dad again for letting me borrow it?”
“Of course, dear. He’ll be so relieved to know you made it home safely. You know how he worries.” Kitty paused. “I still don’t know why you felt the need to drive all the way back there tonight. You could’ve stayed with us another night. What would it have hurt?”
Jenna closed her eyes. “Mother, you promised.”
“I know, I know.” Kitty sounded defensive, and more than a little wounded. “It’s just that you’re all that we have left now.” The voice turned mournful and broke gently. Jenna could picture her mother-in-law leaning against the wall for support, phone clutched tightly in both hands. “All that we have left in the world. And we want to keep you safe; you know that.”
Jenna softened. How could she not? “Yes, I know.” She swallowed again. She felt as though she shouldn’t ask the next question, that the answer would only make her angry, but she couldn’t help herself. “Did Adam call yet?”
“No, dear, not yet. I’m sure he’ll call when he can. His telegram said he was on his way. But with this weather….”
“I know. I’m just sick of waiting for him.”
“Jenna.” Kitty’s voice was disapproving.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said bitterly. “But he and Bud were friends for more than twenty years!”
“He’ll be here when he can. Korea is a long way away.”
“It’s been two weeks!”
“You think I don’t know that?” The anguish in Kitty’s voice sliced Jenna’s heart.
Jenna could feel that guilt-wave crashing down on her again. Any more and it would drown her. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and that time she meant it. “I had no right to speak to you that way.”
Jenna heard Kitty breathing on the other end of the line.
“He’ll be here when he can,” Kitty repeated emphatically.
“I know,” Jenna said. What else could she say? She shifted. “I’ll let you get off to bed now. I’ll call you tomorrow and make plans to return Dad’s car, okay?”
“All right, dear. Thank you again for calling.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We love you, Jenna. Don’t forget that.”
“I love you, too.” The words had never come easily for her, so she repeated them. “I love you both.”
Another pause. “Thank you, dear.” Kitty’s voice cracked again, and Jenna held her breath, waiting to see if one of them would break down.
Neither of them did.
“Good night, Mother.”
“Good night.”
Jenna hung up the receiver and rested her head against it.
With that task over, all the strength seemed to drain out of her at once. She sank to her knees, sliding down the wall to the floor. Fritz sat and watched her with bright eyes, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. Jenna held out a hand, and he stood immediately, toenails clacking as he came over to her. She rubbed his ears again, let him lick her fingers. Then she took his enormous head between her hands and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his.
“I’m home, Fritzy,” she said. He licked her ear, and she felt the tears squeeze from between her closed eyelids. She pulled Fritz close, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned into him. “I’m home.”
CHAPTER TWO
THERE WAS A TUNA CASSEROLE IN the refrigerator. Jenna stared without interest at the wax paper–covered container sitting on the metal shelf. The noodles and chunks of canned tuna pressed up against the clear glass sides of the dish, along with small, grayish-looking balls, probably peas. Stella, taking care of her again. Jenna tried to muster a smile as she closed the refrigerator door.
She fiddled with the belt of her robe. After scraping herself off the kitchen floor and drying her eyes, she had gone downstairs to the basement laundry and taken off her funeral clothes. She was sick of them. She had dumped them in the far corner, hoping they would get mildewed and wrinkled so she’d have to throw them away. Or burn them. The idea of burning them gave her a vague sense of pleasure.
Jenna had fished an old robe out of a box of clothes that she had planned to give away. She’d shaken it out, smelled it. It smelled slightly damp, but it was better than the idea of going upstairs to their bedroom — her bedroom — and finding something up there to wear. Jenna wasn’t sure when she would make it up there, but she’d known damn right well it wouldn’t be that night. So she’d stripped down to her bare skin and donned the robe, tying the belt in a tidy bow at her side.
And before she’d left the basement, she’d picked her clothes up off the floor and hung them neatly on one of the spare hangers in the basement closet. A soldier’s daughter did not leave her clothes piled in the corner, regardless of the circumstance.
Upstairs, Jenna had pulled the compact out of her purse and looked at herself in the mirror. She regarded her reflection gravely, taking no pleasure in the beautiful face looking back at her. She brushed her thick, dark hair, which was already drying into soft waves where it grazed against her shoulders, and fastened it neatly with a comb. Out of habit, and because she couldn’t stand the shiny, unfinished look of bare skin, she powdered her nose lightly.
After inspecting the refrigerator and finding herself uninterested in food, she didn’t know what to do. She wandered through the dining room and stood in the middle of the living room floor. Fritz followed, panting, and stood with his head under her hand. Occasionally, the German Shepherd would nudge her with his cold wet nose and whimper slightly, then look toward the door and shift restlessly, as if wondering when the other third of their pack was coming home.
