While He Was Away

by Karen Schreck

  In a way I’m relieved. Maybe I’ll just go home and get some sleep. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

  Linda tells me that I can take the VW. Isaac will drive her home. Her face is pale with worry, saying this. Like I might just let loose on her for all kinds of reasons—old and new.

  I feel the weight of the ring around my neck, and I remember what’s important.

  I manage to smile at Linda. I tell her it’s okay.

  If she asks about Justine, I’ll find a way to tell her that will be okay too.

  •••

  That night I talk to Jules on the phone for a long time. She tells me more about Zach, filling me in on his looks, his hopes, his strengths and weaknesses. I think she might be feeling run-down because she’s missing him so much. I know the feeling. I let her talk and talk. I know that someday she’ll probably do the same for me.

  We talk a bit about what we’ll do for the orphanage too. Jules goes to a big church. She knows she’ll get a lot of help from them. “There’s money there,” she says. “And even the people who don’t have money like to pitch in for things like this. Especially if we’re talking hand-me-downs.”

  “Which we are,” I say. “Except for medicine and stuff like that. Let’s hit the wealthy folks up for formula and diapers.”

  We agree this is a good plan.

  When we hang up, I try Ravi, but of course he’s working, so he doesn’t answer.

  And Caitlin’s on her big date.

  So I pull out all of David’s old letters from last year, and I read them all, from beginning to end.

  He sounds so young, I realize. He sounds like a different guy.

  And the person on the other end, receiving them? She was young too. She was a different girl.

  Twenty

  Linda shakes me awake the next morning. She’s upset, an anxious furrow between her eyes.

  “Tom called. He’s busy for some mysterious reason. Can’t work the lunch shift like he said he would. There’s a special party, some kid’s baptism or something. Isaac really needs our help.”

  We throw ourselves together and fly out the door into the VW.

  Red Earth is crowded with people in church clothes. They gravitate toward the center of their universe, at least for today. A glowing baby in a long, white silky gown, cradled in the arms of her equally glowing mother.

  The lunch-shift server, a twenty-something, sandy-haired hunk named Josh, who’s in the business track at Killdeer Community College, welcomes us with relief. “Isaac is up to his elbows in parsley,” Josh says. “He keeps asking me to help him garnish. I don’t have time to garnish.”

  So while Linda manages the bar and oversees the floor, I help Isaac garnish. And dice, splice, chop, grate. And wash knives, whisks, spatulas, and tongs. And load the dishwasher. And fetch tall glasses of ice water for both of us.

  We work efficiently. We treat each other respectfully. We are a team.

  I have to admit that I can see why Linda would fall for a guy like this. He’s pretty much a champ in the kitchen, and he’s not arrogant about that fact at all.

  Plus, he’s got those dreads.

  The baptism party is happy. The diners are happy. Isaac’s happy, and so are Linda and Josh.

  And me. I have to admit it.

  “Satisfaction at a job well done.” That’s what Linda says we’re feeling.

  If so, I want David to feel this way, over there. I want to help him feel this way.

  I’ll put up that sign at work tonight. I’ll make one for Jules’s church too.

  YOU CAN HELP!

  One of our own Killdeer soldiers is calling for donations:

  Gently used kids’ clothes, shoes, toys, and baby supplies

  needed for the Iraqi orphanage near where he now serves.

  Pediatric medicine, baby formula, and cloth or

  disposable diapers deeply appreciated.

  •••

  Linda and I take a break. We go home. She cleans up for the dinner shift. I grab poster board and markers and make not two signs, but seven. In addition to the one I’ll put up at Red Earth, I’ll put a sign in the library. One in the community center. One in the other big church in town. I’ll give one to Jules and one to Caitlin and one to Ravi.

  Just as we’re about to leave, Caitlin texts Linda and me both. She’s freaking out because Tom still hasn’t showed.

  Justine, I think. Tom’s getting her ready. He’ll bring her tonight.

  I roll up the sign for Red Earth and secure it with a rubber band. And once again Linda and I fly out the door and into the VW.

