The Last Detail

by Lisa J. Lickel

  “Tom is dead. In a fire. I…I don’t know anything else.”

  “Tom? You’re sure. That’s what she said? Not hurt?” Merit’s expression closed tight into the professional face he wore during difficult announcements or funerals.

  Amalia stared at him, willing him to crack.

  “You drove?” he said. “You’re okay to follow me home?”

  Unable to trust her voice, she turned and walked out.

  They took their separate cars back to the big house, empty of any guests this week. Amalia for once was happy not to be alone with him in the car.

  At home, Merit managed to have a telephone conversation with his sister. After the weepy disjointed conversation, Amalia wanted to get to Missouri as soon as possible. After calling airlines, she and Merit figured she could drive the distance more quickly than waiting for a flight and trying to rent a car. Merit would take the first flight out in the morning, after notifying the council members and making arrangements for someone to cover the Holy Week services.

  After the final call, Merit took Amalia’s chin in hand to examine her face. With sad eyes, he told her, “You need stitches. I’ll take you in to the clinic.” He passed a hand across his face and turned away for a moment. “I should call Joanie, Pru’s neighbor, again. I don’t think it would be wise for you to go tonight, after all.”

  “I’ll be all right. I know you still have your med kit. You can do it yourself.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t. I don’t have anything to numb you.”

  “You can, Merit. Only two stitches, right? And I’m tough.”

  He put his hands on his hips and gave her a rueful look. “I’m not.”

  She got up and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom. “Come on, you know it’s the best thing right now. We’d have to drive to the med center, and they’d still take forever. Pru needs me.”

  Merit made her take a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers and hold ice to her ruined lip while he prepared his suture kit. He avoided her eyes. “This should be done properly. You need stitches inside as well as outside, but I don’t know—”

  “It’ll be okay. Just get to it. I have to get ready to go.”

  “It will hurt.”

  Amalia distracted herself by focusing on the irises of his golden-brown eyes. His hands were steady, but he blinked away excess moisture often while he worked. When he tied off the final suture, he said with real regret, “You’ll have a scar.”

  “Should we put some bandage or tape over it? I don’t want to scare anyone.”

  Merit shook his head no. “It will hurt and maybe tear them out,” he repeated. “They’ll have to come out in about a week, depending on how it heals. That inside area may be a problem. You’ll tell me if the swelling doesn’t go down, or it gets very red, and you sense a funny taste?”

  Amalia solemnly agreed. When she was ready to drive away, Merit carried her bag to the car. His cursory hug chilled her more than his omission of kiss or declaration of love. All the way to Missouri she drove with the heat on high to counteract her hardest shivers of icy apprehension.

  * * *

  Amalia arrived at Pru and Tom’s lovely split-level house outside Kirksville, Missouri without incident. Nothing in the green yard and partially leafed trees, the blooming tulips or closed front door hinted at the tragedy within.

  Lawrence launched himself out of the front door, making Amalia drop her bag. He clung, weeping.

  Amalia knelt, looking up at Pru’s ghostly presence. Her face looked like the putty her dentist used to cast an impression. “Prudence. I came as soon as I could. I’m so sorry.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Pru wheezed a deep breath and beckoned them inside.

  Lawrence would not let her out of his sight, not even to sleep the rest of the night. Amalia let him stay with her, not daring to send him to the horribly silent Pru when he threw up several times.

  The next morning Tricia sat on the floor of the kitchen, brushing Portia over and over, while Pru acted as if she had lost her ability to hear. Amalia made a pizza for lunch, which no one ate. She wasn’t too surprised, as the pancakes she’d cooked that morning sat under plastic wrap in the refrigerator. Tricia ate one, plain and cold in the middle of the afternoon.

  Later that terrible day Merit came at last. He held his arms open to Pru, who went to him and clung as hard as Lawrence stuck to Amalia.

  When he’d finished putting Pru to bed in her stuffy, dark bedroom, he came out and looked at Amalia. “Thank you,” he said, while staring at her lip. “She’s been like this since you came?”

  Amalia nodded. “The kids. I…I’m not sure what to do. Lawrence cries until he throws up. He finally fell asleep an hour ago. I left him on the couch. He hasn’t eaten a thing.”

  Merit swallowed, his color fading, too, like his sister’s. Tricia stared at them both, and Merit simply took her on his lap, though normally she would never have admitted she was small enough to still be able to do that.

  “Let’s see if we can get Lawrence to eat something when he wakes up,” Merit said, laying his cheek against his niece’s hair.

  Amalia struggled to do as he instructed to get the boy to eat even a bite of anything whenever she could. Getting through the week was absolute agony, as members of the fire department sat with them and brought hot meals. Tom’s death constituted the beginning of mind-numbing pain while the family prepared to bury him and then go on without him. An investigation and the upcoming holiday held the funeral back until the Monday after Easter.

  Amalia worked with Tom’s captain and Prudence on the initial arrangements that had to be made, but she could not supply the emotional support only Merit could give his sister. Amalia gave them time to mourn, expecting nothing from her husband for herself. He had not touched her since he stitched her lip. He must have been disgusted at the sight of it, and she didn’t blame him for not wanting to get close. She hadn’t wanted to look, either.

