Still Waters

by Misha Crews

  And it felt so, so good to have unburdened herself, just that little bit.

  Stella called her at midmorning, making plans for Halloween, which was only a few days away. The two of them were taking a passel of children from the neighborhood trick-or-treating. Rose had graciously agreed to come along, despite her assertions that she was too old to dress up. “I have a feeling she’ll change her mind at the last minute — she’s just that kind of gal,” Stella said. “Guess I’d better limber up my sewing machine!”

  “I’ll be glad to help if you need me,” Jenna offered.

  “Thanks, hon, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  A moment after Jenna hung up the phone, it rang again. Thinking it must be Stella, Jenna grabbed the receiver off the hook. “Forget something?” she asked brightly.

  There was a pause. Then: “Hello, I’m calling for Jenna Appleton. Do I have the right number?” It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded familiar. Jenna’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Speaking,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “Jenna. This is Maya.” The woman added, “Maya Wilkinson — Alexander’s sister.” As if there were another Maya in her life.

  “Maya, hello!” Jenna struggled to keep her voice from trembling. “How nice to hear from you.”

  There was another pause, during which Jenna expected Maya to speak. When she said nothing, Jenna continued, “How are you and your family? I trust everything’s all right?”

  When Maya finally spoke, she sounded irritated. “No, everything isn’t all right. I’m a jackass.”

  Jenna laughed uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

  A heavy sigh blew through the line. “I’ve been meaning to call you for weeks. Joseph keeps asking about you, and I feel terrible about the way we left things when you came to see me. I was just so damn mad when you left.”

  “I can’t exactly blame you for being angry. I dumped a lot on your doorstep, and then left it there for you to clean up on your own.”

  “I wasn’t angry at you, Jenna.” The voice softened. “I was just mad about the situation.”

  “I can’t blame you for that, either.” Jenna fiddled with the phone cord, trying not to get too excited about having this conversation. Maybe Maya was just trying to mend fences, be polite. It didn’t mean anything further than that. But the next moment, that changed.

  “Well the truth is that I might not have called you today, either,” Maya confessed. “Except that Joseph has a piano recital next month, and he wants you to come. Both my husband and my son have been all over me to get in touch with you.”

  Jenna’s heart leapt, but she did her best to control her anticipation. “That’s so sweet. And is it all right with you if I do attend?”

  She didn’t get the quick “yes” that she’d been hoping for. Instead, Maya was honest enough to consider the question before answering it. “I suppose so,” she said. Then she added hurriedly, “I’m sorry — it’s not my intention to be rude. You made it clear that you want to be part of Joseph’s life. He also seems to want to see you, and I don’t feel it would be fair for me to try to prevent that. I just haven’t yet figured out exactly how it’s going to work.”

  “Well, maybe that’s the kind of thing that we don’t have to figure out now. Maybe we can just make it up as we go along.”

  “I’d like to believe that’s true.”

  “Then if it’s okay with you,” Jenna said shyly, “I’d like very much to attend Joseph’s piano recital.”

  Another pause. “Do you have a pen? I’ll give you directions.”

  Jenna reached for a pen and paper, carefully writing down the address, date, and time of the recital. As she wrote, she tried very hard not think about Frank. Wasn’t it fewer than twelve hours ago that she’d promised not to keep any more secrets from him? And was she going to tell him about this conversation, or about the recital? No, she was not. And she didn’t want to think about why that was.

  “I’m looking forward to it very much,” Jenna told Maya.

  Maya’s voice was still taut with worry. “Well, Joseph will be excited, too, when I tell him, and Fred is looking forward to meeting you.”

  Jenna spoke without thinking. “Maya, I know that we live in troubled times. If we want to find happiness, we have to find the things that make us feel safe, grab them tight, and never let go.”

  There was a brief silence. “Those are wise words,” Maya said.

  Jenna chuckled. “They’re your brother’s,” she admitted. “It’s what he said to me after we left your house.”

