Authors: Misha Crews
Mother picked up a small silver frame. “Oh, I haven’t seen this one in a long time,” she said softly.
Chris looked more closely. It was a picture of the two of them at the beach. She was holding him. The sun shone down, and the ocean waves lapped the sand behind them. The colors in the snapshot were faded, but the image was clear. Mom was looking at the camera, and Chris was looking at her. And both of them were beaming.
“That was taken the summer before Bess was born, wasn’t it? I remember that day,” Chris said.
“How could you? That was almost thirty years ago!”
He answered simply. “Because that was the happiest I had ever seen you.” He looked down at his mother, remembering well the days when he used to look
up
at her.
Then Chris turned his attention back to the photograph. “That would have been 1957. A lot’s happened since then,” he said, voicing the thought he’d had in the car. “I’ve sometimes wondered what it was that made you so happy that day.”
Mother replaced the photo on the shelf, carefully sliding it in among the others. “If you’ve wondered, why didn’t you ask me?”
“I guess I thought it wasn’t my business. Or maybe I thought that you’d tell me someday, if you ever wanted to.”
Suddenly he realized his mother was looking at him with a loving expression in her wide gray eyes. “You’ve turned into a fine man, Christopher Appleton.”
He felt the hot prickle of a blush invade his cheeks. Compliments had always made him uncomfortable. “Well thanks, Mom. You’re pretty awesome yourself.”
Her gaze drifted back to the picture. “I haven’t always taken an easy path in life, and many times I’ve been afraid that you would suffer for my mistakes.”
Then she smiled. “But either by good fortune or divine intervention, you turned out well, and so did Bess. Better than well. I think that one of the hardest things for any child to do is to look at his parents as if they were people — red-blooded human beings who make mistakes, tell lies, and keep secrets.” Again she looked up at him. “The fact is, you’re a grown man, who no doubt has secrets of his own.”
Chris shifted, the beginnings of a protest bubbling on his lips. But Mom lifted her hand. “Don’t try to deny it, son, and don’t worry. This conversation isn’t about your private business.”
“No?” That apprehension was creeping back. “Is it about yours?”
“I think….” Jenna took a breath. She looked back at the shelf, at the cluster of images crowded together. “I think what it’s really about is that picture.”
C
HAPTER
O
NE
July 1950
A
GUST OF WIND HIT THE
Buick broadside, and Jenna tightened her grip on the steering wheel, determined to keep the car on the road. The windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the pounding rain. She leaned forward, trying to see beyond the downpour, through the dark night to the road ahead.
Her mouth compressed into a grim line, and her heart throbbed in her chest. She was angry at herself for getting caught in the storm. She’d known it was coming and had been determined to leave the wake in time to avoid it.
Considering the summer heat, she’d expected most people to leave by then, anyway. But the mourners had been reluctant to leave Bill and Kitty’s big old house at the end of the road, with the tall trees giving much-needed shade and sending cool breezes through the high rooms.
Jenna had stood on their front porch and watched the storm roll in across the valley below her, feeling like a prisoner in her drab black dress, the sweat gathering on her scalp. Eventually Bill had come out to find her, to check on her, and had guided her back inside.
“It’s going to rain,” she had said.
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” He had used his most gentle voice, the one that sounded like an amiable bear growling. But he had not looked at her.
“People should leave soon so they don’t get caught in the storm,” she had added, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. Urgency was so inappropriate at a time like this.
“You don’t need to be worrying over that right now,” he had said kindly.
She had glanced up into his face, seen the grief and compassion there, and had been hit by a blackened wave of guilt. It wasn’t fair of her to want to leave so early. It was ugly and ungrateful of her to be so desperate to escape. So she had allowed herself to be seated in a comfortable chair, to accept condolences while the sky grew steadily darker and the wind whipped the tree branches into a frenzy.
And as the first fat drops began to fall from the sky, she had at last gotten away.
In the downpour now, the drive from Burke to Arlington had never seemed so long. Side streets quickly became perilous rivers of streaming water. And even Linden Street, usually a flat, straight ribbon of highway bordered by the friendly faces of newly-built houses, had become a treacherous black snake in the rain. Streetlights flickered intermittently through the deluge, but they were as distant as stars, offering little illumination and no comfort.
When Jenna finally spotted the sign for her turnoff, her entire body shimmered with relief. She downshifted, slowed to a near-stop, and turned the wheel left, hand-over-hand, guiding the car onto Farley Street. She navigated around the traffic circle and pulled slowly into their driveway.
No, not
their
driveway.
Her
driveway, now. Just hers.
She turned off the headlights and wipers, set the brake, and turned off the engine.
She had made it. She was home.
The rain pounded on the roof like jungle drums, a good match for the steamy heat filling the inside of the car. She peered through the rain-blurred windshield. The porch light was on, as was the lamp in the living room window. Jenna smiled faintly. Stella was always thinking of her.
Jenna picked up her pocketbook and pushed open the car door, then locked and closed it carefully. The Buick was Bill’s new car, his pride and joy, and she wanted to treat it with all the gentleness it was due. Ignoring the downpour, she walked slowly through the gate and up the back stairs to the kitchen door.
As she slipped her key into the lock, the welcome sound of barking erupted from inside. She pushed open the door and was met by a large cold nose shoving insistently into her free hand. Jenna smiled again as the barking gave way to a snuffling sound of greeting and the puppyish whimperings of happiness.
“Calm down, Fritz.” Jenna entered the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “You’re too old for that.” She spoke stiffly, even sternly, but she dropped her purse on the floor to give the German Shepherd’s ears a good rubbing, and she patted him hard on the side, just the way he liked.
