Celebration (4 page)

She hadn't gone back to school that semester. Instead she'd sat in her rocker for months trying to figure out where her life was going. Logan had been so supportive during that awful time. It was Logan who put the dust covers on all the furniture, Logan who did all the things necessary to closing up a house, Logan who locked the door for the last time, and Logan who drove her away and held her hand when she looked back over her shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks.

They'd come back to Virginia fifteen years ago when Logan's elderly father passed away. Even then she was barely able to open the door and walk through her old home. Logan held her hand that time, too, while she struggled with the key.

Kristine rubbed at the tears in her eyes. It was all so long ago. Another time, another life.

As she unpacked her bag, Kristine wondered if living here with her family would be as good as the life they had led in all the foreign countries they'd lived in.

Logan's picture was the first thing that came out of her bag. She set it on the night table next to a small onyx clock that no longer told time. It would be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes in the morning and the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes at night. “I wish you were here, Logan,” she whispered. “We should be here together.” She was jolted to awareness when she heard a loud thump and squabbling coming from the hallway.

“Now look what you did. I'm not picking it up. You were supposed to hold up your end, Tyler. God, I hate it when you act like a
press.
”

“Stuff it, Cala. I'm soaking wet, and I'm freezing. Mike should be on the bottom and I should be on the top with you.”

“Guess what, you jerk, we're cold and wet, too. We still have three more loads to go, so get moving.”

“Do it yourself. I'll make my own fire with my own wood. I'm sick and tired of getting dumped on by the two of you. I don't give a shit if you're twins or not. So there.”

“That's enough,” Kris shouted from the hallway. “The quicker you get those fires going, the sooner you'll be warm. You won't be able to take a hot bath because there's no propane.”

“Are you saving there's no
shower?
I hate taking a bath because you just sit in your own dirty water. I hate this stinking place. I really hate it!” Cala said tearfully.

“That's exactly what I'm saying. Now, get moving, and someone has to clean up all the splinters from the steps. I'll start dinner.”

“I'm not hungry,” Mike muttered.

“Me either,” Tyler grumbled.

“What could there possibly be to eat in this dump?” Cala said, blowing her nose.

Kristine threw her hands in the air. “Fine, don't eat. Starve. I've had it with the three of you.” She stared at the phone that suddenly pealed to life. A phone call! She picked up the receiver to hear her husband's cheerful voice.

“Logan! Oh, Logan, it's so good to hear from you. Is everything okay?”

“More to the point, is everything okay with you?”

“No. The kids hate it. There's no heat. They're giving me such a hard time. I guess we're all just tired. The house is fine inside. It's clean and there's some food. Tomorrow I'll get the propane. It's sleeting out, and this house is drafty. At least the phone is working. I picked up our new station wagon.” Kristine lowered her voice to a hushed whisper so the children wouldn't hear her. “This is the right thing, isn't it, Logan. Moving here, I mean.”

“Kristine, what's going on?”

“It's the kids. They're mouthy, disrespectful, and they hate it. Maybe it's first-day jitters and tomorrow will be the first day of school in what they refer to as a rinky-dink farm school. Look. You didn't call me to hear me complain. Do you miss us?”

“Of course I miss you. That's why I called. Did the furniture get there?”

“Dunwoodie said it would arrive tomorrow afternoon. Do you think I should call a plumber to install a shower? No one likes to take a bath.”

“Sure. Make sure it's all done before I get there. I hate a messy bathroom.” Logan chuckled. “Make sure you position my chair just right.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel Kelly, sir.”

“I'll say good-bye then. I'll try to call again next week. Take care of things, Kris. Love you, old girl. Let me talk to the kids now.”

Kristine crooked her finger at her oldest son. “Your father wants to talk to you.”

“Ah shit,” she heard Mike mutter. Cala sat down on the top step, her eyes murderous. Tyler leaned against the wall, shivering.

Kristine stepped over the fallen logs on the steps as she made her way to the kitchen. Her shoulders straightened imperceptibly as she slid strips of bacon into an old cast-iron skillet. Suddenly she felt better than she had in weeks. Logan would straighten the kids out in two seconds. Her husband loved her, but then she'd known that. Still, it was nice to hear the words occasionally. Now if she could just get the kids back on track, maybe things would fall into place.

