Winter Wake

by Rick Hautala

  What, he wondered over and over, did he mean when he said, “She was here”? Who was here?

  He couldn’t have meant Julia or Bri.

  Maybe he’d had a vision of his dead wife waiting to greet him on the other side. That had been John’s first idea.

  Or maybe …

  No!

  John shook his head, trying to dismiss that thought that formed, but it, like the churning guilt produced by those notes Randy —

  It had to have been Randy!

  — had been leaving for him, wouldn’t go away. The thought echoed in the dark recesses of his mind, over and over …

  She was here! ...

  She was here! ...

  And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had a damned good idea who she was.

  III

  Visiting hours at Lang’s funeral home were the next day, Sunday afternoon. The day after Christmas.

  That morning, Julia had felt queasy when she woke up, and as the day progressed, the sour churning in her stomach got so bad she considered not going to the funeral home. But she had to so she could be there for John and Bri, who was feeling the loss deeply. Dressed in their Sunday best, while hushed organ music filled the dimly lit room, they spoke with the surprisingly large number of island people who showed up. Several families sent flower arrangements, and there was even one from CMP, acknowledging Frank’s years of service to the company.

  The dense aroma of flowers made the air in the room heavy as people came by and offered their regrets.

  “What a terrible thing to have happen right at Christmas time …”

  “He was a good man ... a damned good man …”

  “Such a shame but he struggled so after that stroke…”

  “He’s better off now…”

  “He’s with Dianna now. You have to believe that …”

  The only time Julia came close to breaking down was when Frenchie showed up, swinging himself down the aisle on battered crutches. He was wearing a shabby brown tweed suit that he had obviously not worn in many years. The left leg was pinned up over the stump of his leg, and his necktie was cocked to one side. He stopped beside the casket and looked down at Frank. His lower lip trembled, and his amber eyes misted over. Tears streamed from his eyes and wound through the white stubble of his beard. He looked much smaller than Julia remembered — diminished, as though looking at his dead friend told him that his time was also due all too soon.

  “I’m gonna miss the old sumbitch,” Frenchie said, his voice cracking as he looked at Julia. “He was one helluva card player.”

  That was it — Frenchie’s eulogy for Frank — and Julia knew that no one else was going to do better. Frenchie turned and made his way back down the aisle and out of the funeral home, not bothering to stop and talk with anyone.

  “We — umm, shot rats down at the wharf one day … with your father,” Julia said by way of explanation to John, who looked at her curiously once Frenchie had left.

  The two-hours of visiting seemed more like four or five to Julia. Throughout the afternoon, her stomach felt as if some giant had reached down inside, grabbed her guts, and was squeezing them with all his strength. Several times, she went to the rest room, thinking she was going to throw up. Locking the door behind her, she leaned her head over the toilet bowl, praying she would let it go so she would be done with this icky feeling. It wasn’t her reaction to grief, she knew. It was more than that. It was something physical …

  When she rejoined John, she thought how he was handling things quite well. Everyone who came by knew him by name — some of them called him “Johnny.” She wished he would loosen up and not deal with his father’s friends as if he either didn’t know they were or didn’t want to remember them. He stood stiffly, shook their hands, mumbled his thanks, and listened to their words of condolence as though nothing registered.

  Bri, on the other hand, couldn’t stop sniffling and crying and wiping her eyes with tissues. Her eyelids were red and swollen, and her face had a waxy paleness. Her thin shoulders never stopped heaving and shuddering as she cried. When people from the island, most of whom she had never met before, would say a few words to her, she would embrace them and sob like they were long-time friends or relatives.

  Shortly before the afternoon visiting hours were over, Randy and Ellie Chadwick arrived. As soon as John saw them, his posture stiffened even more. Julia noticed that John’s hand clenched into a fist, and he shifted from one foot to the other as Randy and his wife approached.

  ‘‘I’m so sorry,” Ellie said, leaning forward and hugging John, kissing him on the cheek. She turned to Julia and gave her a hug.

  “I wish I hadn’t been on duty that night,” Randy said simply, obviously at a loss for words as he and John shook hands and looked intently at each other.

  “It’s the way it goes,” John said, his voice a raw whisper.

  He let go of Randy’s hand but kept staring at him, searching his face and waiting for him to reveal —

  What? … Is he genuinely feeling sad … or is he masking that he’s screwing my wife?

  Maybe it started the day they went lobstering with Randy.

  Or maybe sooner than that.

  Maybe it had started the day they moved into the house, and Randy dropped by.

  John still wasn’t positive — he didn’t have proof that Randy and Julia were getting it on, but he was positive Randy was leaving those notes around the house and in his office and in his car …

  I WON’T FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!

  Nice touch, adding “ME.”

  Cold … Ruthless.

  Somebody knows something about what had happened, John thought, and who could it be if it isn’t Randy?

  Back in high school, no one had known him better than Randy had. They shared all their secrets …some which, even now, John hadn’t revealed to Julia. It was possible Randy had figured out what had happened out at Haskins’ barn that night. And if he had, and if he was writing these notes, trying to drive him crazy, he must have some ulterior motive.