  “He’s never late,” Linda says, turning a corner so fast that the tires squeal. “This is just not like him. He’d better have shown up by the time we get there, or I don’t know what I’m going to do. Oh, Penna.” Now her real concern shows. “I hope nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just so reliable. You know?”

  I nod.

  When we arrive, Caitlin is placating Happy Hour folks with free Cokes. Linda gets to work behind the bar. I slap my poster up on the wall by the old, broken jukebox, and then I get to work taking appetizer orders. All the while, my heart thuds. Maybe Tom’s getting Justine ready. Or maybe, just maybe, something bad has happened to her. I’ve got to find a way to get in touch with Tom. But Red Earth just keeps getting more crowded, and Caitlin is looking at me in sheer desperation, and I need to keep taking those orders.

  I’m at the coffeemaker, filling two cups with coffee, when I hear Linda swear. I turn and look at her. She’s holding two overflowing steins of beer, very much the St. Pauli Girl gone all wrong, what with the spilled suds foaming on her hands and the bar. She looks up and sees me seeing.

  “Look at this place.” Linda’s voice is too loud. Now a few customers are noticing. She slams the sudsy steins down on the bar and sweeps her arms wide, gesturing at the crowd, the growing line at the door. “And I don’t know a Manhattan from a margarita.”

  I go over to her, speak quietly, trying to calm her down. “You called his house again, right? If Tom’s not there, he’s probably on his way.” With her, I think. Please, with her, because if he’s not with her, then something is really wrong. I swallow the knot in my throat.

  Linda doesn’t seem to hear me. She is frantically fumbling among the liquor bottles. So I go over to take an order from a couple in the corner. They’ve been waiting for a while, it looks like, from the way they’ve set their closed menus close to the edge of the table. Looks like Caitlin hasn’t watered them yet either.

  It’s only when I’ve set their glasses of water down that I realize the couple is Bonnie and Beau.

  “Surprise!” Bonnie smiles up at me.

  “I heard I missed you the other day.” Beau stands and gives me a quick hug.

  I’m so glad to see them. There’s so much I want to ask them. I glance around Red Earth—the growing chaos. Obviously now is not the time for the things I want to say. Things like Is he really okay? His drawings are scaring me. I think he’s lost weight. What do you think is really going on?

  “David said he talked to you about his idea for the orphanage. Don’t you think it’s a great idea?” Bonnie’s round face is flushed to the roots of her blond hair. Breathless, she waves the conversation on to Beau.

  “We needed a project. It’s a real stress reliever, I’ve got to admit,” he says.

  I point at the sign by the jukebox, and they both exclaim their approval.

  They rattle on then about their house and how it’s already turned into a maze of boxes and bags, all filled with everything an orphanage could need. They’d love my help in organizing it all.

  “You think our place was a mess before?” Bonnie says.

  “You should see it now,” Beau says.

  “I could come over tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe around—”

  There’s a crash and then Linda screams.

  I tear across the room, dodging tables, crunching through glass to where Linda lies on her side on the floo
r in front of the bar, a cocktail tray spinning like a gyroscope above her head.

  I crouch down, Owen’s ring dangling at my throat. But Linda won’t care about it now. She won’t even notice it. Her eyes are closed. Her face is white. Her breathing is fast and shallow.

  Caitlin drops down beside me, then yelps and leaps up again, plucking a piece of glass from her knee.

  “Call nine-one-one,” I say hoarsely.

  “It’s my fault.”

  I know this frail voice. It’s Justine’s. I look up and see her wavering above me in her white dress.

  “No,” Tom says quickly, moving close to Justine. “I never should have brought you here.” He looks at me. “We were at urgent care most of today. Some new issues. But she wanted so much to come here tonight, and the doctor said she could try.” He shakes his head. “It’s my fault—not calling, not explaining. I just wasn’t thinking right.”

  But I know it was my idea to begin with. I’m the one who made things even worse than they were before.

