by Jenni Moen
“Get away from her,” a thick voice bellowed, causing me to jump again. The voice and accent were familiar, though the timbre was unrecognizable.
My attacker reacted immediately. His eyes narrowed on me, as if to make one final threat, but he retreated into the shadows. His heavy body and lumbering gait would have been too cumbersome for an effective getaway under any other circumstances, but neither Father Paul nor I made any move to follow him. Instead, we stood staring at each other, the fear in the air still smothering us.
He looked at me with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” His hands gripped my upper arms as his eyes raked over me from head to foot to assess the damage.
My heart sputtered in my chest.
“Grace, are you hurt?” he asked, his voice more panicked.
I looked down at my stomach, half expecting to see blood seeping through my clothes. I exhaled in relief when there wasn’t any. I counted myself lucky. “I’m okay. Just scared.” A shudder ran through my body as I considered the what could have been.
What had I been thinking, coming out here alone at this time of night? It had been stupid. Reckless. My kids needed their mother. My husband needed his wife. Nothing I was doing was more important than them.
Observing the quaking of my body, Father Paul wrapped his arms around me. The warmth of his body enveloped me, and I stayed there until the shivering stopped. “I’m so glad you were here,” I said, when I finally felt a little calmer.
I expected him to let me go, but his arms tightened instead. “I’ll always be here for you, Grace.” His voice was so quiet that I wasn’t sure that he’d spoken at all. It was possible I’d imagined it.
_________________________
I finally pulled into my driveway two hours later. I lowered the garage door and sat in the car, listening to the ticking of the engine as it wound down and replaying in my head the police officer’s assurances that they would do everything they could to find the man. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the fight ahead of me.
Jonathan was standing, head bowed, with his hands splayed on the kitchen counter top. My brows raised at the glass of scotch in front of him. I wasn’t afraid of having a glass of wine or two and even an entire bottle on occasion, but Jonathan rarely drank. He didn’t like feeling out of control. When he did drink, it was only because something was wrong, and he was looking for an escape. Alcohol and his family had a long history.
The door clicked shut behind me, and his head raised in response. “You’re home,” he said. The words were laced with a slight slur, and he stared at me with a perplexed look on his face that matched my own confusion.
“I’m sorry that I’m so late. Are the kids already in bed?” I asked, hoping that he was just irritated at me because it was so late and that it wasn’t something more serious. I moved around the bar so that I was standing beside him.
His eyes narrowed on me. “For several hours, Grace.” His sharp tone didn’t surprise me, though the heavy exhale and drop of his head that followed it did. Shoulders sagging, he leaned forward as if he needed the counter to support himself before looking at me again. “I’m sorry. It’s just been one of those days,” he said. “Dinner ran long.” The fact that work had kept him out late wasn’t unusual and wouldn’t cause this kind of distress in Jonathan; late nights were expected when you owned your own business.
Unlike most of the wives in my circle of friends, I didn’t begrudge the time that Jonathan spent at work. We’d started the company in our college apartment and built it into what it was today. Though I’d helped him with bookkeeping and other behind the scenes tasks in the beginning, Jonathan was the reason for its nearly immediate success. There was no question that he was the brains and backbone of the operation.
Five years into our adventure, we’d decided it was time to start a family. Unfortunately, we hadn’t had the instant success with baby-making that we’d had with money-making. After more than a year of trying but failing to knock me up, Jonathan had all but demanded that I ‘retire’ so that I could focus all of my efforts on getting pregnant. As usual, he’d been right, and I’d gotten pregnant with Isabelle almost immediately after I’d quit.
From day one, she’d been one of those babies that was just easy. At the age of six, she was still easy. She was the kid that ate everything on her plate. She was the kid that you never heard a peep out of after the sun went down. She’d suckered us into thinking that having another would be no big deal, and her little brother arrived just seventeen months later.
However, no two children are the same even with shared DNA, and Trey was every bit as hard as his sister was easy. He refused to eat almost anything you put in front of him, and I couldn’t remember a single night when he’d slept through it. Even at four years old, our midnight traveler was rarely in his own bed when he woke up in the morning. He was our little artist. Our free thinker. Like his father, he would take the world by storm and had already made a good start by charming his way through the Mother’s Day Out program at St. Mark’s Catholic Church. There wasn’t a teacher in the program who wouldn’t give him anything he wanted.
My babies made trading work clothes and expensed lunches for yoga pants and Happy Meals an easy choice. Even so, I hadn’t forgotten about all of the goals Jonathan and I made together. Working side-by-side with him during those early years gave me a unique perspective. I understood the time and effort it took to build a business and keep it thriving.
When he looked up again, he rolled his shoulders as if to rid himself of tension. “You’re later than usual.”
The drama of events of the night hit me again. He was going to be upset. He would list all the reasons I should give up Karen’s Kitchen and shut it down. Some days I wondered if it was worth all of the time it took away from the kids, but I didn’t think I could ever give it up. It was all I had left of my mother.
“I was mugged in the parking lot as I was leaving. Dealing with the police took a while.” I said it with a wave of my hand as if it was no big deal. I used the same tone of voice that I would use if I were telling him that we’d run out of laundry detergent that day.
