Tomorrow and Always

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Karissa parked in the garage next to Malcolm’s black Jeep. She dragged one foot after the other until she climbed the steps from the garage to the kitchen. She inserted her key, but the door was already open. Malcolm almost always forgot to lock up when he arrived at the house. At least the unlocked door meant he’d finished his shoot early and had come home.

  The kitchen was eerily silent, and though her stomach grumbled, her tired eyes could hardly focus on the rows of white-varnished oak cupboards. She clumsily removed her wet boots near the door. A painting of Jesus caught her eye, one with Him sitting on a rock teaching the people—another gift she felt compelled to keep on her wall. His face seemed to follow her movements. Purposely averting her gaze, she skirted around the eating bar in the middle of the room and headed for the hall that led to their master bedroom.

  Malcolm was asleep. In the light of the thin rays peeking through the blinds, she could see his lithe body flung out in abandon over the bed. He didn’t wake as she moved quietly to her side of the bed and slumped onto it, sighing and at last shutting her eyes.

  Exhaustion plagued her, but though she had slept less than four hours in the last forty-eight, her body would not surrender to sleep. The approaching missionary homecoming reminded her of her own family, most of whom were still in California. She was the fourth child of six sisters and two brothers. Months had passed since she had talked to any of her family, and a part of her missed them. She opened her eyes and stared at the dark ceiling, wishing for an instant that she was young again and able to make new choices. The right choices.

  When she did talk with her siblings or parents, it was hard to abide their preaching, especially the stern disapproval of her father. Of all her parents’ eight children, she alone had married out of the temple. She was also the only one in her family who had left the Church completely, and now she felt separated from those she loved by an impassable gulf.

  At first she’d planned to seal her marriage in the temple, but by the time her education was finished, she was thoroughly addicted to smoking and couldn’t give it up. At least that was what she told herself. Inside, she knew the real reason she could never marry in the temple, why she wouldn’t go to heaven, and why she couldn’t have children.

  Karissa squeezed her eyes shut. They still burned but were gradually soothed by the tears that escaped her tight control. Her thoughts continued wildly, with no hope of suspension until they reached their loathsome end.

  God would never allow her to have a child after what she had done. Karissa had committed a murder of the most despicable kind, and for that there was no forgiveness or salvation.

  “Karissa?” Malcolm whispered. He sat up, clumsy with sleep, squinting his eyes at the increasing light. His stiff, dark hair was slightly gray-peppered at the temples. The effect usually gave him a distinguished look, but now his hair stood on end as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly, giving him the appearance of a small child rather than that of a grown thirty-three-year-old man.

  “Uh-huh,” she grunted.

  “What time is it?” He squinted at the clock. “Almost seven? Did you work all night?”

  “Mm-hum.”

  “That’s not good for your health.”

  She opened her eyes. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

  He snorted. “Well, yeah, I guess. So did you finish the accounts?”

  “Not yet. I’ll have to do it Monday morning.”

  “That’s cutting it short.”

  “I’ll manage.” She wished he would talk to her about something other than work; that was all they ever talked about anymore. She didn’t know how much longer they could go on living as strangers and clinging to the dream of real togetherness. Then he spoke again, and she immediately regretted her wish.

  “You do remember the doctor’s appointment Monday, don’t you?”

  How could she have forgotten? It was only the single most important thing on her mind. The only excuse was her gross lack of sleep, but she couldn’t credit it to that. No, the truth was she’d wanted to forget. The new fertility specialist was coming in from Anchorage specifically to visit them, but surely he could only tell them what the others before him had already determined: there was no physical reason why they shouldn’t be able to have children. Only she would know the real reason.

  “Sure, I remember,” she lied. “I’ll go in to work early, or back today after I sleep a little. That way I’ll be free.”

  “Maybe this guy’ll know what he’s talking about.” Malcolm’s mouth curved in a hopeful smile. “We’ve let this ride for long enough, don’t you think?”

