Authors: Terry Odell
"You and your mom sit down right now,"
Maggie said. "Let me take care of everything."
Sarah sat on the couch, watching people
mingle. She hid behind a wall she had constructed for herself, her
fortress, and pasted a frozen smile on her face. Thank goodness no
one expected more than a polite, "Thank you" from her.
"Let me know if I can do anything, Sarah. I
want to help."
"Thanks, Chris," Sarah heard her mother say.
"I'm sure she will."
Finally, the last well-wisher left.
"I'll be across the hall," she heard Maggie
say in the distance.
"Thank you so much for everything," her
mother replied.
Sarah heard the click of the door closing,
felt herself being led to her room, felt her clothes slipping from
her body, and felt the cool sheets against her face.
*****
"Wake up, Sweetie. It's Maggie."
"No. Go away." Sarah buried her head under
her pillow.
"Honey, you have to get up. At least let me
bring you something to eat."
"Not hungry."
A blinding light stabbed her eyes. She
squinted them open and saw Maggie pulling back the bedroom drapes.
"Leave them closed. I like the dark," she said.
"It's been over a week since the funeral,
Sarah. You haven't left your room, and I don't think you've had a
real meal since your mother left. I know it hurts, but you have to
get on with your life."
"What's the point? Half of me is dead
anyway. Who cares about the other half?"
"Don't talk like that." Maggie sat down on
the bed and took Sarah's face in her hands. "Look at me."
"I keep thinking it's all a bad dream. That
if I stay in bed, eventually I'll wake up and…he'll be lying next
to me. I'm safe here in my room." She couldn't even say David's
name aloud.
"Tell you what. You let me bring you
something to eat. Then you can take a shower, and I'll put some
clean sheets on your bed."
"I don't want clean sheets on my bed! He
slept on these sheets."
Maggie pulled Sarah to her chest and patted
her back. "I know. I know. And I know it doesn't help to tell you
it'll get easier with time. You just have to trust me."
"You've been great, Maggie. Honest. It's
just…I can't…can't do anything. I feel so empty. And it hurts.
Really hurts. I didn't know how much it could hurt." The tears
returned.
Maggie held her until she stopped sobbing.
Sarah wiped her eyes and looked at her. Saw the worried expression.
She couldn't remember a time when Maggie didn't have a bright smile
on her face. A retired schoolteacher, Maggie had practically
adopted them when she and David moved into the building. She had
been coming by every day since her mother had to go back to
Indianapolis. Forcing soup, tea, toast into her. No matter how
angry Sarah got, or how much she withdrew, Maggie stayed by her
side.
"I might be able to handle some toast,"
Sarah said.
"Coming right up." Maggie patted Sarah's
hand and gave her a peck on the cheek before she disappeared.
Sarah took a quavering breath and pulled
back the covers. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and
made her way to the bathroom.
A week, Maggie had said. Sarah braved a peek
into the mirror. Good Lord, it looked more like a month had passed.
She scrubbed her face and winced with pain as she ran a brush
through the tangled mat of her hair. Her knees began to give way,
and she padded back to bed.
"Here you are, Sweetie." Maggie placed a
tray on the night table beside Sarah. "Tea with lots of milk and
honey, orange juice, and toast. And homemade blackberry jam. I
think you'll like it."
"Thanks." Sarah nibbled at the toast and
took a sip of juice. "I think you're right about the shower,
too."
"That's my girl. Your mom left some CDs. She
said they'd helped her when she was down."
"Simon and Garfunkel, right? You've been
playing them every day, haven't you?"
"Yes, although I don't know if they did any
good."
"I heard them. They didn't register, but I
do remember hearing them. Before Mom's divorce, she'd play them all
the time. Comfort songs."
Nothing had any taste, but Sarah managed to
finish her breakfast while Maggie sat with her. Afterward, she
showered and washed her hair. She reached for her robe, hanging on
a hook on the bathroom door. When she pulled it down, David's plaid
flannel robe fell to the floor. She slipped it on, surrounding
herself in one last vestige of David's presence. The soft fabric,
still smelling of David, filled her with both sadness and comfort.
