Iris Avenue

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “Are we still talking about dogs?”

  Hannah gave Drew a puzzled look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The war made your husband the way he is, and now he can’t be the way you want him to be. Isn’t that it?”

  “That’s not the same thing at all.”

  “I think it is. I think the two situations are very similar. Trained killers, violence, damaged ability to socialize that can’t easily be overcome. I’m not trying to trivialize what Sam went through, I’m just seeing the parallels: the psychological damage, physical pain, scars, the stigma, and how difficult it is for you to trust him not to revert back into what he had to be to survive.”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Hannah said slowly. “But I resent you comparing what veterans go through with dogfighting. It especially offends me on Sam’s behalf. He joined the Army in order to defend our country. He got hurt while voluntarily ensuring our freedom. That’s a completely different thing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Drew said. “I just think part of the reason you feel so strongly about the dogs is because of what Sam’s going through.”

  “My husband is not a dog.”

  “I didn’t say I thought he was,” Drew said. “I’m sorry, Hannah. That was a bad analogy; my lame attempt at amateur psychology. I’m sorry I said anything. Let’s change the subject.”

  Instead they were quiet the rest of the way to Hannah’s farm, and were almost to the end of the long driveway before Hannah noticed that the lights were on in the farmhouse, and her husband’s van was parked outside.

  When they pulled into the parking area, someone turned on the porch light, and two men walked out the side door from the kitchen.

  “Is that Sam?” Drew asked. He almost added, “Standing?”

  Hannah unsnapped her seat belt, threw open her door, and ran into the arms of her husband, leaving Drew to introduce himself to Alan, Sam’s friend from MIT.

  “Let me show you the barn,” Drew said, and Alan couldn’t hide his relief at having somewhere to go.

  Back in Rose Hill, heavy clouds moved in and obscured the stars, and then the moon. The wind whipped through the trees in the park, and a dead branch fell to the ground with a crash. Scott was keyed up and wide awake, so he made a slow surveillance drive of Rose Hill. He started down by the river, on Lotus Avenue, and then drove around every block all the way up to Morning Glory Avenue. At the end of that block he saw a man walking out of Possum Holler, so he pulled up beside him and rolled down his window.

  “Hello, Gabe,” Scott said.

  Maggie couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t read, and she couldn’t sit still. At two thirty she was organizing the clutter in the lower kitchen cupboards when there was a knock on her balcony doors. She turned and saw Gabe’s face framed in one of the windows. It felt as if her heart stopped beating for a moment, and then thumped hard in her chest when it resumed.

  As she stood up she was painfully aware of her flannel pajamas and robe ensemble, the fuzzy slippers, and what she knew was a wild head of hair. She couldn’t look at him as she fumbled with the lock on the doors, and he came in on a blast of cold wind. She could smell him then. Even though there was a different detergent smell to his clothes, and a stale cigarette smell about him, underneath was Gabe’s scent. It smelled like home.

  “Maggie,” he said. His look was tender and his voice was the same warm voice she used to know. He reached for her and she took a step back. It was instinctive, and it surprised her as much as it obviously stung him.

  “I’ll make tea and then we’ll talk,” Maggie said.

  He looked around the kitchen while she put on the kettle. He picked up objects and set them back down; he looked at everything on her bulletin board; he studied her niece’s and nephew’s artwork on the door of the fridge.

  She didn’t want to look at him, and she put it off as long as she could. He finally came to a stop, and stood leaning back against the counter. It was as far apart as they could get and still be in the same room. Maggie had boiled the water but made no move to prepare tea. Instead she turned off the gas ring.

  She turned and made herself look at him, their eyes met, and instead of the longing she expected to feel, or the lust she was afraid she would feel, the predominate emotion was sadness. As he had in the light of the streetlamp, he looked exhausted. He was so thin. His skin was pale, his brown eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows beneath them, and there were deep lines on his stubble-covered face. He smiled, and Maggie noticed his teeth had yellowed. The youthful strength and vitality she remembered were gone, an old nicotine stain left in its place. He coughed, and it sounded bad, from deep in his chest.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  “I’m out,” he said. “Anything else is beside the point.”

  “I met your son today,” Maggie said. “He looks like you, but also like his mother.”

  “I wanted to tell you about them before they got here.”

  “Where were they when we were, when you were here before?”

  It seemed too easy after so many years of not knowing. She could finally ask all the questions she had and Gabe himself would tell her the answers.

  “Maria was done with me when I went to prison, the first time, I mean. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again; she told me I wouldn’t. She was pregnant when I went in. After I got out, her father and brother came to meet me, told me they would kill me if I tried to find her. They brought me a letter from her, telling me to stay away. So I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been in prison? Or that you were married and had a child?”

  “If I’d told you I was an ex-con with a wife and kid, would you have gone out with me?”

  “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t have.”

  “I thought I could leave all the mistakes I’d made behind me. I wanted to start over.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when Mrs. Wells threatened you?”

  “I knew how you felt about lies, Maggie. I’d told so many by then.”

  “Everything was a lie, then,” she said. “All of it.”