  “Alex has always been smart,” Maya said drily. “Maybe he’s also finally managing to become wise.”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “Yes.” There was the beginning of a smile in Maya’s voice. “I guess maybe anything is possible.”

  * * *

  Frank’s coffee sat on his desk, cold and untouched. Through the closed door of his office, he could hear voices and phones, the Monday morning bustle of a busy office. He had taken the unprecedented step of asking Darla to hold his calls, saying he had some important work to get done. She had promised that he would get his privacy, and he knew she meant it. It would take the combined efforts of Ike Eisenhower and Nikita Khrushchev to get past her — and even then, if Frank were a betting man, he would put his money on Darla.

  He crossed his legs and lit another cigarette, watching the slight trembling of his hand with faint amusement. Oh, Jenna would laugh to see him now, wouldn’t she? It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d confessed her secret, and here he was, still suffering the effects, like post-earthquake aftershocks.

  Still, he had to give himself credit for keeping his temper, for covering his anger with calm reason and warm care. He’d wager that Jenna had no idea how easily he could have vented his displeasure on her pale, lovely face, her wide eyes showing all the earnest stupidity of a sheep.

  Of all the things he might have expected Jenna to say that night, revealing that Denny Appleton had a half-black son was not one of them. Under ordinary circumstances, Frank wouldn’t have given a damn about such things. After all, many respectable white men had by-blows in all colors of the rainbow. The children weren’t recognized by polite society, of course. Sometimes the men were able to give the mothers a few coins for support; sometimes they didn’t bother. It was none of Frank’s business, and as long as it stayed under cover where it belonged, he honestly didn’t care.

  Oh, but Jenna thought differently. Of course she did! And that was so infuriating. Despite her promise to tell him of any future contact with Maya or her brother, he no longer trusted her. He could see how much she wanted that child to be a part of her life, regardless of how it might affect the people around them.

  Even now he had to tamp down on the tight pulse of anger he felt, remembering how Jenna had harbored this secret for years. And when she finally did tell, in whom did she first confide? In Adam Balentine, of all people. Adam, the common soldier who’d spent the last decade wallowing in the muck of war and ruination. What did he know about how people behaved here in modern civilization? And what had made her trust the secret to him over everyone else, including Frank himself?

  He tapped ash off his cigarette, willing himself to be calm. In a certain light, he told himself, her choice was a natural one. Adam had been Bud’s best friend, one of the few people who would not have held it against him if Jenna’s first instinct had been accurate — if Bud had truly been having an affair. Jenna had been afraid of damaging her husband’s reputation. She’d had no idea that it was actually her dead brother-in-law whose reputation was at risk. Either way, of course, it could affect Bill and Kitty badly, and Frank had no desire to see that happen. Although….

  Frank picked up his cold coffee and sipped absently. In some ways, it might actually be a good thing for Kitty to find out about this mess. Of course, there was a grim, deadly irony about how things had turned out that Frank didn’t think Kitty had the wits or wisdom to appreciat
e. And so it was up to him, yet again, to keep the secrets.

  His wife Evelyn had had secrets, too, things she’d never told anyone but Frank. Feeling lonely and isolated in the provincial little burg that was Oak Ridge, she had found ways of amusing herself, people to amuse herself with. And she had told Frank all of it, watching his reaction with a mixture of heartbreak and hilarity. “Get me to a nunnery,” she had misquoted, her voice caught between laughter and tears.

  When the government’s mission had at last proved successful, when the reactor had gone online and he had finally been able to whisper to her in the privacy of their marriage bed, “We’ve done it!” Evelyn had not seen it as the victory it was, but instead seemed to feel it was the culmination of all the wickedness in the world — including hers. The following week, she had sewn rocks into her favorite dress, taken a rowboat out to the middle of the river, and gone over the side.