  What better reason than to try to steal my wife?

  “Usually, you know,” Randy was saying, “when you get an ambulance call on an island small as Glooscap, you gotta figure it’s someone you know, but it ain’t often it’s someone — well ...” His voice trailed away as his glance shifted in Julia’s direction.

  “Gotta be tough,” John said, not knowing what else to say, mostly because he was hardly listening. He watched Randy, waiting for a tiny chink to appear in his facade, waiting for a silent flash of communication between him and Julia … the proof he needed.

  If he’s trying to make me crack, I’ll show him.

  He’s not going to get to me.

  By this time, Ellie was talking softly with Bri, who was crying against her shoulder. Randy had moved in front of Julia. They simply looked at each other, neither one saying anything while John studied them. And then Randy leaned close and kissed Julia on the cheek. That seemed all the more suspicious. A moment later, Randy and Ellie left, moving to the far side of the room where they saw some neighbors.

  “You could at least be civil, for God’s sake,” Julia said. She leaned close to John so Bri wouldn’t hear. “Why are you acting so ... so cold to everyone?”

  “What do you mean?” John shrugged innocently.

  “You know exactly what I mean. You don’t have to treat Randy like you think he … he’s responsible for —” Her voice caught in her throat, and she finished lamely, “for what happened.”

  “I don’t. Not at all,” John said, shaking his head. Before he could say or do anything else, more people came up and spoke softly about how much they had admired Frank and how much they were going to miss him at church.

  And that’s how it went, in the afternoon and again from seven to nine that evening.

  Frank’s funeral was set for ten o’clock the next morning, so by the time they got back to the house at nine-thirty that night, all three of them were wrung out
— especially Bri. Julia’s irritation at John was blunted, but only because the twisting in her stomach had gotten worse instead of better. While she was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth before bed, she thought she was finally going to be able to throw up and clean out her system once and for all. But even though the churning in her gut grew worse, it never came to a head. She went to bed and eventually fell asleep, but all night her stomach tossed up and down.

  Only once did she have a dream.

  She was in a boat — it was like Randy’s but much bigger, almost a luxury yacht. In the dream, she looked overboard and saw someone —

  A young girl … with long black hair … and ivory smooth skin …

  — swimming on her back and looking up at her. Julia awoke with a start and sat up in bed, her breathing fast and hot in the deep night.

  IV

  The ringing telephone startled them both awake early the next morning. John reached over Julia and snagged the receiver in the middle of its second ring.

  “‘ello,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He could barely focus on the alarm clock and was surprised to see they had slept past seven o’clock.

  “John … It’s Randy.”

  “Umm ... what do you want?” John’s voice suddenly tightened as he made eye contact with his wife.

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I? Sorry, but —”

  “No, no,” John said, shifting into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “We were up.”

  “I was thinking … talking to Ellie, you know, and if you want me to, I can pick you up and drive you to the funeral … whenever you’re ready to go.”

  Frowning, John looked at Julia and considered for a moment.

  It might nice not to have to hassle about driving, but he sure as hell didn’t want Randy around ... especially if it would make him stew all through the service about what — if anything — was going on between him and Julia.

  “What ‘cho think — ?” Randy said.

  “I — uh, thanks for the offer, but … no. I guess not. I think it’s best if we went as a family. You understand.”

  “Totally,” Randy replied. “We’re planning on going, ‘n I was — you know, just offering.”

  “I appreciate it,” John said. “I’ll see you there.”

  Julia sat up in bed, propping herself on her elbows. He passed the receiver to her, and she replaced it and then sagged back down. Black waves of nausea swept through her like a rip tide. She was sure she would throw up if she moved too fast.

  “That was Randy —”

  She nodded.

  “He offered to drive us to the funeral today.”

  “I heard you tell him no.”

  Standing up, John pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then went to the window and stood looking out at the day. Like yesterday, bright sunlight glanced off the snow with a blinding glare. On the horizon, the open ocean was a tossing dark blue mass with white capped waves. It was so cold, thin strands of steam — what the locals called “sea smoke — twisted up into the sky.

  While John was staring out the window, Julia prayed that she would feel a little better than she had yesterday. Knowing that she and John had Frank’s funeral to face, she let out a low groan, tossed the covers aside, and swung her feet to the floor.

  “We probably ought to get ready,” she said. Her voice was strangled, like someone had his hands wrapped around her throat.

  “You all right?” John said, glancing at her over his shoulder. She was about to say, Of course I am, but as the words formed in her mind, her stomach clenched hard. When she opened her mouth, all that came out was a deep, watery belch. A thick, bilious taste flooded her throat, stinging the insides of her nose. All she could do was nod.

  “You sure?” John moved beside her and touched her shoulder. “You look like crap.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  Julia smacked her lips, trying to get rid of the sourness in her mouth.

  John placed his hand on her forehead and grunted.

  “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

  He didn’t say any more, though, because Julia suddenly bolted from the bed, raced down the hall to the bathroom, and ended up kneeling with her face over the toilet. John followed behind her.