  Karissa nodded numbly. How could she tell him the truth? She wouldn’t even know where to begin. What would he think of her? Would their marriage be over if he knew? Did she even care?

  For the quadrillionth time she wished that she could go back and change the past. Her guilt was heavy and too repulsive a thing to bear. Yet she deserved it, and she could never forgive herself. Nor would God or her family. No matter how much time passed and no matter how she looked at it, abortion was still murder.

  Finally Karissa slept, but it wasn’t peaceful. The dream came again as it had every so often since coming to the island. She walked onto the balcony, holding the baby. She tripped and watched helplessly as the infant fell over the railing. She tried desperately to cling to the baby’s dress, but it slipped out of her hands.

  “Why?” asked the baby as she fell.

  Chapter Two

  When Malcolm awoke the second time, it was nearly noon. He stretched and yawned noisily before remembering that Karissa still slept soundly. The room was awash with light peeking through the blinds, splattering an odd pattern on the light green walls and on his wife’s tousled brown hair. Unlike him, she always slept in a fetal position: feet tucked, back curled, one arm under and the other drawn up to her head as if to clap the hand over her ear.

  The blanket had fallen back to reveal her worn jeans and oversized shirt that she’d obviously been too tired to change. She was beautiful to him. He stifled the desire to wake her with kisses and hugs, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it after the long hours of work. Once, she wouldn’t have minded, and he wouldn’t have hesitated, but that was long ago.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen her at a friend’s apartment. It was just after midterms, and they were celebrating. She’d mesmerized him with her emerald-green eyes and the long, dark-brown hair that looked as soft as silk, but the feature that impressed him the most were the hollows beneath the soft curve of her high cheekbones. The shadows there gave her an illusion of mystery and hinted at fragility. When she left the party early, he’d followed her out the door, hoping for an excuse to talk with her. She stopped in the dark to tie her shoes, and he had stumbled over her, and amidst the ensuing laughter, he asked her out. They dated nearly a year before he was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  “Okay,” she’d said when he finally proposed during a hike in Provo Canyon.

  “Yes!” he whooped, jumping up from his knees to hug her.

  There had been no question of marrying in the temple, since neither of them attended church and Karissa smoked. At first this vice had surprised him, because she looked like all the other Mormon girls he had dated—untouched, innocent, and religious. Instead of objecting, however, he felt relieved that she wouldn’t hold him to all the things his parents had always expected. He’d served a mission, had even enjoyed it, but he didn’t believe in everything his parents did. Drifting away from their religion hadn’t been difficult. Later, his passion for Karissa had blotted out all else.

  Both of their families had been disappointed at their decision to marry out of the temple, but Malcolm had plunged ahead, counting himself lucky to have found Karissa. There would be time enough for religion when they were old—after they’d lived a little. He, too, began to smoke and drink socially. Nine years later, not having a religion didn’t seem to have made any difference in their lives.r />
  Or had it?

  He sighed and left the warm bed. Pausing, he tucked the covers gently around his wife, then shoved his legs into the cold confines of his Levis and headed toward the kitchen. In his thin T-shirt he felt chilly, and he stopped in the hallway to check the heat gauge, but it read the moderate seventy-two degrees that he and Karissa had agreed upon. Even so, the heat bills were outrageous. To him it was a fair exchange for the higher wages, unsullied landscapes, and fresh island air. There was truth to the Alaskan motto “North to the Future.” Alaska had been in his blood since the day he took his first step on her dirt; it was his future.

  Except the future hadn’t gone exactly as planned. The gulf between him and Karissa increased daily, and he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t only the lack of children, though that certainly tore at them. The rift was rooted in something more serious, something he couldn’t put a name to. He tried repeatedly to talk to Karissa about the situation, but when he did, she withdrew even more, and he’d stopped his questions for fear of losing her altogether.