  Damn it all! Frank had thought that when he met Jenna, he’d found the one woman he could trust not to tear his carefully-ordered world apart again. The cold severity of her façade had fooled him. Underneath she was just as warm and witless as any other woman. That he should still want her at all suddenly struck him as the height of improbability. But want her he did.

  She belonged to him now, as surely as any woman had ever belonged to a man. And if she deceived him again, the consequences would be on her head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HALLOWEEN CAME AND WENT WITH A flurry of leaves and gusts of damp autumn winds. Christopher wore his baseball outfit, and as Stella had predicted, Rose decided at the last minute that she would dress up. Luckily she wanted to be a Hollywood starlet: an easy costume, which Jenna and Stella were able to throw together in a quick blizzard of satin, lipstick, and laughter.

  After Halloween came planning for Thanksgiving. Jenna, Christopher, and Frank had been invited to Bill and Kitty’s for the day. Jenna knew that Kitty had also invited Adam, along with a slew of other people, but Adam hadn’t yet given a definite reply. Was it wrong for her to hope that he would choose not to come? Her longing to see him was a desire that she kept tightly clamped down, like a craving for chocolate. She knew that if she could avoid coming into contact with him, eventually the feeling would disappear entirely. And if her world looked a little grayer for that, she would have to live with it.

  Jenna herself had been tasked by Kitty to bake pies for Thanksgiving. Not knowing how many people would end up at the dinner table, she decided that it was better to make too much than too little. Pies could always be frozen.

  On the Friday before Thanksgiving, Jenna sat in her car outside of Christopher’s playschool, waiting for the children to be released. That morning, she had gone on what she hoped would be her last shopping expedition before the holiday. But now she was reviewing her shopping list, certain that she had forgotten something. She planned to start baking tomorrow. On Sunday, Christopher would go to visit his grandparents, and Jenna would slip away to hear Joseph’s piano recital. She pondered whether or not it would be good manners for her to bring a pie for the reception afterwards, and wondered what Joseph’s favorite pie might be. Maybe she should try to do an extra pumpkin, just in case.

  She started the car so she could run the heater. It was almost noon, but the day was still chilly, with thin sunshine shining from a distant pale blue sky. The last of the leaves had fallen that week, as if the trees had decided by mutual consent to shed their clothing and fearlessly expose their bare branches to the world.

  Through the clear, cold air came a peal of laughter, followed by the thunderous sound of a dozen or so young children set free from the classroom. She spotted Christopher, identifiable as always by his red coat and the baseball cap that he refused to abandon. They might end up battling over that thing in a few weeks, Jenna thought, because before long it would be cold enough for her to insist on a wool hat that covered his ears.

  But there was time enough to argue about that later. As Jenna got out of the car to open the back door for him, she waved to Miss Naverly, the principal. Jenna was never sure how such a slender, delicate young woman could handle so many robust five-year-olds, but she always seemed quite capable, and Christopher certainly never had any complaints. In fact, Jenna thought with a smile, her son seemed downright full of himself lately.

  She held the door as he climbed into the backseat. With great aplomb, he pulled the belt across his lap and snapped it in smartly, as he’d been taught to do. He’d started chattering the moment he saw her, and as Jenna pulled the car away from the curb, he told her about the painting they had done that morning. “With real brushes, Mom,” he said proudly. “Not finger paints.”

  “That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” She noted his use of Mom instead of Mommy with a pang. “What did you paint?”

  “Oh, trees and leaves and things. Miss Naverly said my trees were really good. I told her that we have really tall trees in our backyard, and that we have a squirrel who lives in one and he’s my friend. Oh, do you think he already ate the nut that I put outside for him this morning? I left it for his breakfast because Miss Naverly says you should start every day with a good breakfast. There’s this kid named Johnny and he’s in my class and he has oatmeal for breakfast every morning, but I don’t really like oatmeal, do I, Mom?”

  “No,” Jenna agreed absently. She was trying to remember if she had enough cinnamon at home. “You like eggs or toast with peanut butter for breakfast.”