  Linda moans. I feel like I might freak out, which will make things worse yet. Breathe in. Breathe out. I turn back to Linda. I put my hand to her forehead. Her skin is clammy. From the corner of my eye, I see the vague blur of Caitlin’s arm. She’s gesturing so frantically that I have to look. There’s an ice tub, tipped upside down on the floor. Some of what I thought was glass is ice.

  “I thought I’d set it right on the bar.” Caitlin twists a purple lock of her hair around and around her finger. “Misjudged that one by a mile. It spilled all over the place. Linda happened to walk by just at that moment, and wham. All that ice—she slipped.”

  Customers crowd around us now. There’s a hand on my shoulder—Bonnie, peering down anxiously. And there’s Beau, standing behind her.

  “Nine-one-one,” I tell them.

  Beau pulls out his cell phone.

  Linda’s eyelids flutter open. She winces as Isaac crouches beside me. He takes Linda’s left hand in his. He presses his fingertips to her wrist and starts counting beats. Tears are streaming into Linda’s hair now.

  “Don’t move. Your ankle is broken,” Isaac says.

  That’s when I see the odd angle Linda’s right ankle makes, just below the hem of her black pants.

  Linda groans, her voice lower than I ever knew it could go.

  “It’ll be all right,” I hear myself say.

  Isaac shakes his head. “Forget the ambulance. I’ll take her.”

  I look at him. “How?”

  “That tray. Get it,” Isaac orders.

  The round cocktail tray has stopped spinning. It lies flat on the floor. I grab it and hold it out to Isaac. He tells me to slide the tray under Linda’s ankle. “Gently,” he says. “It’s important to keep the bone stable while we get her to my truck.”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “Do it,” Justine says.

  I nod. Isaac braces Linda’s ankle, lifting it slightly so that I can slip the tray beneath. Linda howls, an unearthly sound. Gritting my teeth, I slide the tray under the broken bone, and Linda lets out another cry.

  “Hold on tight to that tray,” Isaac tells me. “I’m going to lift her. When I stand, you stand too. Whatever you do, keep her steady.”

  The next moment, we stand. Isaac cradles Linda in his arms. I bear her on the tray.

  “Linda.” Justine’s voice is full of longing.

  Linda casts a wild look in Justine’s direction. “You.” There’s venom in the word.

  “Hush, now,” Isaac says.

  Linda moans. Justine leans against Tom.

  “Coming through,” Isaac says. He’s not even breathing hard, carrying all one hundred and thirty-plus pounds of Linda.

  She’s out cold suddenly, her head lolling against his shoulder. She’s never been that good with pain. Once, back in Ohio, she was working way too late after her shift at the bank, using a weed whacker on the ugly mass of yews that bordered our apartment building.

  “Someone has to take a little pride in this place,” she told me through the dusk. And then she dropped the weed whacker and cut the tip off her thumb. She howled like a she-wolf then too and passed out on the cold ground. I called the ambulance.

  “Lucky you didn’t lose your foot, working late like that when you’re so tired,” the ER doctor scolded her (and me too, I felt like). “But I’m always tired,” Linda told him. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  Somehow Isaac and I carry Linda out to Isaac’s pickup. Somehow we lay her out across the backseat without that bone popping through her skin.

  “She’s going to be all right?” I ask.

  Isaac looks at me. I’m crying. I didn’t know it, but I am. His stern, handsome face softens.

  “I’ll take her right to the hospital. She’ll be fine,” he says. Then he says, “You, Caitlin, Tom? You all can close up shop?”

  I press my hand to the sudden pang at the back of my neck. “Oh God.”

  “Do your mother proud,” Isaac says.

  •••

  I do it. We do it. Me, Caitlin, and Tom too, once he’s taken Justine home again and returned. We do Linda proud.

  Or if not proud, exactly, we serve everybody who still wants to have dinner in the restaurant. We feed them the best we can with the food we’re able to lay our hands on—stuff that’s already been prepared, mostly. Salads, soups, and cold sandwiches. Isaac always preps in advance, so we’re able to dig into tomorrow’s Irish stew too. Then we get the few people who stayed to pay up, and we get them out the door. We clean the place but good.

