A Different Light

by Mariah Stewart

  “Hey, Mom! Julie and Jessie are going to the ice cream parlor on the way home. Mrs. Myers said I could go if it’s all right with you,” Callie called from five cars down.

  “Okay, Athen?” Liz Myers stuck her head out the window. “We won’t be long. We’ll drop her off on the way home.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you,” Athen called back, motioning Callie to her and scrambling in her bag for her wallet as Callie ran to her with an outstretched hand. Athen handed her a five and reminded her that there’d be change.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Callie gave her an abbreviated hug and ran off.

  The crush of departees descended upon the two-lane exit like ants jockeying for position on an M&M. Athen waited patiently for her turn to pull onto the highway. At the last minute, she changed her directional signal from left to right, and eased onto the road that led back through the park.

  The air was cooler with the descent of the sun behind the trees and she opened the windows to let the evening breeze flood the car. She turned on the radio, still set to John’s favorite classic rock station, KROC out of New York. Though jazz was more to her preference, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change it. She turned it off abruptly.

  She drove absentmindedly for a few minutes, thinking how the day had turned out to be okay after all. Better than okay, she admitted. Except for that little to-do with Diana. She rounded a curve, breaking sharply to avoid the opossum that had stepped from the shoulder onto the asphalt. The animal froze, and Athen could see the sparks from a dozen tiny eyes peering over the mother’s back. “Careful, Mama,” Athen whispered as she drove around the frightened creature.

  She slowed at the end of the road, and realized she’d driven to the back entrance to Woodside Manor. Might as well stop in for a minute, she thought, and say good night to Dad. Wonder what he’d think about Rossi’s job offer.

  She followed the dirt drive to the front entrance, and headed for the section of the lot closest to the building. For the second time in less than five minutes she slammed on her brakes.

  In the first spot nearest the gate sat Diana’s little blue sports car.

  The motor running, her arm resting on the open window, her chin in her hand, she debated for only a moment before quietly turning the car around and heading for home.

  THE FIRST CRACK OF THUNDER rattled through the night silence and the heavens came suddenly to life, a raucous opening act for the rowdy sound and light show about to begin in the skies above Woodside Heights.

  Callie stumbled through the dark, fleeing to the safety of her mother’s bed.

  “It’s okay, Callie.” Athen patted the left side of the bed in answer to her daughter’s unspoken question. “Come on. Climb in.”

  Callie snuggled in and curled up beside her mother. Athen stroked the back of the child’s head, her fingers catching here and there in the wild tangle of curly brown hair.

  “I hate when thunder does that,” Callie mumbled. “When it sneaks up on you in the night. Like it’s waited up there in the sky all day till you go to sleep so it can jump out at you in the dark and scare you half to death.”

  Callie yawned, and inched closer. “Tell me again why we have thunder. And don’t give me that stuff about the trolls bowling.”

  Athen lay wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling.

  “I don’t remember,” she admitted sheepishly. “I know it has something to do with positives and negatives, but right at this minute I can’t seem to recall the details.”

  “Daddy would know,” Callie said quietly.

  “Yes, baby,” Athen whispered. “Daddy would know.”

  Athen closed her eyes and tried to return to sleep, but the rain rushed against the windows as if gushing from a giant hose.

  She lay awake listening to Callie’s breathing until she was certain her daughter was on her way toward peaceful slumber, then eased her legs over the side of the bed. The soles of her feet slid over warm fur. The dog’s huge head snapped up quickly to identify the human whose foot dangled just slightly over her neck.

  “Go back to sleep, Hannah.” Athen leaned over to pat the dog’s yellow rump, then walked quietly toward the doorway. Under one foot, a soft rubber object squeaked. Hannah’s favorite toy, a small orange hedgehog, lay right inside the door, close by, as always, to Hannah.

