by Misha Crews
Jenna reached the wall and pushed herself upwards. She grabbed her arm and rubbed it. “Adam is Christopher’s father.” She saw his face, and her eyes dropped. “I’m sorry, Frank.”
Something broke inside him. He felt it go, swore he could hear it echoing against the walls of the house. Who was this woman? He felt as if he were looking at a stranger. “When?”
“The night of Bud’s funeral,” she said wearily. “We didn’t plan it, it just happened.”
“And how do you know that Bud wasn’t, that Christopher isn’t — ”
“A woman knows these things.”
Ludicrous though it was, Frank felt himself blush at Jenna’s allusion to female issues. He summoned his strength. “You are a manipulative, lying bitch.” He heard wonder in his voice, the shock of a child who has discovered that the Tooth Fairy is actually his mother.
“I’ve already apologized once, but I’ll do it again if I have to. I’m sorry, Frank.”
“All whores are sorry from time to time,” he said coldly. “It doesn’t make them any less vile.”
“You can call me all the names you want. It won’t change the facts of what happened.”
He narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly. “I realize this is a stupid question, but do Bill and Kitty have any idea?”
“Of course not!” Horror washed over her face. “My God, you know what Christopher means to them! It might kill them to learn the truth.”
“Your lies are what will kill them!” he cried, making her flinch. “Your secrets will ruin them. My God, Jenna. My God. You have got to tell them!”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “I can’t. I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”
“Well you’re going to have to figure it out! Because I can’t stand to be the only one who knows!”
She wiped away a tear and looked at him without comprehension. “What?”
“These secrets, Jen!” He balled up his hands, and she took a step backward. But those fists weren’t for her. “Evelyn, Oak Ridge, Kitty…and now you. I know all the secrets, and they’re crushing me! They’re beating my brains in!” He struck himself in the head. She flew forward.
“Frank, stop it, stop it! What are you doing to yourself?”
He cupped her face. “Don’t you see, Jen? You all taught me the truth: life is futile and full of sorrow, and after the sorrow, there’s death, and after death, there’s nothing. There’s death all around.”
He watched her expression melt from shock into compassion, and he wanted to scream in frustration. She didn’t understand!
Her voice was soft with poisonous kindness. “No, Frank, there’s life all around.” She clasped his hands tightly. “I used to think the way you do, that all there is to look forward to is death. But there’s life and happiness all around us, and all we have to do is open our eyes to it, open our arms to embrace it, and it’s ours!”
“Get away!” He pushed her back. “I can’t stand to have you in my sight one minute longer. You disgust me. How could you let me touch you, make love to you, knowing all the time what you were? I thought you were so perfect — cool and clean. But now I see that under your façade, you’re filthy and corrupt, just like all women.”
He looked down into her beautiful face, that finely-sculpted face that used to bring him such joy. “You don’t even realize it, do you? Pitiful. Just like my wife!”
He leaned forward and raised a finger. “Well, Evelyn didn’t get away with her sins, and you won’t get away with yours. My wife killed herself because she knew it was the only way out of this wretched life. You won’t have it quite so easy. You will tell Bill and Kitty the truth about your bastard son. You won’t corrupt them any longer with your lies!”
“Frank, no.” She paled. “I can’t do that. I can’t.”
“You will, if you know what’s good for you.” He straightened up and buttoned his coat, straining to keep himself under control. “Because if you don’t tell them, I will. And I don’t think you want that.”
He started for the door. “You made this filthy bed with your own hands, Jenna, and you are going to by God lie in it.” Before he walked out, he looked back at her, standing in the wreckage of her own shattered soul. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours, and no longer. You tell them, or I will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JENNA SPENT THE HOUR AFTER FRANK’S departure sitting at the kitchen table, trying to put the pieces of her life back together. But they no longer fit the way they were supposed to.