  The day of the service shone cruelly stark and bright.

  Tricia and Lawrence walked hand-in-hand with her to the cemetery plot when it seemed Pru could manage only shuffling and breathing. Amalia hoped she would never share another funeral with her sister-in-law.

  “Tom was one of the good guys,” the captain said. “A fine father, loving husband, respected member of the community.”

  Amalia’s grief pulsed in her mouth with every beat of her heart. She had to stay strong for Tom’s children. He had done the same for her when he dropped everything last year to help search for Bunty.

  “Time might pass,” the captain said, “but Tom’s memory will go on.” He stepped away and saluted.

  Amalia closed her eyes and clutched the children’s hands tighter.

  As the pastor spoke the words of the service at the graveside, she studied her husband’s profile. He stood away from Prudence for the first time, as if letting her know she would have to face being alone. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he stood still.

  She had a feeling he took Tom’s death much harder than he let himself show and longed to keep him close and safe, to protect him from any more loss.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Merit glanced behind him at Amalia, standing a little distance away from the canopied casket at the cemetery, huddled with the children. When a bagpipe trilled, Lawrence started an unearthly high-pitched shriek. Pru hadn’t seemed to hear him, locked so deeply in a world of her own. Merit couldn’t be in two places at once and put his arm around his sister. Amalia took the kids away and stayed with them in the car. She left the door open.

  When the last speech had been given, the last handful of dirt tossed in Tom’s grave, Merit left Pru in the hands of Tom’s friends and went to the car where Amalia sat. Lawrence had fallen asleep, sucking on a knuckle. Poor guy. Amalia seemed able to control his hysteria up until now. Tricia stood to the side, staring back at the canopy and gathered crowd. What would happen when they left? He and Amalia had to go home soon.

  Home to
Fox Falls, where Merit needed to go on being everything to everyone.

  His mouth tightened, and he closed his eyes, struggling with impossible guilt at his behavior the night Amalia told him the news. What right had he to attempt to shut the world out? What lesson had God meted out, what punishment for his arrogance? He crouched in front of her.

  Merit could barely stand to look at his beautiful wife with her wounded lip. The news of Tom’s death had shocked her into hurting herself, and what had he done? Railed and complained about not getting the solitude he selfishly desired. He deserved her wrathful words. Forcing himself to suture her mouth had nearly killed him, but he took it as his just due. He had clutched the bloody gauze and lay on the bathroom floor with dry heaves for an hour after he let her drive away. Practically sent her away, in a frail state of mind and in pain. What kind of a monster had he become? He had even been relieved to send Amalia to Pru first, as if his sister’s needs took second place to the week’s worship events. His congregation would have understood…would have let him go and prayed for him, but he could not stand to allow someone to finish the preparation and preaching he had begun for his first holy week as their pastor.

  Lawrence sighed in his sleep. The little guy’s hand fell away from his face, but he still made occasional sucking motions.

  “Uncle Merit?”

  Merit turned at the sound of his niece’s voice. “What, honey?”

  “What’s going to happen next?”

  Amalia put her hand on Tricia’s cheek.

  Merit tried to think of comforting phrases and couldn’t pull them out of what reserves remained.

  “We can’t lie to you,” Amalia finally said. “Nothing will be the same. And for a while it will feel like nothing will ever be all right again. But then you’ll be able to remember your daddy without crying so much. You won’t forget him, ever, ever, but it won’t hurt when you think about him.”

  “Do I have to go home with Mom?”

  Merit winced and looked at Prudence, who stood near the mouth of the grave like a wooden light post with a broken bulb. She looked as if she should be in therapy right now. In fact, they all did. The captain had already mentioned that the grief counselor was ready to serve the family. Pru’s neighbors and other firefighter wives kept her upright.

  “People will be there to help you and Mom and Lawrence, Tricia,” he said. “Your mom won’t be like this for long. I promise. You all need each other right now.”

  Only then did he meet Amalia’s gaze. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  * * *

  Back at Pru’s empty house, Merit looked at Amalia’s lip. He reached gentle fingers to her mouth. “There’s time before Pru comes back. We have to see about removing those stitches when we return. I wish we’d had time to do it right. It doesn’t hurt?” He peeled back the lower lip to see that he had at least done a good enough job that she healed properly.

  “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

  He swallowed hard and stared at her, unable to formulate an answer. Merit missed her comforting touch so much. He had been so trapped in a strange world of stupefying fear all week that he had pled insomnia in order to stay away from her. Hugging the narrow couch in Tom’s den at night brought no relief. This very cruel love God showered upon his sister might be contagious.

  His actions and thoughts made little sense to him. Opposing voices of intense longing to be within touch of his wife and the self-loathing that kept him away from her made him feel short of breath.

  Merit put his lips against his wife’s temple and breathed in her familiar comforting scent. “I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

  “Of course you will,” she whispered.

  “The scar should fade.” With her trusting, forgiving gaze, he found redemption. Only then could he hold her and kiss her more carefully than he wanted. He would have pulled her inside of himself to protect her if he could. The thing he couldn’t do was cry. Even through a sadness that replaced his very marrow, he couldn’t summon tears. What was wrong with him?