Didn’t he realize by then that that third wasn’t coming home at all?
The vast quietness of the small house echoed through her, touching all the empty spots inside her. With only the yellow glow from the one lamp next to the window and the light spilling out of the kitchen door across the dining room, the place looked like a stranger’s home. For a moment, Jenna could almost imagine that she’d stumbled into the wrong house by mistake.
Or maybe it was the wrong life altogether.
She placed her hands flat against her cheeks, breathing deeply. Get a hold of yourself, she thought sternly. There are going to be plenty of lonely nights in this place, so you’d better get used to it. Don’t fall apart now.
Her gaze wandered around the room. A solitary window faced the front of the house, where Bud had always planned to build a fireplace someday. That spot currently had a walnut sideboard, a good piece that she’d picked out herself. On top were several family photos — Jenna and Bud’s wedding picture, her father looking smart in his uniform, Bill and Kitty at their twen
tieth anniversary party. The one of her father had been taken only a month before he had passed away. Happier days. Happier times.
Lightning flashed outside, glinting off the sleek silver frames around the photos. Jenna blinked at the unexpected glare reflecting off the dustless surface of the sideboard.
And all of a sudden, something clicked. Dustless surface, gleaming silver frames.
She turned around slowly, surveying the room with an accusing eye. The oak floors had been swept clean. The cushions on the sofa looked freshly plumped. The magazines on the coffee table were neatly fanned out in a way Jenna herself would never lay them out.
Someone had cleaned.
It wasn’t Stella, she knew that. Jenna had specifically told Stella not to clean. Feed Fritz and take him for walks, yes. But not to clean. And Stella would have done just as Jenna asked without questioning why. That’s the kind of friend she was.
No, it must’ve been some of Bud’s aunts. God knew there were enough of them. Blood-aunts, aunts by marriage… They had formed their own little flock at the funeral. Crêpe-draped hens huddled together, clucking out their grief. At some point in the past two weeks, they must have come in here, obnoxious with their intrusive helpfulness, and cleaned the house.
Fear seized Jenna with unexpected force, gripping her around the middle like an iron corset. Could they have found…?
In two steps, she crossed the small living room to the sideboard. She yanked the top drawer so hard it slid all the way out, scattering the contents on the floor. The drawer fell, striking her leg. It didn’t hit hard enough to hurt, but she yelled anyway. It felt good to yell.
She heard Fritz retreating into the kitchen and turned in time to see his backside round the corner as he slunk away. “Coward,” she called, then immediately felt ashamed. Would she ever learn to behave like a human being?
Jenna turned back around and looked down at the papers littering the floor. She went nearly limp with relief when she saw a photograph sticking out from underneath the previous month’s copy of Life magazine. Its back was to her, but she recognized it anyway.
Thank God. It was still there. No one had found it. Just the thought of trying to explain the image to Bill and Kitty made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. But the fact that the photo was still in the drawer showed that no one was the wiser, because if one of Bud’s aunts had seen it, she wouldn’t have been able to resist taking it to his parents. And Jenna definitely would have heard about it if that were the case.
She knelt down and picked the photograph up by its corner. She started to turn it over, to look at it again, but changed her mind and instead slid it into the pocket of her robe. Out of sight, out of mind.
If only that were true.
Jenna began to pick up the contents of the drawer and put them back, stacking methodically as she went. The drawer was always full of old magazines, articles clipped from newspapers, grocery lists.
And as of two weeks earlier, the day her husband had died, it had also contained a photograph — the one now safely hidden in her pocket. The picture was of a smiling baby, held in the arms of a beautiful woman, who was herself held in the arms of a handsome man.
The man happened to be Jenna’s husband. Jenna had no idea who the woman might be. Or the baby, for that matter.
She scooped the papers off the floor and back into the drawer, then stood and re-inserted the drawer into the bureau. And all of a sudden, the grief and confusion overwhelmed her again. Her long body bowed almost in half as she bent slowly, until her forehead rested on the cool solid wood of the sideboard. She felt the sobs well up inside her, a great vomiting mass of dry heaves about to erupt from her lips, and she pressed both hands to her mouth, determined not to give way.
Every night for the past fourteen days, it had been the same thing. During the day, she had managed to be relatively composed. But alone at night, in the big bed in Bill and Kitty’s spare bedroom, it would all come raging back. Her face, pressed against the cool smoothness of the pillow, would flame with the loss, and the questions, and the anger, and the grief. Oh, God. The grief was the worst. It was a physical thing, a tearing and splitting of the body, a jagged gaping hole in the soul, painting itself in fiery tones of red and orange.