There was the piece that showed her as a young newlywed, with a handsome husband and a bright future in front of her. And there was the piece that showed Bill and Kitty, overjoyed by the birth of their grandson. Try to fit those together with the piece that showed her bedding down with her husband’s best friend. Or the pieces that showed the deaths, the losses, the pain. None of it fit, anyway, so how was she supposed to add a piece where she confessed to Bill and Kitty, crushing their happiness under her heel?
There was simply no way to figure this out, no way to make all the pieces hold together. Before that day, she would have been confident that she could talk Frank out of his threat, convince him to go along with her deception. But that was obviously impossible. She had broken him with her confession about Adam. He wasn’t going to be able to forgive her, and he would make good his threats, of that she had no doubt.
But how in God’s name was she supposed to do this?
When the phone rang, she got up to answer, and heard Stella’s voice radiating concern down the phone line. Jenna answered her questions automatically, not paying much attention to what she was saying. Yes, Frank had been over here. Yes, he was upset. No, now wasn’t a good time to come over. No, there was nothing Stella could do right now. Yes, Jenna would call her later.
As soon as she hung up the phone, it rang again, and that time it was Kitty. The sound of her mother-in-law’s voice almost broke Jenna completely, and she had to lean against the wall to support herself.
“So,” Kitty said briskly, “are you coming over today, or do I get to keep my grandson another night?”
A great dry sob welled up in Jenna’s gut. She fought to keep it down, fought to keep her voice even as she whispered, “I’ll be over there soon. I was just trying to — pick up a little bit, first.”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself. The place will look like a tornado hit it ten seconds after your son gets home.” Love radiated out of every syllable that Kitty uttered. “Bill actually thinks he’s going to have that hunk of junk in the garage running today, and he wants to take us for a drive after dinner. So get over here quick, you hear?”
Jenna heard. She heard loud and clear.
* * *
It was a long drive, and the only thing that made it bearable was that Jenna would see her son when she arrived at her destination. As she pulled slowly into the Appletons’ driveway, her heart lifted momentarily. Christopher was right where she’d expected him to be, swinging on the swing set in the backyard. He had been firmly bundled up by loving hands against the cold gray day. Fritz romped around the grass, enjoying himself, but still ever-watchful of his young charge.
Jenna gave herself a moment to stand and watch Christopher on the swing. She wanted to scoop him off the seat and cover him with kisses. She wanted to bundle him and Fritz into the car and drive away without a word to the grandparents. She wanted to escape.
But instead she called hello to her son and told him to go on playing. Then she waved to Bill, who was working on his old car in the garage, and went up the back steps into the kitchen.
Kitty stood at the stove, her hair pulled back in a barrette, steam making her skin glisten. A pungent, appetizing aroma floated up from the large pot simmering on the stovetop. “Red cabbage,” she said in answer to Jenna’s questioning look. “I made plenty.”
“Christopher doesn’t like red cabbage,” Jenna murmured, sinking into a chair at the table.
“Don’t be silly, he loves
it.” Kitty spooned up a bit of the dark purple liquid, tasted it, then gave it a final swirl and put the lid back on. “Besides, it’s full of vitamins.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Jenna. “Look at you, still in your coat. Take it off and hang it in the closet, then you can give me a hand mashing these potatoes.” She opened the oven door and bent over to check the roast.
Jenna touched the lapel of her woolen overcoat, then looked at her gloved hands. Words came out of her mouth, seemingly of their own accord. “Do you know what I keep thinking about? Those weeks after Lucien died.” The moist heat of the kitchen couldn’t seem to penetrate to her bones. Her insides were like ice. She shivered and crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Do you remember? I was at college. You were the one who had to call me and tell me that he’d passed away. I took the train down, and you met me at the station. You helped me pack up his things.”
Kitty didn’t turn around. Her voice floated over her shoulder. “I remember.”
“I don’t think I ever thanked you for that. You were so kind to me. You’ve always been kind to me. You’re the only mother I’ve ever really known.” Now the ice started to melt, filling her eyes with tears, overflowing and spilling hotly down her cheeks.