  Before they left Pru’s house, Merit checked to make sure all prescription meds or other potentially dangerous substances were locked away and advised Prudence to take Lawrence to a child psychologist who specialized in trauma.

  He pulled his sister into a lengthy embrace, worried about leaving her.

  “I’m learning how to lie, Merit,” Prudence whispered in his ear. “Like Tom.”

  He held her by the elbows to search her teary eyes. “What?”

  “I told you so bravely once that I trusted God, but I lied. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

  Merit pulled her close. None of this should have happened. He counted on Pru to be in charge, to tell him what to do next, to give him advice. His life yanked him in a hundred directions at once. “I know. All I can say is don’t expect too much of yourself right now. Take it one hour at a time. Get through one hour first and see what happens. After school’s out, Amalia and I want you to come and stay with us for a bit, okay?”

  She nodded, sniffling and turned away. “Okay. I can’t say good-bye.”

  “That’s all right,” he said to her back. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry, Pru, but I have to take Amalia home now.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Amalia settled against the seat of the car with a sigh. Merit drove back toward Fox Falls with an unnerving intensity. His brittle demeanor wouldn’t take more than a whisper to crack. Should she force him to talk? Or let her drive?

  If they could find Justice, and maybe his little girl, they could fill in some of the aching gap in the family.

  She mentally surveyed her calendar. A couple of visits to discuss wills could be rescheduled. One client she had sent to Hudson for pre-planning before their own talk. Hudson had been happy to step in and help her. Merit had missed the holy week, but surely the congregation understood. Especially those who knew his family history. Amalia rubbed her lip absent-mindedly.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No, I’m okay. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “I’m sorry about everything this week.”

  “Why? You weren’t to blame for anything. In fact, you were the rock that held everyone together.” Merit had gone to great lengths to make sure the things he could control were carried out. “I’m the one to apologize,” she said. “I spoke so harshly to you. I had no right.”

  “Yes, you did.” Merit signaled and pulled into a wayside and turned off the car. “I need to tell you something.”

  Amalia took in a deep breath, prepared for another disclosure, another announcement of something she knew would hurt. What could he tell her that wouldn’t hurt her?

  “Amalia, please.” He touched her arm, her face, then he kissed her tentatively at first, then with an increasing pressure that stung. He pulled back before she had to push him away.

  “I missed you,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “So many people I’ve loved have died. My brother, my parents, friends, all the mountain children who are faceless to me. And now, Tom. I put off marrying partly because of this fear, using the excuse of serving God.” Merit bowed his forehead against hers, his chest heaving in an effort to control himself. Amalia had seen him teary-eyed, but never crying. “All week it’s been anguish, worry, fear of losing you.”

  Amalia tugged him gently to her shoulder and stroked his cheek. So his calmness had been a front, as she suspected. “Losing me?” She hadn’t understood. Oh, Merit. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong in front of me,” she told him. “We’ll get through this, but we have to work together.”

  After a pause, she said, “There’s something else wrong, isn’t there?”

  He mumbled, warm, against her, “How can I pastor God’s people with this terrible feeling inside me?”

  Amalia closed her eyes in wordless supplication to the Spirit who hears the groans of those who cannot find spee
ch. She had no answers other than he seek advice from those qualified to counsel him. “You should talk to Pete. Let me drive the rest of the way.”

  * * *

  Sleep helped. She sent Merit to bed when they got home and didn’t allow anything to disturb them the next day. He had worked ahead on his sermon series, and Amalia told Mrs. Fields to pick out her favorite hymns for Sunday. The secretary already knew where to find Merit’s message outline and Scripture to program into the electronic presentation set-up they used during worship.

  Merit talked to Pete and also went to see his ministerial friend, Gordon Wakefield at Abundant Living Church, before the weekend. Her husband had not shared much beyond their helpful advice that he should slow down. Amalia agreed with that, but as the weeks began to slip by, wondered where he would cut back.

  They were scheduled to accept their next stateside missionary family soon. She and Merit had also agreed to temporarily house a displaced Nehrangese family. Paul Dal’Chindri had already called once, the week of Tom’s funeral.

  And drifting along beside loomed the constant question of finding Justice.

  * * *

  Spring wound toward summer. Amalia spent time cleaning up her yard at her own little house while Merit visited homebound members of the congregation.

  Crouching beside a riot of daffodils, pulled grass and creeping Charlie in her weed basket, Amalia looked up as a shadow crossed the lawn. Sod had masked Hudson’s approach. Amalia held a gloved hand over her eyes. “Hello. What brings you here?”

  “I came to see how you were faring.”

  Amalia sank back on her haunches. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to set up a time to talk about our client list.”

  He could have telephoned. “I’m afraid I left my calendar at home. I’ll have to call you.”

  “This used to be your home.” Hudson stated the obvious. “Why haven’t you put it up for sale?”

  Amalia went back to her basket. “I don’t plan to sell.” She picked up the trowel and small rake and pulled herself upright. She took off the gloves and twisted her wedding ring.