He closed his eyes for a moment while he absorbed what I was telling him. When they opened again, his gaze remained on his glass as he downed the last of its contents. He picked up the bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink before he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Grace, but what did you expect? You know how I feel about that place.” His words and tone were harsh, letting me know that he blamed me for what had happened.
“I know,” I said, trying to stave off the coming lecture though it was a hopeless endeavor.
“You don’t know anything about those people. They’re hungry and poor,” he continued, bringing his drink to his lips again. “Desperate people are the most unpredictable. You have no idea the lengths they’ll go.”
“I’d never seen this guy before. He wasn’t a regular, Jonathan. Besides, I’m fine.” I tried to address each of his points though I knew he wasn’t wrong. Tonight had proven that. “Plus, Father Paul came out just in time. He scared him off.”
“Did you get a good look at him? It’s important, Grace, that you gave the police a good description. How confident are you in your description?”
“Pretty confident. It was dark, but I got a good look at him. He ate dinner with us tonight so we’re going to ask around to see if anyone knows who he is.”
He turned to me but said nothing. He seemed deep in thought.
“I can’t shut the kitchen down. It’s important to me, Jonathan.”
His expression remained hard, but he pulled me into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry. I just worry about you. I’m sure they will get the guy, especially if you gave the police an accurate description.” he said.
“Let’s hope so.”
“Even if they don’t … all that matters is that you’re okay,” he said, rubbing my back.
“The police said that it was just one of those random things. I was in the wr
ong place at the wrong time.” I shuddered thinking about it. “Let’s talk about something else. How was your dinner?”
“Uneventful,” he said before grabbing my hand leading me to the living room. He walked to the fireplace and stuck a blazing log with the poker.
That had to be why he was drinking. Tonight’s dinner had been important. If he was calling it ‘uneventful,’ it hadn’t gone like he had hoped. “Wow. That’s some fire,” I said, changing the subject. “It’s going to be going for hours.”
“I didn’t know how late you’d be so I made a big one.”
I sank into the chair closest to the fireplace. On a night like tonight, I was happy to have the comfort of it. The lights in the room were dim, but a row of candles across the top of the mantle were lit, creating a shimmering glow on the wall above it. A glass of white wine sat unclaimed on the coffee table. He picked it up and brought it to me before sitting down across from me on the couch.
“For me?” I asked, referring to the wine, the candles, and the romantic fire.
“All for you,” he said, settling into the couch.
After tonight’s events, I’d earned a glass of wine. Wishing it were red instead of white, I brought it toward my mouth, but stopped to rub a smudge off the glass with my thumb. “I’m not sure about that dishwasher. There’s lipstick on this glass.”
He nodded in agreement and sat across from me on the couch. “Maybe we need to call a repairman.”
I looked contentedly around the room, appraising what I could see of the house from my chair. Though it had been tiny when we’d bought it just after getting married, it wasn’t tiny any more. We’d ripped it down to the studs and completely rebuilt it just two years ago. In its previous state, it was the place where dreams had been built. Now, it was my dream home. With the exception of the dishwasher.
“So tell me about the rest of your day. Any other excitement I should know about?”
Jonathan listened attentively while I recounted my day. Aside from the mugging, it was mundane stuff. I’d taken the kids to school. This was the last year that Isabelle would be at the church preschool. When she moved on to first grade next year, she’d be going to a much larger school. Trey, who was in pre-K would have one more year there. I recounted dropping them off and working my shift in the soup kitchen as Jonathan loosened the collar of his shirt and removed his tie.
“Did you see your dad today?” he finally asked.
“I did. The kids and I took him some lunch after school.”
“Good,” he said with a smile.
I eyed the man sitting beside me. Without his tie, he didn’t look nearly as formidable. His hair, which had been artfully arranged when he’d left this morning, looked like he’d run his hands through it all day. Another sign that he’d had a rough day.
Even though I’d just settled into my favorite chair, I stood again and moved to sit beside him on the couch. His lips curled into a smile. He knew I didn’t like being so far from him.
He could have teased me. He knew the effect he had on me. It was on the tip of his tongue to do so. But he picked up a piece of my hair, wound it around his finger, and studied it instead. “He needs to get out more. It’s been over a year,” he finally said, continuing our discussion about my dad.
In fact, it had been fourteen and a half months since my mother died. My dad had retired at the age of sixty only six months before and then was left to rattle around their huge house all by himself.
I missed my mother every single day, but I had a lot of things to keep me busy. My dad had nothing but a dog to fill his days. Consequently, he rarely got out of the house. I checked on him everyday to make sure he was eating properly, to make sure that he hadn’t given up on life. “He seemed better today.”
“I thought so, too. Are you going over there tomorrow?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure we will. I worry that he won’t eat if we don’t.”
“Take him out for lunch tomorrow. Somewhere new – like that new burger place on Caddo. She wouldn’t want him to live like this. She would want him to move on. He’s too young to stop living.”