Kitty turned around slowly. The women stared at each other.
Images from the past escaped Jenna’s memory, where she’d stored them for so long, and floated in the air, revolving between them. Lucien, always insistent on his independence, had been living in an apartment by himself and had passed away quietly in his sleep. The housekeeper had found him. It was Kitty who had arranged the funeral, Kitty who had made the phone calls, notifying friends and relatives.
And it had been Kitty who stood beside her, sharing the burden of her grief. She had offered Jenna no useless sympathy, no pointless reassurances. She’d merely told her, “In times of trouble, my grandmother used to say, ‘Pray to God, but row for shore.’” Then she’d gripped Jenna’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “Faith plus action. It will be difficult, but you will get there. When you feel like giving up, have faith and keep rowing.”
After the funeral, they had packed up Lucien’s clothes in silence, folding his shirts and pants, wrapping his precious things and packing them safely away. Their tears had escaped frequently. Jenna could remember the smell of the room as if she were standing in it right now. It was the smell of her father, the smell she’d known all her life.
Kitty seemed about to speak, when Bill came banging through the back door, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Woo boy, it is cold out there!” His cheeks were ruddy. “We should get Christopher in and warm him up.” He stopped. He looked from Kitty to Jenna and back again. “What’s going on?”
“You’ve both been like family to me,” Jenna whispered as if she had never stopped speaking. “After Bud died, I didn’t know what to do. And if Christopher — if he helped to make up for all that sadness, even a little bit, then it was all I could do to try to repay you for your kindness, for taking me in when I needed you. We’ve been a family, haven’t we? The four of us? You’ve treated me like a daughter, you’ve treated Christopher like a grandson. And it’s not like I wanted to hurt you. Not like I wanted to lie….”
“What are you talking about?” Kitty’s voice was sharp enough to cut.
Jenna heard her own voice falter. She thought about stopping, but she knew that going back would be harder than going forward. She struggled to make her lips form the words that she needed to say. “The night after Bud’s funeral. Adam came to the house. Remember the storm? He just arrived on the doorstep. We were sitting on the porch, talking, and we were so sad about Bud. I felt so lost. We were talking, and then suddenly, before we knew it — ”
“What are you talking about?” Kitty said again, her voice rose in a near-shriek.
“We didn’t mean to do it!” Jenna cried desperately. “We didn’t mean for it to happen! But it did, and then a month later, just a month later I found out — ”
“Oh my God,” Kitty moaned. Bill looked at his wife. She had gone very pale and was gripping the counter to keep from falling down.
“Christopher — “ Jenna said.
“Stop talking,” Bill commanded. And Jenna wanted to obey. But she couldn’t.
“Christopher is not Bud’s son!” At the last second, she tried to stop herself, like a would-be suicide who changes her mind the instant after the trigger is pulled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep the words from escaping, but it was too late.
Pale and trembling, Kitty moaned quietly. Bill’s face was contorted with a fury that Jenna hadn’t known he possessed.
“You’re lying,” Kitty cried. “You’re lying; you’re lying!”
Jenna, gloved hand still clasped firmly over her mouth, shook her head violently from side to side. Tears coursed hotly down her cheeks. She forced her hands down into her lap, made them grip each other and hold on, forced herself to speak again. “I’m so sorry — “ she began. But she didn’t have time to finish.
“Tell me it’s not true!” Kitty took a step forward and slapped her firmly across the face. Jenna kept her head to the side, waiting, feeling that further punishment was inevitable. The pain from the slap was welcome. She wanted to give herself up to the force of Kitty’s wrath. This day had been coming for a long time, and now it was here.
“Tell me it’s a lie!” Kitty’s hand reached back again, and Jenna stiffened for the next blow. But Bill caught Kitty’s wrist in mid-air and held it, pulling his wife to him even as she struggled to get free.
“Get out,” Bill whispered, as Kitty sobbed into his neck.