  In the kitchen, Malcolm checked the cupboards for cigarettes. There were none, and precious little to eat. Neither of them had time for shopping. Digging deeper, he found some coffee. While it was heating, he slumped on a bar stool and studied the black and white ceramic tiled floor. It reminded him of a checker board and the games he and his father had played when he was younger. He frowned and raised his eyes.

  Karissa’s purse was on the counter, and he rummaged through it, searching for a cigarette. He found a pack of Camels with three missing. Camels had always been her favorite brand.

  The phone rang, and he scooped it up quickly before the one in the bedroom could wake Karissa. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Uncle Malcolm. It’s me, Curtis. I’m just calling to make sure you’ll be at the church tomorrow for my talk.”

  “Uh, sure. I remember. We’ll be there.”

  “Great. It’ll be good to see you.” The boy paused. “Hey, would you mind saying the opening prayer? My friend who was going to say it can’t come.”

  There was an awkward silence. “No, I don’t think so,” Malcolm mumbled. “I haven’t been to church since your little brother was blessed. I’m not the one to ask.” He didn’t add that he was far from worthy. He’d thought the boy understood his lifestyle. Probably his asking was a missionary tactic, something similar to what Malcolm himself had used on his mission in Arizona. It wouldn’t work on him.

  “Oh.” Curtis sounded disappointed. “I don’t suppose Aunt Karissa can do it.”

  “No, but we’ll be there.”

  “Okay, well, thanks. I’d better hang up and find someone. Bye.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Malcolm set down the receiver. His family never gave up on him, it seemed. They were determined if nothing else, and their fervor was topped only by that of Karissa’s family, who all seemed to be on the fast track to the celestial kingdom, if there were such a thing.

  He didn’t know why he was even going to the homecoming. He simply hadn’t been able to make up excuses to Curtis, whom he’d used to baby-sit as a child. Maybe he was even curious to see how the boy had changed in the last two years.

  Malcolm’s own mission had been the best two years of his life, though he didn’t like to admit it. “It was because I was young, that’s all,” he muttered. He poured the coffee, but the bitter taste didn’t appeal to him as it normally did. He gulped it down, burning his tongue. He cursed and dumped the rest into the sink. Checking his coat for his wallet, he walked to the kitchen door and shoved his stockinged feet into the hiking boots he had been too tired to store in their shoe closet earlier. Karissa’s boots were there too, still wet after her trek from the hospital to the truck.

  He stopped and wrote a note for Karissa: Gone to Kodiak to pick up some stuff at Safeway.

  He left the house, shutting the kitchen door softly behind him. He should have done the shopping yesterday, but the commercial he was shooting in the Aleutian village Karluk had taken longer than he’d expected. He’d run into one of his grandfather’s friends and couldn’t resist taking the time to find out more about the weathered old man he barely remembered from his youth. Because Malcolm’s skin and bone structure resembled his father’s side of the family, who had more Russian and Norwegian in them than anything else, it had taken some time to convince the man that his mother was native Aleut, making Malcolm a half-breed and indeed his grandfather’s descendant. The only parts of Malcolm that looked native were his straight black hair and dark eyes.

  When the man and his friends had finally opened up to him, they were full of information. “Once I saw Katmai wrestle a brown bear,” a shriveled man told him.

  “Really? Here on Kodiak?” This was a story Malcolm had never heard about his grandfather.

  The grizzled head nodded regally. “We was out fishing on the mountain and the bear went after our load of fish. Katmai wasn’t going to let ’im git away with it. He growled right back at that bear, and the bear went for ’im.”

  “How’d he get away?”

  A slight smile came over wrinkled lips. “I shot the bear, that’s what. I still have the hide.” He led Malcolm into his small wooden house to prove it.

  Most of what he had learned about his grandfather convinced Malcolm that he was strong, agile, and clever. He liked to think they were a lot alike.

  Shaking off the memories, Malcolm backed out of the garage and started down the dirt road. The air was cool enough to require the top on his Jeep, but the sky was a blue so clear it made his gut ache with an odd longing. The sky always looked this way, especially in the spring after a week-long bout of drizzle—like a rainbow, only all made out of blue, a promise of the warmth soon to come. Yet he knew Karissa wanted to leave the island, and he wondered if he would go with her when she did.