What seemed like a long time later she heard movement behind her. She turned to see her three bedraggled-looking children. She smiled. “Dinner's almost ready. Change your clothes. By the time you get down here the kitchen will be warm and toasty.”

“We're sorry, Mom,” the three of them said in unison.

They were just mouthing words. Their eyes said they weren't sorry at all. “Me too. Hurry now before you catch cold.”

“I'm starved,” Mike said.

“I could eat a horse,” Tyler said.

“I'll settle for three eggs, four pieces of toast, and six slices of hacon.” Cala said.

“Coming right up,” Kristine said cheerfully as she struck a match to light the logs in the cavernous kitchen fireplace.

Kristine stared at the less-than-perfect Christmas decoration on her kitchen table, her eyes watering with the intensity of her gaze. The bright red holly berries were withered, the spiky green leaves were turning yellow and looked dry, their edges curling under. She wished she'd been more creative and taken more time with it. Last year she'd decorated the house in Germany from top to bottom. She'd started the day after Thanksgiving, finishing late in the afternoon on December 10, the day Logan chose for their annual Christmas party. Everything had been so festive and fragrant. She'd done it all and when each guest left at the end of the night, she'd handed them a gaily wrapped gift of homemade Christmas cookies.

She'd been so happy that day. Logan and the children had been in exceptional spirits, and it had been contagious. She'd even gotten a new red-velvet gown trimmed in faux ermine, an extravagance she winced over from time to time, and a new hairdo and a cosmetic makeover. Logan had leered at her all night long. Like a silly schoolgirl, her heart had fluttered and pounded all night long at the thought of what would happen after the last guest left. Logan had always been an exceptional lover, but that night he'd performed like a master.

Kristine shivered as she drew her sweater tighter across her chest. The fire was blazing in the kitchen, the heat was on full blast, and she was still cold. She looked down at the cold tea in her cup. Should she make a fresh cup? Did she even
want
more tea? Her movements were robotic as she filled the teakettle. The gas jet
swooshed
to life.

She paced from one end of the kitchen to the other, her shoes making clicking sounds on the old Virginia brick, careful to avert her eyes from the calendar hanging next to the refrigerator. She knew every printed word on the calendar issued by the Reynolds Propane Company. She'd stared at it a hundred times a day, her eyes watering as she ticked off the days until Logan's arrival. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone awry. There were three too many Xs on the calendar, which meant Logan was four days overdue. Christmas was five short days away. One letter and one phone call in thirty-four days had to mean there was a snafu somewhere along the chain of command. She tried not to look at the red X with the big red circle she'd drawn around December 16. Maybe there would be a letter in today's mail. Her gaze swept to the kitchen clock. Thirty more minutes until the mailman tooted his horn out by the road. One toot meant no mail. Two toots of the foggy-sounding horn meant mail. She kept the house purposely quiet around this time of day, turning off the kitchen radio and the new television set in the living room to make sure she heard the horn.

“Logan, I am going to strangle you when you get here for causing me all this worry. How much trouble is it to make one phone call, send one scribbled postcard? This is so unfair of you.”
Damn, if I don't watch it, I'll be blubbering all over the place.

Kristine continued to pace as she waited for the water to boil. She really needed to make a new one and this time put some creative effort into it. In a rush of something she couldn't define, she picked up the dried-out Christmas centerpiece and tossed it in the trash can under the sink. Now, all she had to contend with was the calendar. She wished she could ignore it, but the propane advertisement drew her like a magnet. She turned away as she tried to focus on the old-fashioned kitchen. Everything now looked halfhearted. The red-checkered curtains were too short and too faded. The braided rugs were skimpy and looked out of place on the expanse of brick floor. The place mats that matched the curtains were wrinkled and tacky-looking on the claw-footed monster table. Now that the centerpiece was gone, the table looked forlorn. There was no life in this kitchen the way there always had been life and energy in her other kitchens around the world. The kids always did their homework at the kitchen table with hot cups of cocoa. Now they huddled in their rooms with the doors shut.

Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. A chill ran up Kristine's arm just as the kettle whistled. At the same moment the kettle shot off its plume of steam, the phone rang and the mailman tooted twice. Kris burst into tears while she struggled with the gas burner. She managed to pick up the phone and to say hello in a garbled voice she didn't recognize as her own.

“Kristine, it's Aaron Dunwoodie. You sound strange. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, Aaron,” she lied. “I think I might be coming down with a cold. What can I do for you today?”

“I'd like you to come into the bank tomorrow if possible. I'll be free all morning.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I believe so. I don't like to discuss business over the phone. How does ten o'clock sound?”

“It's fine, Aaron. I'll be there. Do I need to bring anything?”

“Bring whatever Logan sent home with you. All the account information and your bankbooks.”

“All right. I'll see you at ten.”

“Perhaps we should make it nine instead. There's a snow advisory tomorrow for midday. These weather people never get it right. Yes, nine is good.”

“Then nine it is.”

Kristine hung up the phone, a frown building on her face. What exactly did Aaron mean when he said bring everything Logan gave her? Logan hadn't given her anything. She shrugged. Right now she had more important things on her mind. She beelined for the door, shrugging into her jacket as she raced out to the mailbox. She wanted to howl her misery as she withdrew two catalogs and a bill from Reynolds Propane. She slammed the door of the mailbox so hard it flopped open again. She gave the post a kick as she clicked the metal door to the fastener. “Well, I've had enough of this!” she stormed as she raced to the house to get out of the cold. Aaron was right about the snow. It felt like snow right now. She looked upward at the gray scudding clouds. She didn't need a weatherman to tell her it would snow before the day was over. If she was going to go into town tomorrow, she had to find her father's old set of chains in case the roads weren't plowed. She also needed to gather some evergreen branches to make a new centerpiece. Later. Everything these days was always later. She also needed to think about making something for dinner, something that didn't come out of a box.

Back in the kitchen, Kristine sat down on the raised hearth, the searing heat warming her back and neck. She hated crying like this, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Something was wrong. Logan should have been here by now. Morbid thoughts ricocheted inside her head as she sought for reasons why her husband was four days late in returning to the States. Did he have an accident? Was there one last mission? The thought was so stupid she bit down on her lower lip. Logan had never gone on a mission in his entire military career. Amnesia was a possibility. A plane crash. There had been nothing on the news. He stayed longer than intended to party with some of his fellow officers, most of whom he would never see again. That must be it. Maybe he simply lost track of time, missed his flight, and had to wait for a reservation to open up. He would pop in anytime now shouting, “Surprise!” at the top of his lungs.

It wasn't going to happen. She didn't know how she knew, she just knew. Woman's intuition along with good old gut instinct.

“I've had enough of this,” she muttered. Within minutes she had what she called her global address book in hand. Upstairs she had three more just like it, each page filled with names, addresses, and little notes about the people she'd met during twenty years in the military. She flipped the pages to the section marked Germany, running her fingers down the list until she located the names she wanted. As she dialed the country code, she calculated the time difference in her mind. Not that she cared one way or the other.

The chaplain's voice was somber-sounding to her ears. Did she interrupt his prayers? “Tom, it's Kristine Kelly. How are you? Shivering! It's very cold here in Virginia, too. It is December. I understand the weatherman has predicted snow for tomorrow.
Get on with it, Kristine
,
ask him. Stop with the small talk.
Tom, Logan is three days late. Do you happen to know if he was detained for some reason? Mail is so slow at this time of year and our phone system is not the best way out here in the country.”

“As far as I know Logan left on schedule, Kristine. There was the usual round of parties, gag gifts, hoots, and hollers. It was my understanding that Captain Dellwood drove him to the airport. Logan did come by the night before he left to say good-bye. We had a beer and talked for about an hour. It was my impression he was flying straight into Dulles. I wish I could be of more help. I can call around to see if there was a change in plans and call you if I find out anything.”

“I would appreciate it, Tom. I'm worried. This is not like Logan. He's only called once and sent one letter. The kids are as jittery as I am. Logan is not a thoughtless, inconsiderate person. I think you know that, Tom.”