Jenna rose uncertainly, grasping her purse in both hands. “I — I just want to say that — ”
Bill didn’t look at her. “You’ve just killed our son all over again. Get out, and don’t come back.”
Jenna stumbled out the back door and down onto the dead brown grass. Her mouth was open, gasping gulps of fresh cold air. It was out. She had done it. She had told them. The world would never be the same again.
Christopher turned his head and smiled at her. Oh, God, he looked so sweet and innocent. What had she done to him? His world would never be the same again, either. “Mommy, look how high I can go!” he cried, pumping his legs furiously.
She made her shaky way toward him. “We have to go,” she told him.
“But Grandma’s making mashed potatoes,” he said plaintively, using his feet to break to an abrupt halt. “And Grandpa wants me to help him with his car!”
“Christopher, we have to go.”
“No!” He stamped his little foot. “I want to stay with Grandma and Grandpa!”
Jenna could only stare stupidly as her son glared at her. His first act of outright defiance could not have come at a worse time. The mutinous expression on his face looked so much like hers that she wanted to laugh. But she didn’t.
Ignoring his cries of outrage, she picked him up and carried him to the car. Fritz followed, head down, knowing that something was not right. Christopher landed blows on Jenna’s shoulder and back with tiny fists, assaulting her ineffectively with his little feet. When she plopped him on the front seat, she was prepared for him to try to launch himself out of the car, but he crossed his arms over his chest and started to cry pitifully. She locked the door before closing it firmly, then opened the back and motioned for Fritz to get in.
She rounded the front of the car and got into the driver’s side, then sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, listening to the piteous weeping of her son. She glimpsed the movement of a curtain in the front of the house, and knew that someone inside was waiting, watching for her to back out of the driveway and out of their lives forever.
Your secrets will ruin them, Frank had said, and he was right.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispered. She shifted the car into reverse and turned around so she could back up. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I know you wanted to stay, but we had to leave.”
“Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to stay!” His little voice was full of anger. Jenna reached the end of the driveway and pulled off down the street, trying to ignore the way her son’s face pressed up against the window, watching his grandparents’ house slip away outside the cold glass. “They always want me to stay because they love me! And you’re always taking me away!”
She braked to an abrupt halt and burst into tears. Sobbing, she reached over and pulled Christopher into her lap. She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry.”
All at once his anger vanished, replaced by obvious confusion and concern. “It’s okay, Mommy,” he said, patting her back awkwardly. “It’ll be okay.”
Fritz nuzzled gently at her ear. “See?” said her five-year-old boy. “Fritz wants to help, too.”
That made Jenna laugh, and she pulled out a handkerchief, wiping her eyes. “Christopher,” she said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
PART THREE: AFTERLIFE
“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”
— ANATOLE FRANCE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DAWN CAME LATE ON MONDAY, IN accordance with the winter season. Gradually the night receded to make room for the day, and pale sunshine coated Jenna’s street with a thin yellow light.
Like the light of God, Frank thought. Cold, stingy, and indifferent.
He smiled. How Jenna would laugh at the notion of him ruminating about God. He could almost hear her chiding him, almost see her shake her head and roll her eyes.
Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, and his smile faded. Stubble coated his face, his eyes were dark-rimmed, and his hair was unkempt. Disgraceful. He pushed the mirror aside.
Frank should have been at work right now, but he didn’t care. He could not possibly go into the office like this, anyway. He hadn’t slept at all last night, and it showed. He’d gone to bed at his usual hour, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy and discipline in his routine. But he’d tossed and turned for hours. The image of Jenna and Adam together, kissing, caressing, laughing at Frank’s naïveté, had haunted his every thought. Until finally, some time before dawn, he’d given up on trying to sleep, gotten dressed, and gone out for a drive. It wasn’t a big surprise that he’d ended up here, on Jenna’s block, the one place where he used to find happiness and contentment. The place he’d seen himself living out his life in radiant harmony.