  Quietly, Athen crossed the hall to Callie’s room and closed the windows, proceeding next to the back bedroom. Hesitating only briefly, she turned on the light, averting her eyes from the sudden brightness. She stood in the doorway, surveying the remnants of the only home-improvement project John had ever failed to complete.

  The wallpaper table still bisected the room, a sheet of paper cut, but not hung, held flat by a level at one end and a book at the other. The earbuds still dangled from the iPod he’d left on the ladder shelf. He’d finished two walls the day before he died, and had tried to finish a third on what was to be his last morning. Unaware of his fate, he’d risen early and proceeded to work on the new guest room in preparation for a visit from his sister, Meg, the following week. He’d worked steadily through the morning, eager to finish that one wall before he’d have to stop, change into his uniform, and report for the four-to-midnight shift.

  Athen had not been there when he left for work that afternoon, having had a number of errands to complete before picking up Callie at the school bus and taking her to the library. She’d run through the afternoon’s itinerary a thousand times in her mind since that day. Which of her tasks might she have omitted that would have brought her home in time to say good-bye? The supermarket, where she’d stood in line for ten minutes, her cart filled with who could remember what? The drugstore, where she’d leisurely thumbed through magazines before making a selection from the paperback novels that lined the shelves of one aisle? Had she picked up Callie at three at school instead of at the bus stop a half hour later, would they have returned from the library before he left the house? Where had she been when he closed the door behind him for the last time?

  And had she arrived home in time, would she have known that it would have been good-bye? Would she have kissed him more passionately, some unknown intuition gnawing at her to give him yet one more hug?

  She had not said good-bye, had not kissed him.

  Before leaving the house, she’d stood in the doorway watching his meticulous measuring of the wallpaper. He looked up from his work and yanked the earbuds off.

  “Looks great,” she’d said. “The room will be gorgeous. Certainly suitable for visiting royalty.”

  “Or at the very least, my sister. Where’re you off to?”

  “Errands,” she’d replied. “Then to pick up Callie for a very quick trip to the library so she can get the one last book she needs to complete her social studies report.”

  “What’s she doing? Something on Native Americans? She talk to Meg?”

  “Last week. She also talked Meg into taking photographs of the reservations around Tulsa and mailing them out so she’d have them in time for her report, which is due before Meg’s arrival. Callie figures this to be an easy A.”

  John had chuckled, knowing his sister, who coanchored the evening news at a network affiliate in Tulsa, would gladly give her only niece more information than any nine-year-old would ever be able to assimilate.

  “Well, hopefully, Meg won’t get carried away and include some of her boyfriend’s political speeches on the abuse of the Native Americans at the hands of the U.S. government.”

  “Clinton has historical documentation to back up …”

  John frowned and cut her off with a wave of the paste brush.

  “I know, I know. I’m aware that everything he said was true. I just didn’t need to hear it all night Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day. I’m glad Meg’s not bringing him back with her this time.”

  “Frankly, I’d rather see Callie present the truth in her report.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, it’ll be great to have the old Meg back for a few days instead of the poli
tical activist she turns into whenever he’s around.”

  “What makes you think she only turns it on for Clinton’s sake?”

  “Because I know my sister. Changes her commitments every time she changes men. Been doing it all her adult life.”

  “Well, since she isn’t seeing him anymore, it really doesn’t matter.”

  Athen watched him climb the ladder and press the paper onto the wall, expertly smoothing it out with the long flat brush and eliminating tiny ripples with his fingers, pushing it firmly into place with his hands.

  “What do you think? Think the room will be done by next weekend?” He stepped back to admire his work.

  “I think so. It looks wonderful. The furniture will look great in here, don’t you think?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, visualizing for the hundredth time the way the room would look once it was completed.

  “I do.” He nodded as he replaced the earbuds.

  The pale butter yellow paper dotted with white roses would be the perfect backdrop for the bedroom set stored in the attic. They’d brought the furniture from her father’s house before it was sold two years ago, after Ari suffered his second stroke and Athen had to face the fact that he would never leave Woodside Manor. The 1930s walnut bed, two dressers, and two bedside tables had been polished and readied to be moved downstairs.