I didn’t think that a burger was going to help my dad get over my mom. “I think they close for lunch at 2:00 and then open again later for dinner.”
He raised an eyebrow at me.
“I have to put together the take-away bags tomorrow so that they’re ready for Friday.” I squared my shoulders and prepared for part two of his usual lecture series.
He eyed me thoughtfully but said nothing.
I sat my glass of wine down and picked up his glass instead. “Thanks for the wine, but I don’t think it’s going to cut it tonight.”
A mischievous smile spread across his face. “My beautiful big-hearted wife is a lush and a thief.”
“Shut up,” I said, grinning at him at him like a fool. After two kids, my hips were too wide, and my hair was too limp. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was a tired mom. However, when he looked at me like this, I couldn’t help but feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. “I was looking at vacation spots online today.”
“Catching up on Kate?” he asked, referring to my sister who traveled the globe like a superstar for her job writing for a travel magazine.
“No. For us. I thought we could leave the kids with my dad and get away for a few days. Maybe just a quick trip to Mexico or something?”
“It’s too dangerous there right now,” he said.
“We could go somewhere else. I also looked at Turks and St. Thomas. There are some good deals out there right now. Heck, I wouldn’t mind Vegas at this point.”
His expression was reproachful. “I can’t take off the time from work right now, Grace,” he huffed. His voice was sharp with annoyance.
I looked away, scolded.
He sighed heavily. “Maybe in a few months, okay?” When I turned back, his expression was softer. “How were the kids today?”
“Good. I could not get Trey out of that Spiderman suit. He wore it to the grocery store this afternoon.”
“Of course he did.”
“Everyone was oohing and ahhing all over him – he loved it - right up until he tried to climb the shelves to rescue a bird flapping around the ceiling, and all the cereal boxes hit the floor.”
‘Look, Mommy! I’m climbing the walls just like Spiderman. Spidey to the rescue!’ he’d said just before everything came crashing down around him. He’d been so proud of himself right up until he’d discovered that he couldn’t fly.
“Did you clean it up?”
“I tried, but I ended up buying six beat-up boxes of cereal. Whether he likes it or not, Trey’s going to be eating shredded wheat for the next two months.”
Jonathan slid his arm around me. “You’re a great mother. They’re lucky to have you.” He said the words as if he knew they were the most seductive in the world, and I melted around him. His mouth met mine, and I completely forgot that he’d never told me about his bad day.
_________________________
The shrill of the alarm woke me. It jolted me from sleep and immediately set me on edge.
My head argued with the alarm. It couldn’t be time to get up yet. I felt like I’d hardly slept at all.
My arm was as reluctant to get up as the rest of me. I tried to reach out to slap the top of the alarm, but prickling needles rendered it useless. I rolled on my side to reach for the clock with the arm I hadn’t been laying on.
The numbers glaring at me explained why I felt like my night had been cut short.
1:38 AM was a wretched hour of the morning for the alarm to be going off.
The realization that it was not the clock causing the offensive noise hit me at the same time that the smell did, and my body finally reacted. Jumping out of bed, my feet kicked the shirt I’d been wearing the night before. In a daze, I stumbled around the bed, cut it too close, and stubbed my toe on the footboard. My yelp was drowned out by the bleating smoke detector.
“Jonathan, wake up! Wake up! The house is on fire.”
Fortunately, he was not as slow to react as I had been. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and was headed out the door even before I had my shirt over my head. His boxers were in his hand and he slipped his feet into them as he hopped down the hall.
“I’ve got the kids,” he yelled over his shoulder as he moved down the hall, his words barely audible over the chirp of the smoke detectors. As we got closer to the main part of the house, the noise began to compete with a crackling whisper that was both foreign and terrifying.
With nothing other than my children on my mind, I rounded the corner into the living room right behind Jonathan. There was no way either of them were sleeping through the wailing smoke detectors. Isabelle would be in her bed, afraid to leave it, and there was a good chance that Trey would be with her. For the past six months, he’d been just as likely to climb in bed with Isabelle as with us.
Unprepared for the thick blanket of smoke in the room, I gasped and sucked in a lungful. I bent over in half, coughing. “Jonathan,” I gasped.
He backtracked for me and pulled me down to the floor. “Crawl, baby.”
From the floor, I had a clearer view of the fire that was eating its way across the only wall that separated the kitchen and the living room. The other side of the partial wall, the side I couldn’t see, was where the double ovens were. Jonathan constantly chastised me for forgetting to turn them off. ‘You’re going to burn down the house,’ he would say as he’d walk by and hit the off button.
For the briefest second, I wondered if I’d finally done it. Had I burned down our house?
The thought ate a hole through my stomach. However, the instant that I reached the entryway, any guilt was replaced with panic as I clawed my way toward the stairs.
The flames were working their way toward the base of the curved staircase. The heat was stifling and the sounds that accompanied it weren’t the relaxing sounds that we’d enjoyed in front of the fireplace earlier that night. The crackling and popping had turned into something closer to a roar, nearly drowning out the still bleating smoke detector. Though I could barely hear it, I could feel its pulsing timbre in my veins, and my heart beat wildly in time with it.