  For a second or two, Julia waited, breathing heavily as her nausea condensed into a hard, burning ball under her ribs. Then, with a sudden wrenching convulsion, she opened her mouth and let it rip. Hot vomit shot from her mouth and splattered into the toilet. The smell only made her stomach lurch worse, and she heaved and heaved until her sides were aching.

  As she was throwing up, John grabbed a washcloth and wet it with warm water. While she leaned over the toilet bowl, still heaving, he pulled her hair back and rubbed the cloth over her brow. Wave after wave racked her body until there was nothing left to spew out, and she started dry heaving. Each contraction made her eyes feel as though they were going to pop out of her head. She tried not to imagine them plopping like fat grapes into the puke-filled water in the toilet bowl.

  “Jesus, that was a mean one,” John said once the worst had passed. Julia was still sitting on the floor. Bleary-eyed, she looked at him, her face drained of color. Thin strands of wet hair clung to her forehead.

  “Off to a good start, I’d say,” she rasped, her throat as raw as hamburger. “Can you get me a glass of water?”

  John ran the water until it was cold, then filled the bathroom cup and handed it to her. She wanted to gulp it down but restrained herself and merely took a single sip. The last thing she needed was to trigger another round of heaves.

  “Do you have the flu?” John asked, his face creased with concern. All he could think was, Here it is, the day of my father’s funeral, and my wife gets as sick as a dog.

  Julia found it impossible to focus on him as she shook her head.

  “No … Know what I think?”

  But she didn’t say what she really thought.

  It was too soon … much too soon for her to be experiencing morning sickness. That came during the second or third month. This must be psychosomatic. She kept reminding herself that every pregnancy is different, but there was no way she could have morning sickness yet … not unless she had gotten pregnant before Christmas Eve.

  “I — umm, think it’s that pork we had for supper between visiting hours … It didn’t sit so well,” she said.

  “That’s an understatement,” John said, forcing a chuckle. He was about to say more when a muffled knocking from downstairs caught their attention. They looked at each other questioningly.

  “Sounds like someone’s at the back door,” Julia said. “Would you go see who it is?”

  John nodded, turned, and was gone, his footsteps clomping down the stairs.

  Still feeling weak-kneed, Julia gripped the sink edge and pulled herself up off the floor. The shock of what she saw when she looked into the mirror made her think there was someone else’s face reflected there. This couldn’t be her — pale, drawn, and hollow eyed — reflected in the mirror.

  She turned on the faucet until it ran ice-cold and then splashed a handful of water onto her face. Blowing and blubbering, she straightened up and almost screamed when she did see another face in the mirror.

  It was staring at her over her shoulder.

  Only after the first jolt of panic did she realize Bri was standing in the doorway.

  “Are you all right?” Bri asked faintly.

  Julia grabbed a hand towel and patted her face dry.

  “Yeah,” she said, short of breath. “Good Lord, you scared the crap out of me! Don’t go sneaking up behind me like that, okay?”

  Bri nodded as though she had a stiff neck.

  “Yeah — sure. I was worried about you. I heard you wet-burping in here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Julia said, still feeling her heart racing in her chest. “It was something I ate. I’ll be fine.”

  She tried to smile but found that she couldn’t. She was afraid if she let herself
feel what she thought was happening, she’d start laughing and wouldn’t be able to stop.

  If I can make myself this sick just thinking about being pregnant, I hope it doesn’t go on for the full nine months.

  V

  When John got downstairs, he found Randy Chadwick standing outside the kitchen door. He was wearing a heavy coat and a woolen hat that was pulled down to his eyebrows. Cold air blasted John when he opened the door so Randy could come inside. John reached past him and swung the door shut. Randy looked at John with a faint half- smile, but he came no farther inside than the rug by the door.

  “Ellie, uh, wanted me to bring this over for you” he said. He was holding out a covered casserole dish. “So right after I hung up I decided to scoot t on over. It’s homemade lasagna.”

  The casserole was still warm in John’s hands when he took it from Randy and placed it on the countertop.

  “Thanks,” John said simply, wondering if he’d find another note on the bottom of the dish.

  What would this one say?

  “You want to reconsider, the offer’s still on,” Randy said. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  Biting his lower lip, John shook his head firmly.

  “No. We’re fine.”

  A sudden flood of anger at his former friend filled him. Even with his father’s funeral only a few hours away, and Randy apparently was genuine in his offer to help, all John could think was, He’s got to be the one who’s writing those notes.

  I WON’T FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!

  “Tell Ellie thanks for the lasagna,” John said.

  He was anxious for Randy to leave, mostly because there was nothing else for them to talk about … unless he asked Randy why he was writing those notes and if he was fucking his wife.

  He surprised himself by not saying anything as he reached past Randy and opened the door for him. The sudden blast of cold air made him shiver as Randy stepped back outside,

  “See you later, then,” Randy said before starting down the walkway to his car, which was parked down on the road.

  “Sure … thanks again.”