  “Not everything,” he said. “I did love you, Maggie. I still do. I didn’t want it to end the way it did. When Scott came to our house that night, he gave me the option to stay and be arrested or disappear. I couldn’t face you. I’m sorry.”

  “When you wrote that letter, what did you think I’d do?”

  “I hoped to see you and tell you the truth about everything before I went inside. I felt I owed you that, at the very least.”

  “And now you have your family back.”

  “A few years ago Luis decided he wanted to know who his old man was, and Maria hired a detective to find me. It turned out the prison was less than an hour away from where they live. They started visiting me, and Luis and I e-mailed each other every day.”

  “You’re still married.”

  “Yes. Her people are devout Catholics.”

  “Are you going back with them?”

  He looked away.

  Maggie felt like he’d punched her in the gut.

  “You are,” she said. “You never had any intention of coming back to me.”

  “I’ve promised Luis to try to be a good father to him, to be a good husband to his mother. Maria’s offered me a second chance. I thought I’d be stupid not to accept her offer. She knows me, knows all my faults, but she’s willing to try. She’s a fine person, Maggie, too good for me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He shrugged.

  “To explain, I guess. To say I’m sorry.”

  “Well, thanks for that,” Maggie said. “You can go now. Good luck.”

  “Maggie,” he said, and came toward her, reached out to her.

  “No,” Maggie said. She batted his hand away and opened the door to the balcony. Another blast of cold air came in and Maggie was grateful for the feel of it on her hot skin.

  “Maggie,” he said, from so close, and although it wa
s the same Gabriel smell underneath the cigarettes, it turned her stomach.

  “Please go,” Maggie said, with her hand out to keep him at a distance, but looking him right in the eye. “I want it to be completely clear to you that there’s nothing here for you anymore. Nothing with me, I mean. I wish you well, but I don’t want to see you again if you can help it.”

  “Alright,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

  She crossed her arms and stepped back as he went out the way he came in. Duke the cat ran in the open door and almost tripped him. She noticed his fur was wet and that a light rain had begun to fall.

  “You have a cat?” Gabe asked. “I thought you hated cats.”

  “I don’t hate cats, I’m allergic to them,” Maggie said.

  She shut the door behind him, locked it, and closed the curtains. If she could have built a brick wall right then, over the whole shebang, she would have; plus maybe a fence with razor wire on top of it. Maggie sprayed room deodorizer to take away his smell, scrubbed the kitchen counters and every surface he’d touched, and then mopped the floor. Afterwards, while the washing machine scalded the clothes she’d been wearing, she took a hot shower and scrubbed her skin until it was raw.

  Scott picked up Gabe in the alley and took him back to Lily’s house.

  “How’d it go?” Scott asked him.

  “You know Maggie,” Gabe said. “She’s not the forgiving type. She never wants to see me again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At least I got to say what I needed to. I want to apologize to you, too, Scott. We used to be friends.”

  “I forgave you a long time ago,” Scott said. “As long as you do the right thing now, you and I will have no problems. I hope you and your family will be very happy.”

  “You’re in love with her,” Gabe said.

  “I am,” Scott said.

  “Were you back then, too?” Gabe asked.

  “I’ve always loved Maggie,” Scott said. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t.”

  The silence grew but Scott was an expert at waiting,

  “I still believe she belongs with me,” Gabe said. “But if it has to be someone else, I’m glad it’s you.”

  Scott didn’t respond, but they shook hands before Gabe got out of the car.

  CHAPTER NINE - Sunday

  At four o’clock in the morning veterinarian Drew Rosen and prosthetics engineer Alan Davidson took the Pine County Animal Control vehicle and set out in the pouring rain to check the humane traps Hannah and Drew had set the day before. It was against county policy for anyone who wasn’t a county employee to drive the vehicle, and if discovered, both men would certainly be prosecuted, and Hannah would be fired. None of them cared about that this morning. When Drew and Alan left the farmhouse that morning, Sam and Hannah lay entwined in their bed, amidst a tangle of blankets and snoring dogs, exhausted after a night spent talking about Sam’s physical therapy experience and the son or daughter that would arrive with the red leaves of autumn.

  When Bonnie Fitzpatrick and Sean left the family home, rain was lashing the windows and Sean could hear both his father and brother snoring peacefully in their warm beds. As soon as they were in the kitchen of the bakery, Bonnie tied an apron around her youngest son and showed him how to use the large Hobart mixer. She handed him the recipe for the sweet yeast rolls she planned to serve at the funeral reception. The faded words were written in the hand of her former nemesis and mother-in-law Rose. Sean swallowed some aspirin and strong coffee to combat the hangover that he didn’t dare mention. The sound of the mixer scraped the inside of his skull, and he cursed his sleeping big brother silently but thoroughly.

  Ed Harrison, Tommy Wilson, and their two dogs arrived at the newspaper office in time to meet the truck that delivered the big city daily papers. Since it was Sunday, they also delivered the Pendleton paper, so it was double the work to roll each one and drop it in a plastic bag so it wouldn’t be ruined in the rain. They talked softly while they sat at the worktable and rolled the papers, watching the puppy crawl all over a forbearing Hank, who gave Ed a doleful look as the pup, now named Lucida (Lucy for short) bit his ears and shook them with a fierce puppy size growl.