  Once the restaurant is empty, Tom hunkers down on a stool in front of the TV, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. He’s pretty much a basket case, he’s so guilt ridden.

  “I screwed up,” he keeps saying.

  I remind him for about the tenth time that it was my bad idea.

  Caitlin shushes us both. “Lighten up, already. It’ll be okay.”

  “Sure, thanks, right,” we tell her, not bothering to explain about Justine.

  “You kicked butt tonight,” Caitlin tells me then.

  “Nervous energy,” I say, undoing the top button of my polo shirt and fiddling with the ring around my neck. When I slip my thumb through it, then it fits. Only then.

  Only because of the honey hands in the freezer am I able to remember: David’s hands are just about the size of Owen’s.

  •••

  I’m driving home in the VW when my cell rings. I fumble the phone out of my bag.

  Isaac.

  “Your mom made the mistake of eating a bowl of soup right before she fell. They have to wait to get all the food out of her system before they set the bone. It’s going to be another two hours at least. They’ve got her on morphine, so she’s pretty loopy, but she wants to talk to you.”

  I pull the VW over to the side of the road and turn off the engine. I can’t hear her otherwise. Her voice is that wispy. She sounds far, far away.

  “Hello, sweetie sweet.”

  I have to smile. She hasn’t called me that since I was a little girl. “You okay?”

  “Fine and dandy.”

  She tells me how the room looks where she is, the color of the curtains in the ER—golden chrysanthemum, she keeps saying, like that’s terribly important—and the nurse’s plastic sandals—bubblegum pink, and also important. There’s a horrible taste in her mouth and her breath must stink, but Isaac is still by her side. She can’t get over that.

  “No one’s ever stayed by my side but you, Penelope,” she says. “Aren’t you kind of relieved that for once it’s him standing here? Not you?”

  I stare out the bug-speckled windshield. Beyond the smear and guts, the dark sky arcs like a spangled bowl—immense beauty I can’t yet clearly see. “As long as you’re okay.”

  “It’s no trouble, me being here, Linda,” Isaac says from the background. “I told you that.”

  Linda tells me that what she wants is for me to get home safely and rest up. She already has it all f
igured out. I’m going to be her right-hand man. No, girl. No, woman. I’m going to be her right-hand young woman, because her right ankle is broken, and she’s right-handed and footed too, so she’s going to need assistance. She’s going to need me every day by her side to keep the restaurant going, at least until school starts.

  “Can you do that, and the night shift too?” Linda asks. “It’s only a few weeks.”

  “Sure.” I rest my head on the steering wheel, suddenly exhausted. How will I spend any time with Justine—the little time she may have left, according to Tom?

  “Night, sweetie sweet,” Linda says. “I love you.”

  “Me too,” I say, but it’s Isaac who answers, “I’ll tell her that.”

  Twenty-One

  Next day Isaac calls, bright and early. He and Linda didn’t get out of the hospital until close to dawn. He just brought her back to his house. She’s out cold now. Mid-afternoon he’ll take a break from work, check on her. If she’s up for it, he’ll buzz her back home.

  “I’ll see you soon at Red Earth, right? The lunch shift?” he says.

  I hear the worry and exhaustion in his voice. “I promised,” I say.

  I can sleep for about another hour. I lie back in bed. And there’s a knock at the front door.

  I close my eyes. Next thing I know, rocks hit my window.

  That gets me out of bed. I go to the window, open it, and peer down through the honey locust branches.

  Caitlin and Ravi stand at the base of the tree, looking up at me. She’s holding a drink carrier, which holds three big cups of coffee. He’s holding a paper bag.

  Caitlin grins. “Meals on Wheels,” she says.

  They’ve brought breakfast burritos. We sit at the kitchen table, and immediately I wolf mine down. When I look up, they’re both staring at me, open mouthed, their burritos barely touched.

  “Guess you were hungry,” Caitlin says.

  I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I’ve been eating a lot of weird stuff. On the fly. This is like the best thing I’ve eaten all summer.”