Gone, her mind would scream at her. Gone, gone, gone.
Not coming back.
Always, her logical mind tried to grapple with the irrational, hideous, offensive nature of her loss. It was an affront to reason to think that such a thing could be possible, that Bud could really and truly be gone. But always, eventually, the truth of the situation would settle in. Then grief would claim her, and she would weep out her anguish until she was drained into unconsciousness.
But not tonight. She couldn’t lose control tonight. Because here, alone in this house except for the family dog, there was no reason to pull herself back out of the fog if she descended into it. No one to compose herself for at breakfast. No funeral to plan. Nothing except the dreary stretch of days rolling out in front of her, one day following the next until she died.
With effort, she pushed herself upward to a stand. Trembling fingers straightened her robe and re-tied the sash around her waist.
Get control, she told herself sternly. She took two deep breaths and commanded her heart to slow. She needed food and a glass of milk, then sleep. She planned to spend the night on the couch. She would read until she dozed off. And she would be back up at six the following morning just as she always was. Routine equals control. It was the key to her survival.
She was turning around to head back to the kitchen when someone knocked on the front door.
At the same moment, a rumble of thunder vibrated through the house. Jenna jumped slightly, then paused. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine o’clock. Who would be knocking at this hour?
The knock was repeated, low but firm. Urgent. Fritz came barreling out of the kitchen, barking, his courage apparently restored.
Jenna hushed him sternly, although she was grateful for his presence. She swallowed. It must’ve been Stella, coming to check on her. Stella would do something like that — walk across the street in the pouring rain to check on her bereaved friend.
Yes, it must be Stella.
All the same, Jenna put the chain on the hook before she called out, “Hello?” She paused, then swallowed and spoke again, trying to sound as though she were in charge. “Who’s there, please?”
The answer came just as a crack of thunder split the air. But Jenna heard the voice from the other side of the door, and she recognized it in spite of the storm. Her eyes widened and her hands begin to tremble.
She would have known that voice anywhere.
It was Adam.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE FUMBLED WITH THE LOCKS AND yanked the door open. A man stood there, tall and slim. The porch light glinted off the shiny black surface of his raincoat. Behind him, the rain was coming down in sheets. His face — that strong, dear face — was half cast in shadow.
Jenna leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “So. You’re finally here,” she said flatly.
He looked at her for a long time before tugging off his raincoat and draping it over a porch chair. He scraped his shoes carefully on the doormat, then he pushed past her and strode into the middle of the living room, bringing the smell of the night and the storm in with him. Jenna tried to ignore the tide of comfort she always felt at his presence. Even at a time like this, he was a flood of reassurance with an undercurrent of strength.
She closed the door and re-latched it, then turned to find him watching her with sorrowful dark blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jen,” he said.
Jenna wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged ungracefully. “Sorry for what? Because my husband died, or because you didn’t come to the funeral?”
“Both.” His voice was quiet.
“We waited two weeks for you,” she said.
“I know.”
&nbs
p; “Two weeks,” she repeated. “Two weeks while Bud lay in a refrigerator in the funeral home.”
“I know.”
“And now you knock on my door at nine o’clock at night, in the middle of a storm, and just waltz into my house?”
He didn’t say anything.
She shook her head. “I should throw you right back out into the rain.”
He nodded slowly. “Probably.”
She took two steps forward, her face determined. But as soon as he opened his arms she found herself walking right into them. She felt tears well in her eyes again as she pressed her face against his chest. “Adam, he’s gone. He’s gone.”
* * *
They sat on the porch and ate cold tuna casserole. Jenna had offered to heat it, but Adam insisted that she shouldn’t go to the trouble. Though she hadn’t felt hungry earlier, once she started eating, she found she was ravenous.
Jenna sat on the porch swing; Adam took the chair next to it. Fritz lay near Jenna’s feet. He wasn’t thrilled about having Adam around, but after some suspicious sniffing and warning growls deep in his chest, he had yielded to Jenna’s commands and had curled up on the cool boards of the porch floor. Only his ears, still perked up on high alert, showed that he hadn’t completely let down his guard around this stranger.
After they ate, Jenna took their dishes into the kitchen and rinsed them, then returned to her place on the porch swing. The storm had subsided by then, and the rain was falling soft and steady, with only an occasional faint rumble of thunder in the distance.
They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the comfortable creak of the swing as it swayed gently. Adam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. And Jenna knew that a question was coming — the question that had been revolving unspoken between them since she’d first opened the door.