  “Do you need me to pick up anything for you?” A glance at her watch told her she needed to leave if all her errands were to be accomplished in time to meet the school bus.

  John stood on the ladder, looking down at her, singing along with the song playing on the iPod.

  “You say something?”

  “I asked if you wanted me to pick up anything for you while I’m out.”

  “We’re running dangerously low on Doritos.”

  “Message received.” She turned to go.

  “Hey, Thena,” he called to her as she reached the top of the steps.

  She went back to the room and stuck her head through the doorway.

  “Wait up for me tonight,” he said.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  John smirked.

  “Well, then.” She smiled up at him and blew him a kiss. “I guess I’ll see you when you get home.”

  John put the headset back on and resumed singing, his voice following her through the hall and down the stairwell.

  “Damn you, John Moran. Damn you for dying.” Standing alone in the room where she had last seen him alive, she spoke aloud to the apparition. “Damn you …”

  The wind blew up again suddenly, sending a cold chill of rain into the room. Athen closed the window as the thunder began to roll with renewed vigor, the sky beyond the trees now bright as midday, the lightning now a frenzied dance across the sky. She turned the light off, unable to bear another second in the room. She leaned against the wall in the hallway, wiping her face with the hem of her nightshirt.

  A brilliant flash illuminated the entire house. A deafening crash like nothing she’d ever heard split the night, and was followed by the terrible tearing of wood. The house seemed to shake to the foundation, as if sitting upon an earthquake’s fault.

  “Mommy!” Callie screamed in terror.

  “I’m right here, baby.” Athen went quickly to the bedroom and collided with Callie in the doorway. “Lightning struck something very nearby. I think it might have hit one of the trees in the backyard.”

  Callie clung to her in fright. Hannah howled as sirens screamed above the storm.

  “Come on, Callie. Let’s take a look.”

  Athen turned on the hall light as they hurried into Callie’s room. They pulled aside the curtains at the window overlooking the backyard and gazed down in horror. A tree had fallen, flattening most of the garage.

  “Daddy’s tree!” Callie cried. “Oh, Mommy, it’s Daddy’s tree!”

  Callie buried her head in her mother’s chest and wailed. The magnolia that John had planted the day they moved into the house twelve years ago lay split right down the middle.

  Lights flickering in the homes of their neighbors announced that most of the street had been awakened by the crash. The few who had slept through it were surely now being roused by the sound of the police cruiser as it rounded the corner at the end of the street.

  “You okay, honey?” Athen caressed the trembling child. “You want to get your robe on and come downstairs with me? I think the worst of the storm is over now.”

  “Why are the police here?” Callie tugged on her robe and followed her mother into the room across hall.

  “I guess they want to make sure no one was hurt and that no wires were brought down.” Athen pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt just as the doorbell rang. Hannah, barking and growling, flew down the steps.

  “Hey, Fred, come on in.” Athen opened the door and greeted the officer.

  Fred Keller quickly stepped inside the entry as the lightning from the passing storm flashed in the distance.

  “Are you guys all right?” the short stocky officer asked.

  “We’re fine.” She nodded. “But it looks like we lost one of our trees.”

  “Any wires down?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll take a run out back and have a look. You got any lights out there?”

  “On the back porch. I’ll turn them on for you.”

  Fred went back out the front door, where he was joined by three other officers who were already heading up the driveway.

  Athen and Callie turned on the back porch lights and peered out the door. John’s magnolia had been split cleanly in two, one half smashing the garage, the other huge section demolishing their neighbor’s fence.

  Athen went out on the back porch and surveyed the damage wordlessly. Callie wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and cried.

  “Daddy’s tree is gone, and it smashed his garden, too.” She pointed across the lawn to John’s prized perennial beds, covered now by the huge tree trunk.