  Once in town, Malcolm’s stomach demanded that he stop at Subway first for something to eat. Inside, he sauntered to the counter.

  “Malcolm?”

  He turned and recognized his home teacher. Too late to make a getaway. “Uh, hi, Jud. How’s it going?”

  “Busy. You know, getting the halibut taken care of.” Jud managed one of the canneries on the southern part of Kodiak near the river. “Sorry I haven’t been able to see you lately.”

  “Well, I’ve not been home that much.” The truth was Jud Kennedy tried to make appointments each month, but Malcolm continually shrugged him off. He knew Jud from the time when he’d been active in the Church, before his family had moved to Anchorage. As children they’d played together at ward activities. Since Jud had become his home teacher, Malcolm had made it a rule not to return his phone calls. Several times Jud had dropped by without warning, and Malcolm just happened to be home. Other than that, they had no contact.

  “The ward’s really growing,” Jud said. His sandy-blonde hair was cut neatly above his ears, and a round balding spot showed on his crown as he ducked his head nervously. An anxious expression covered his fleshy face, and the muscles beneath his left eye twitched.

  Malcolm didn’t have to ask which ward; there was only one on Kodiak. “Good, good.” They stared at each other awkwardly. Ask me, Malcolm thought. Let’s get this over with.

  “How about tomorrow? Can I come by?” Again the muscles twitched.

  “No. Sorry.”

  Jud’s large face didn’t show surprise, though the twitch below his eye worked furiously.

  Malcolm felt the strange need to explain himself. “I’m going to the mainland for a mission homecoming.”

  “Oh, who came home?” Jud adjusted his belt on his wide girth.

  “Charles’s oldest boy, Curtis.”

  “Yeah, I remember Charles. I saw him a few years back in Anchorage at a conference. I didn’t realize he had a son that old. How the years pass. How is Charles, anyway?”

  “Doing well.” Malcolm really didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He noticed with relief that his order was ready. “Well, nice to see ya, Jud.
I’ve got to get going now. I have a ton of things to do. See ya around.”

  Jud opened his mouth to say something more, but Malcolm turned on his heel, pretending not to see. At the door he paused, lit one of Karissa’s Camels, and breathed in before going out into the crisp air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jud watching him with a frown on his meaty lips. He smiled. That’ll teach him. Had it been one of his commercials, he would have yelled, “Cut! That’s a wrap, folks!”

  Chuckling, Malcolm, strode out the door and to his Jeep, his hiking boots sloshing through the mounds of melting snow. He wolfed down the sandwich on his way through town, wishing he had bought two. He would have to remember to buy more sandwich makings at Safeway.

  The grocery store was bustling with activity when he arrived. Saturday was the worst time to shop, and it seemed as if every housewife in Kodiak was there. Still, amidst the bustle, the store was oddly quiet, and it took Malcolm time to realize what was missing. The children! Yes, there weren’t nearly as many children as there were on the mainland. Or especially in Utah. It had been one of the things that had fascinated him when he attended school. How could the women get anything done with all those children? He smiled. It had been years since he had remembered what it was like in Utah. If he ever had a child, he would bring him here to Safeway and let him make some noise.

  In this tender frame of mind, Malcolm bought all of Karissa’s favorite foods. Maybe this afternoon they could spend some time together by the fireplace. They could watch a video or go to a restaurant. It would be just the two of them, with no interruptions, like in the old days.

  He drove more quickly than usual to the house, for the first time wishing they didn’t live so far out. A soft, steady rain began, the kind that often lasted for a week on Kodiak. The already slushy snow would soon become a muddy gray carpet, and eventually sink out of sight altogether into the fertile soil. Then the rush of green would begin. New life. A happy tune ran through his mind, a song from his childhood, something about popcorn on an apricot tree. His lips pursed to whistle aloud.