She pushed past him and turned on the kitchen light, wincing at the sudden harsh brightness that filled the tiny space. She retrieved her pocketbook from the linoleum and placed it on the kitchen table. Then she picked up the telephone receiver and winced with each rotation of the dial.
But a promise was a promise, and she didn’t want the Appletons to worry. The phone rang only once before it was picked up, and Jenna heard her mother-in-law’s voice on the other end.
She swallowed and spoke lightly. “Hello, Mother? I’m here. I made it back safely.”
“Jenna.”
Kitty’s voice was soft and just a bit less precise than usual. “I’m so glad to hear from you. How were the roads?”
“Not too bad,” Jenna lied. “The car handled perfectly. Will you thank Dad again for letting me borrow it?”
“Of course, dear. He’ll be so relieved to know you made it home safely. You know how he worries.” Kitty paused. “I still don’t know why you felt the need to drive all the way back there tonight. You could’ve stayed with us another night. What would it have hurt?”
Jenna closed her eyes. “Mother, you promised.”
“I know, I know.” Kitty sounded defensive, and more than a little wounded. “It’s just that you’re all that we have left now.” The voice turned mournful and broke gently. Jenna could picture her mother-in-law leaning against the wall for support, phone clutched tightly in both hands. “All that we have left in the world. And we want to keep you safe; you know that.”
Jenna softened. How could she not? “Yes, I know.” She swallowed again. She felt as though she shouldn’t ask the next question, that the answer would only make her angry, but she couldn’t help herself. “Did Adam call yet?”
“No, dear, not yet. I’m sure he’ll call when he can. His telegram said he was on his way. But with this weather….”
“I know. I’m just sick of waiting for him.”
“
Jenna
.” Kitty’s voice was disapproving.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said bitterly. “But he and Bud were friends for more than twenty years!”
“He’ll be here when he can. Korea is a long way away.”
“It’s been two weeks!”
“You think I don’t know that
?
”
The anguish in Kitty’s voice sliced Jenna’s heart.
Jenna could feel that guilt-wave crashing down on her again. Any more and it would drown her. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and that time she meant it. “I had no right to speak to you that way.”
Jenna heard Kitty breathing on the other end of the line.
“He’ll be here when he can,” Kitty repeated emphatically.
“I know,” Jenna said. What else could she say? She shifted. “I’ll let you get off to bed now. I’ll call you tomorrow and make plans to return Dad’s car, okay?”
“All right, dear. Thank you again for calling.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We love you, Jenna. Don’t forget that.”
“I love you, too.” The words had never come easily for her, so she repeated them. “I love you both.”
Another pause. “Thank you, dear.” Kitty’s voice cracked again, and Jenna held her breath, waiting to see if one of them would break down.
Neither of them did.
“Good night, Mother.”
“Good night.”
Jenna hung up the receiver and rested her head against it.
With that task over, all the strength seemed to drain out of her at once. She sank to her knees, sliding down the wall to the floor. Fritz sat and watched her with bright eyes, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. Jenna held out a hand, and he stood immediately, toenails clacking as he came over to her. She rubbed his ears again, let him lick her fingers. Then she took his enormous head between her hands and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his.
“I’m home, Fritzy,” she said. He licked her ear, and she felt the tears squeeze from between her closed eyelids. She pulled Fritz close, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned into him. “I’m home.”
C
HAPTER
T
WO
T
HERE WAS A TUNA CASSEROLE IN
the refrigerator. Jenna stared without interest at the wax paper–covered container sitting on the metal shelf. The noodles and chunks of canned tuna pressed up against the clear glass sides of the dish, along with small, grayish-looking balls, probably peas. Stella, taking care of her again. Jenna tried to muster a smile as she closed the refrigerator door.
She fiddled with the belt of her robe. After scraping herself off the kitchen floor and drying her eyes, she had gone downstairs to the basement laundry and taken off her funeral clothes. She was sick of them. She had dumped them in the far corner, hoping they would get mildewed and wrinkled so she’d have to throw them away. Or burn them. The idea of burning them gave her a vague sense of pleasure.
Jenna had fished an old robe out of a box of clothes that she had planned to give away. She’d shaken it out, smelled it. It smelled slightly damp, but it was better than the idea of going upstairs to their bedroom —
her
bedroom — and finding something up there to wear. Jenna wasn’t sure when she would make it up there, but she’d known damn right well it wouldn’t be that night. So she’d stripped down to her bare skin and donned the robe, tying the belt in a tidy bow at her side.
And before she’d left the basement, she’d picked her clothes up off the floor and hung them neatly on one of the spare hangers in the basement closet. A soldier’s daughter did not leave her clothes piled in the corner, regardless of the circumstance.
Upstairs, Jenna had pulled the compact out of her purse and looked at herself in the mirror. She regarded her reflection gravely, taking no pleasure in the beautiful face looking back at her. She brushed her thick, dark hair, which was already drying into soft waves where it grazed against her shoulders, and fastened it neatly with a comb. Out of habit, and because she couldn’t stand the shiny, unfinished look of bare skin, she powdered her nose lightly.
After inspecting the refrigerator and finding herself uninterested in food, she didn’t know what to do. She wandered through the dining room and stood in the middle of the living room floor. Fritz followed, panting, and stood with his head under her hand. Occasionally, the German Shepherd would nudge her with his cold wet nose and whimper slightly, then look toward the door and shift restlessly, as if wondering when the other third of their pack was coming home.