  Damn, cursed Athen silently. The tree would have to be removed, the garage rebuilt, the Sullivans’ fence replaced.

  “Daddy would know what to do,” Callie lamented.

  “And so do I, pumpkin,” Athen assured her.

  When he finished cursing, John would have called their insurance agent. And that would be Athen’s first move, first thing in the morning.

  3

  The sound of the slamming car door at the end of the drive announced the arrival of the insurance adjuster, right on time. Athen peered out the window as the young woman started toward the front door, and was there to open it before the bell was rung.

  “Mrs. Moran?” The adjuster handed her a business card as she introduced herself. “I’m Susan Watson. Mr. Fisher, your agent, called this morning and asked that I come out first thing.”

  “Yes, he told me to expect you. Thanks for being so prompt. I guess you’re pretty busy today, after that wild storm.” Athen ushered her into the house.

  “We insure a lot of homes in Woodside Heights, so yeah, we’re jammed.” Susan followed Athen into the kitchen. “Would you mind if I called my office before we go outside? We’re supposed to call in as soon as we get to each stop.”

  “I don’t mind.” Athen waited by the back door while Susan keyed her phone and reported in.

  “Let’s take a look at that garage.” Susan tucked her cell phone back into her bag when she finished her call. She trailed behind Athen through the back door and into the yard, where steamy fingers of mist rose like smoke from the wet grass that was warming in the sun.

  “Boy oh boy.” Susan whistled, looking at the remains of the garage, the front section of which lay in a heap on the ground. “Please tell me that your car’s not in there.”

  “It wasn’t. I was lucky.”

  “I’ll need a list of the contents of the garage with as much information as possible. Brands if you know them, receipts if you have any. List where and when you purchased things and, if you remember, how much you paid.
We’ll do the best we can for you, but the more information you give us, the more accurate your settlement will be. I’ll have a contractor out by tomorrow morning to appraise the garage.”

  “I appreciate that you came out so quickly. Fortunately, my husband kept very detailed records, so I should be able to find receipts for most of the larger items.”

  Susan walked to the base of the tree and took a camera from the large satchel-like purse that hung over her shoulder and began to photograph the damage. “We won’t pay to replace the tree, but we’ll pay to remove it and whatever damage it’s caused. I might as well go over and talk to your neighbor while I’m here.”

  The adjuster started across the yard in the direction of the next property. She paused and looked over her shoulder.

  “It’s a shame about the tree, Mrs. Moran. Must have been a beauty. It’s going to be hard to replace it.”

  Harder than you know, Athen thought sadly.

  A WEEK LATER, ATHEN STOOD at the kitchen window, watching the contractor’s men clear away the debris. First they cut the remains of the tree into large chunks. A pang shot through her when the chain saw made the first cut. Who knew it could hurt to see a tree cut up? When they finished, the stump was ground out. Nothing remained but a pile of sawdust where the tree once stood. It was almost as if it had never existed.

  In her mind’s eye she could see the sapling John had proudly planted. Dripping with sweat from his effort, he had walked back to the porch where she waited, hands on her hips, wondering why, with so much unpacking to do, he had chosen moving day to plant a tree.

  “My grandmother always said the land’s not yours until you plant something on it,” he’d told her solemnly.

  She’d smiled at his Irish sentimentality and pulled his wet face to hers to kiss him. She still remembered the taste of sweat and grime, and she remembered how he’d laughed and wiped away the smudge he’d left on her chin with his fingers.

  From the rubble, one of the laborers lifted her prized bicycle and tossed its twisted frame onto the Dumpster. John bought it for her five years ago when she’d become serious about her biking. She hadn’t ridden since that last sixty-mile race, back in the beginning of November, before the weather turned cold, before her life had been turned upside down, before the things that used to matter lost their meaning. She had declined invitations from members of her bike club all through spring. She simply lacked the energy to join them.