  “It’s going to be a miserable ride out there,” Ed said. “How about we make a big pancake breakfast at home afterward?”

  Federal agent James R. Brown received a phone call. He crept out of Ava Fitzpatrick’s bed, dressed, tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen, and quietly let himself out the back door. There he got inside a dark SUV that was waiting in the alley. Ava turned over in bed with a smile lingering on her lips, which were still a bit swollen from the agent’s passionate kisses.

  Lily Crawford got up, made coffee, and let Betty Lou out to do her business. Betty Lou was followed by the scampering, long-legged young cat Lily called Snicklefritz, who took one step out into the rain and then ran back to the safety of the porch. Lily had heard one of her house guests go out and return in the night, and hoped that his wife and child had not. She wondered why the FBI agent pretending to be her nephew would allow a witness to leave the safety of her house, and then reckoned it was just so he could follow him to see where he went.

  Brian Fitzpatrick was lying on his back in a deep ravine off a lonesome, narrow track in the dark woods of the Pine County State Forest, having crashed his sister’s car and been thrown from the vehicle. He was pretty sure his back was broken because he couldn’t feel anything below his waist. He was racked with cold and soaked to the skin; tremors like seizures ran through his chest and down his arms.

  Through the trees that towered above him he had watched the moon appear and disappear behind dark clouds as it seemed to cross to the west. Storm clouds flashed lightening, followed by earth-shaking thunder. He hadn’t prayed since he was a boy, but he felt now might be a good time to resume the practice. According to the prison chaplain, it was never too late to be forgiven and saved. As the rain beat down on his face Brian prayed for someone to rescue him. He heard a rustling noise in the nearby foliage and prayed nothing would come and eat him. As it became clear to him that no one was coming, he prayed for a merciful death.

  Brian could feel his life force, a buzzing energy that had hummed loudly in his ears when he first crashed, begin to leak away. At first he struggled, even though it hurt so much it took his breath away. Finally, exhausted, he lost the motivation to do anything, think anything, or want anything. He drifted in and out of consciousness, so he wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard someone or something crash through the brush down the hillside, and then a woman’s voice calling his name. He tried, but he couldn’t respond. He felt a sharp pain in his chest. Then he began to feel lighter, everything was suddenly bright, and it wasn’t at all scary. It was actually kind of pleasant.

  By mid morning three inches of rain had fallen, added to several inches of a melting snow base that was cascading down Pine Mountain. The beaver dam blocking Raccoon Creek broke apart and a flash flood surged down the Little Bear River. River gauges put into place by the Corps of Engineers detected the sudden rise in water level and sent a signal to the man in charge of the operation, who was just sitting down to breakfast with his wife.

  Police Chief Scott Gordon received a frantic phone call from Fire Chief Malcolm Behr, and alerted his two deputies to meet him down on Lotus Avenue. The volunteer firefighters were arriving as he did, and started going door to door, alerting residents of the need to evacuate their homes immediately. The fire station’s warning siren began to wail, fire trucks were moved to block Pine Mountain Road and Peony Street, and a crowd began to gather in the darkness.

  “If neither of the dams fail, Lotus Avenue will still be flooded,” Malcolm told Scott. “If one of them breaks we’ll be flooded up to Marigold Avenue, and the pressure of the water may take out all the houses on Lotus as it goes by. I hate to think what will happen if they both go.”

  “I’ll alert the college,” Scott said, and ran back to the p
atrol car.

  Although the dorms were high enough on the hillside they shouldn’t be in danger, Scott didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Stay on the radio,” Malcolm shouted to his men. “If that dam breaks, I want you out of there.”

  The Rose Hill Women’s Club and Whistle Pig Lodge members were alerted by phone tree and convened at the Community Center to set up a temporary shelter for displaced residents. Elbie brought the church van down to transport the elderly, and Cal Fischer pulled his boat up to Iris Avenue so that it could be used for rescues if needed. His wife and dog had already evacuated their little house on Lotus Avenue.

  The sun had not yet peeped over the mountains to the east but the sky was light enough so they could see the water rise. As the river rose and began to run faster Scott felt like the whole community was collectively holding its breath. Malcolm’s team had begun waking up residents on Marigold Avenue as the swell of water converged on the train tracks and the empty Rodefeffer Glassworks buildings. The old train depot was built up high enough that the water did not quite reach the first floor, but it swirled around the building and uprooted a tree next to it.

  Scott felt equal parts terrified and thrilled as the water swept over Lotus Avenue. Felled trees and debris, swept up by the rushing water, slammed into the wall between Eldridge College and the town, but the hundred-year-old stone wall held. Scott helped Patrick carry his father’s wheelchair down to the sidewalk, and then Fitz himself, grumpy, hung over, and still wearing his pajamas and robe.

  Malcolm listened to his radio and then called out that the two dams were holding. The crowd gathered on Iris Avenue cheered.

  “They’re holding for now,” Malcolm said to Scott. “But they won’t hold forever.”

  Ed and Tommy walked down to where Scott was standing.