She went out to the living room, welcomed by "I Am a Rock."
"Hi, Sweetie. Feeling better?"
"A little," Sarah said.
"Come over here. Look." Maggie stood by the
window.
Sarah joined her and gazed to the street
below. As if the heavens had heard the music, a shroud of freshly
fallen snow blanketed the lawn, branches swayed, covered in frost,
and swirling flakes dropped silently from the sky.
"The first snow we've had in two years.
Isn't it lovely?" Maggie asked. "Everything looks so clean."
"It's so quiet," Sarah said, remembering the
storm of the previous week.
"Come on. We'll talk." Maggie led Sarah to
the couch and arranged the throw over her. She sat down next to
Sarah and put her arm around her.
"Not yet. I can't. If I let go, I'll fall
apart." Sarah leaned into Maggie and listened to the familiar
lyrics. "They're right, you know," she whispered. "If I never
loved, I never would have cried."
"A few tears is a small price to pay for
love, Sarah. What you had with David is yours forever. Keep him in
your heart. Just don't close it to the rest of the world. A world
without the highs and lows would be a very sad place."
"Maybe. But later. Right now it's all I can
do to manage the middles."
"You have the shop, Sarah. A piece of
David."
Sarah burrowed deeper into
David's robe, inhaling his scent.
That
Special Something
. Hers and David's. Hers
now. "You're right. And it's going to be the most successful shop
in all of Pine Hills." She glanced upward. "No matter what it
takes."
* * * * *
Copyright © 2010 by Terry
Odell
This follows
Hidden Fire
in the Pine
Hills Chronology
Formerly published by Cerridwen Press
Randy may have his cop partner, but Sarah is
his new life partner, and she's aware that any new relationship has
its little hiccups. But what works with a fellow cop isn't going to
cut it with Sarah. Determined to dismantle his fortress, brick by
brick if she has to, she confronts him after a difficult case has
him retreating. Follow these newlyweds as their relationship moves
onto the next level.
* * * * *
For Dan – after all these years, we're still
coping.
With thanks to my crit group, the Pregnant
Pigs, and to Sandra, my first mentor, who's been there for me since
we played with Duncan and Richie. Thanks for the help, support, and
not-so-idle threats. To Jess, for the fight scenes. Thanks also to
the many people at the Orange County Sheriff's Office who always
answered my questions. Errors and liberties taken for the sake of
the story are all mine. And of course, to Randy and Sarah—real or
not, who refused to go away, even after I'd written them two
happily ever afters.
COPING
MECHANISMS
*****
Sarah smiled at the sound
of the front door opening. She centered the last slice of cheese on
a water cracker, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and gave a quick
finger-comb to her new hairdo. Would he notice the gold highlights
scattered though the otherwise dull brown? After all, he
was
a
detective.
His night shifts had ended, and they could
finally share a dinner followed by… Her grin widened as she thought
of the night ahead. It had been awhile since both were awake enough
to enjoy each other's company. Kind of tough on newlyweds, but the
special meal she'd planned should start making up for lost
time.
Her smile faded as she saw Randy's
expression. She hurried toward him. "My God, what's wrong?"
He pushed past her to the liquor cabinet and
poured himself a Jameson. He downed half in one gulp and stared at
some distant point. His lips were clenched, his brow furrowed like
a freshly plowed field. Being a cop was a high-stress job, but it
wasn't like Randy to turn to whiskey. Her disapproval must have
shown on her face. He glowered, and she felt the heat of rising
tears behind her eyes.
"Not yet," he growled. He
pivoted and stalked to the spare room. Sarah heard the door close
behind him. Sounds of Chopin's
Fantaisie-Impromptu
burst from the
piano. Sarah knew Randy played Chopin when he was upset, because he
had to concentrate. She also knew there was no point in disturbing
him. He'd appear when he worked through whatever had him so
tormented.