“Yes, I do know that. Like I said, I'll check around and get back to you. I'm sure there was a glitch along the way. It's possible he's stranded somewhere. The weather here has not been good.”

Kristine's voice was tortured when she said, “Tom, you don't think anything happened to him, do you?”

“Kristine, you would have heard by now if something had happened. I'm sure it's nothing more than a mixup somewhere along the line. I'll call when I know something. Say hello to the children for me.”

“I will. Thanks, Tom. You've been a wonderful friend to this family. Don't eat too much plum pudding this year. Merry Christmas.”

“I need to do something with this kitchen before Logan gets home,” Kristine muttered. Somewhere in the storage room there were boxes and boxes of fabric she'd purchased over the years in all the foreign ports they'd stopped at. If she hauled out her sewing machine, she could whip up a new set of curtains, make cushion covers for the chairs and the rocker that sat by the fire, and even make some new holiday place mats. If she really wanted to be creative, she could glue some fabric on the pull-down shades on both kitchen doors. If she wanted to, she could go outside and gather armfuls of evergreens to put in clay pots. A colorful ribbon around the crock would add a festive touch. If she hurried, she could have it all done by the time the kids got home from school at four o'clock. If she wanted to. The only problem was, she didn't want to. She wanted to sit here at the table sucking her thumb while she pretended nothing was wrong.

Dellwood. Kristine squeezed her eyes shut to try and get a mental picture of the captain. When the captain's likeness failed to materialize, she opened her eyes. Maybe the captain was new to the base. Was he in the directory?

Stapled to the last page of her address book was the latest list of new as well as old officers living on base. Her friend Sadie Meyers had handed her the list the day before she left, saying, “In case you want to get in touch with any of us.” A smile tugged at the corners of Kristine's mouth. Trust Sadie to put the list in alphabetical order. She ran her finger down the list and there he was, Captain Laurence Dellwood.

Kristine didn't stop to think. She dialed the number opposite the captain's name. The words hurtled from her mouth, the moment the captain identified himself. She ended with a rush saying, “I'm sure you understand how worried we are. Can you tell me anything, Captain? Was there a mixup? Did Logan's flight get canceled?”

“Ma'am, as far as I know, Colonel Kelly boarded his flight with ten minutes to spare. I saw him checking his ticket en route to the airport, and he said he had a straight through flight to Dulles. He said he couldn't wait to get home, and this was going to be the best Christmas ever. Did you check with Dulles, Mrs. Kelly?”

“No. No, I didn't, but I will when I hang up. I don't suppose you know his flight number.”

“The colonel said he was flying Lufthansa, with one stop somewhere, but I can't remember where it was, ma‘am. I'm sorry. The colonel's flight left at 0600 hours December 15. He said he would probably be drinking coffee while he stared at his Christmas tree on December 16, all the while marveling at the fact that he was a civilian again. He wished me luck with my tour, shook my hand, said ‘Merry Christmas, Captain,' and then he was gone. That's all I know, ma'am.”

Kristine felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. “What about his luggage, Captain?”

“Luggage?”

“Yes, what happened to it?”

“The colonel didn't have any luggage, ma'am, just a small flight bag. I assumed everything else had been shipped.”

“I see.” Damn, she didn't see at all. “Thank you, Captain. Have a nice holiday.”

In
a near trance, Kristine paced the kitchen. Logan had left Germany on schedule. Where in the name of God was he? Something was wrong? “My God!” she cried, Logan could be buried in a ditch somewhere, and I'll never know.
Oh, God, Oh, God!
She was going to do something. What? Make coffee? Tea? A centerpiece for the kitchen table? Even a new wreath for the front door? She was going to do some sewing. The middle of the huge bare table made her flinch. No, no, no, she wasn't going to do any of those things. She was going to call Dulles Airport.

Fifteen minutes later, Kristine slammed the phone down in disgust. Civilian passenger information was sacrosanct. Maybe she could call the airline in Germany. She placed the call and switched to German when she spoke. The result was the same. Lufthansa did not divulge passenger information. Now what was she supposed to do? Make coffee, create a new centerpiece for the kitchen table like a good little wife, write another letter she would never get to mail.