  “That’s just what I told him! And do you know that Johnny has never even eaten toast with peanut butter? I told him that it’s the best thing ever and that sometimes I have toast with peanut butter for breakfast and then a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, and I love them both, so can I have peanut butter and jelly for lunch?”

  Jenna once more agreed, smiling to herself as his little voice switched back and forth from sounding very young to nearly grown-up. If he was putting on such airs having just started playschool, Heaven only knew what he would be like when he went to kindergarten.

  They had just turned onto Farley Street when she saw the body of a squirrel lying dead on the street. Her heart stopped. The front part of the squirrel had been flattened, but the back legs were still pumping furiously, as if even now it were trying to make it to the safety of the sidewalk.

  Her stomach twisted painfully, her physical self revolting at the sight. She jerked the wheel to the left, swinging wide in an instinctive attempt to avoid driving over the mangled gray body. The left tire caught the edge of the opposite curb with a painful sound of metal against concrete. She sent up a convulsive prayer: Don’t let it be our squirrel. Please God, not Christopher’s squirrel. And please, please, don’t let him see that thing.

  Jenna knew she should distract Christopher, make a comment about hitting the curb, point out something on the other side of the street, say something — anything — that would direct his attention someplace else. She opened her mouth, but her voice clogged in the back of her throat. It was only for a split second, but it was enough. A wail came from the back seat.

  “Mommy!”

  She said the one thing that she should not have said. “Don’t look, sweetheart. Don’t look at it.”

  But again she was too late. Her son’s pale face was pressed up against the glass, one hand on either side. It seemed to take forever for them to roll past the monstrosity.

  “Mommy,” he said again, softly. And heartbreak lay within that word.

  “It’s not our squirrel,” she told him firmly.

  Moments later they reached the house. The car had barely come to a stop when Christopher unbuckled his seat belt and launched himself out the door. “Christopher, slow down! Be careful!” she called, but he was already gone, around the back of the house, to check on the walnut that he had so carefully laid out this morning. She knew from his silence that it was still there. Caramel-colored and silky smooth, a half-sphere that spoke volumes.

  Christopher ran and found Fritz, wrapped his arms around
the dog’s thick neck, and burst into tears.

  * * *

  He cried for hours. Sitting on the back porch, watching the trees, hoping against hope that his bushy-tailed friend would come hopping over the grass. Tears stained his eyes red, left trails down his cheeks. Jenna tried to coax him into the house to eat something, but he would have none of it. When she tried to pick him up and carry him in, he became hysterical. Finally she could only sit with him, one hand on his back, as the afternoon rolled on to early evening, and the light began to fade.

  “The squirrel is dead,” Christopher said softly. His voice was rough with weeping.

  Jenna shivered. Death. It was all around her. It clung to her like a fog, smothering her no matter which way she turned. And now it had touched her son.

  “A squirrel is dead,” she said, rallying. “But we don’t know it was our squirrel.”

  “But we don’t know it wasn’t,” he returned tearfully. Inexorably logical. Just like his mother.

  She knew that Christopher was picturing those legs, pumping furiously, running for safety. And above the legs…nothing. She knew, because she couldn’t get the image out of her own mind. Fritz came over and nosed in between them, resting his giant head on Christopher’s knee. His deep brown eyes glowed with love and sympathy. He didn’t know what was going on, but he wanted to make it better.

  “Look, sweetie,” Jenna whispered. “Fritz wants to help.”

  Christopher reached out to stroke the silky ears, but his hand faltered as a sob rose in his throat.

  “It was still running,” he whispered.

  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her lap, as she’d wanted to do for hours. “I know.”

  He shifted, needing the comfort of her embrace but also rebelling against it. Growing away from her already.

  “It was running, and then it wasn’t.” The enormity of it seemed to press in on him. The instantaneous transformation. They had been over this so many times this afternoon. Suddenly he was awake to the fact that someday everyone he loved would be a wasn’t. Fritz, Grandma, Grandpa, even his mother.