Sarah crossed to the kitchen. Hands on hips,
she took stock of dinner. The salad was ready. She added milk and
butter to the boiled potatoes, gave them a quick mash and stored
them in the refrigerator. Lamb chops, Randy's favorite, sat on a
platter, ready to broil. Dinner would wait. Listening to Chopin
wasn't what she'd had in mind for an appetizer, but she'd give
Randy his space.
She went to the living room and clicked on
the television. Maybe the news would explain Randy's distress.
She flipped through the local channels and
found only commercials. As she waited, she mulled over Randy's
behavior. Given his job, there were lots of things he couldn't
share with her. But didn't she mean as much as his piano, his
punching bag in the basement, or the high school track where he ran
countless laps? True, their schedules had barely overlapped the
last few weeks, but that didn't take away the hurt that he couldn't
accept her as one of his coping mechanisms.
The news theme song brought her attention
back to the television. "And, our lead story," the announcer was
saying, "is the apparent abduction of eight-year-old Amanda Brooks.
Could this be related to similar disappearances in Portland? We'll
be right back with that story and more."
Sarah gasped. A missing child. Oh, God, no
wonder Randy was upset. Sarah hit the mute button and listened for
the piano. Still Chopin. Something in a minor key. Louder now. More
frenzied. The announcer's face returned to the television screen,
and Sarah turned up the volume.
"The parents of Amanda Brooks reported her
missing when her teacher called to check on the child's absence.
Pine Hills Police officers have been working diligently to locate
the child." The television displayed a school photograph of a sweet
young girl, auburn curls tied back with a green ribbon, freckles on
her cheeks, smiling into the camera with the innocence of youth.
The picture switched to a taped interview with the parents,
surprisingly tolerant of the cameras and microphones intruding into
their anguish. "All the kids walk to school," the mother said.
"This is such a safe neighborhood. And it's only a few blocks."
Numb, Sarah thought. It hadn't sunk in for
them. That their daughter might never return.
And then Randy and Kovak, his partner, were
on the screen. Sarah saw Randy's clenched jaw, his hands jammed
into his pockets. "We have a few leads," Kovak said. "If anyone has
any information, please call the department." A number flashed at
the bottom of the screen. "That's all I can say at the moment." The
two men turned away from the camera, and the announcer's face came
back on the screen.
"We'll keep you informed as we get more
information. Now, for a look at the weather, here's our own Jamie
Franklin." Sarah clicked off the television set.
Determined, she strode to the music room,
but hesitated at the door. Closing it was Randy's way of
establishing his need for privacy, something she'd never violated.
But damn it, weren't they supposed to be there for each other? For
better or for worse? She reached for the knob.
The music swelled as she opened the door.
The curtains were drawn, and she stood in the doorway to let her
eyes adjust to the dim light. Randy sat in the near darkness,
oblivious to her presence. Sarah crossed the room and sat in the
armchair by the window.
When the last note faded, Randy leaned his
elbows on the edge of the keyboard and dropped his head in his
hands. Sarah stepped behind him and rested her hands on his
shoulders. He stiffened at her touch, then sighed as she began
kneading his tense muscles.
"Please, let me help," she said.
"You know you can't help with a case," he
snapped without lifting his head.
"Not the case. Help
you
. You're upset. I'm
part of your life now. You can't ignore me."
"Stop." He reached up and removed her hands.
"I'm going to the track. Eat if you're hungry. I'm not."
"Randy—" But he was already out of the
room.
Sarah sat on the piano bench and slammed her
fist on the keys. Before the discordant sound died, she heard the
front door slam, followed by the sounds of Randy's truck tires
crunching down the driveway. She whispered an apology to the
picture of Randy's grandmother for abusing her piano and went to
clean up the kitchen.
Randy had been single a long time, and
letting her in would be harder than remembering to put the toilet
seat down, but he'd have to adjust. She settled in front of the
computer. Mahjongg solitaire was her Chopin. And when Randy got
back from the track, she'd make him talk to her.