Still Waters (25 page)

His wife Evelyn had had secrets, too, things she’d never told anyone but Frank. Feeling lonely and isolated in the provincial little burg that was Oak Ridge, she had found ways of amusing herself, people to amuse herself with. And she had told Frank all of it, watching his reaction with a mixture of heartbreak and hilarity. “Get me to a nunnery,” she had misquoted, her voice caught between laughter and tears.

When the government’s mission had at last proved successful, when the reactor had gone online and he had finally been able to whisper to her in the privacy of their marriage bed, “We’ve done it!” Evelyn had not seen it as the victory it was, but instead seemed to feel it was the culmination of all the wickedness in the world — including hers. The following week, she had sewn rocks into her favorite dress, taken a rowboat out to the middle of the river, and gone over the side.

Damn it all! Frank had thought that when he met Jenna, he’d found the one woman he could trust not to tear his carefully-ordered world apart again. The cold severity of her façade had fooled him. Underneath she was just as warm and witless as any other woman. That he should still want her at all suddenly struck him as the height of improbability. But want her he did.

She belonged to him now, as surely as any woman had ever belonged to a man. And if she deceived him again, the consequences would be on her head.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

H
ALLOWEEN CAME AND WENT WITH A
flurry of leaves and gusts of damp autumn winds. Christopher wore his baseball outfit, and as Stella had predicted, Rose decided at the last minute that she would dress up. Luckily she wanted to be a Hollywood starlet: an easy costume, which Jenna and Stella were able to throw together in a quick blizzard of satin, lipstick, and laughter.

After Halloween came planning for Thanksgiving. Jenna, Christopher, and Frank had been invited to Bill and Kitty’s for the day. Jenna knew that Kitty had also invited Adam, along with a slew of other people, but Adam hadn’t yet given a definite reply. Was it wrong for her to hope that he would choose not to come? Her longing to see him was a desire that she kept tightly clamped down, like a craving for chocolate. She knew that if she could avoid coming into contact with him, eventually the feeling would disappear entirely. And if her world looked a little grayer for that, she would have to live with it.

Jenna herself had been tasked by Kitty to bake pies for Thanksgiving. Not knowing how many people would end up at the dinner table, she decided that it was better to make too much than too little. Pies could always be frozen.

On the Friday before Thanksgiving, Jenna sat in her car outside of Christopher’s playschool, waiting for the children to be released. That morning, she had gone on what she hoped would be her last shopping expedition before the holiday. But now she was reviewing her shopping list, certain that she had forgotten something. She planned to start baking tomorrow. On Sunday, Christopher would go to visit his grandparents, and Jenna would slip away to hear Joseph’s piano recital. She pondered whether or not it would be good manners for her to bring a pie for the reception afterwards, and wondered what Joseph’s favorite pie might be. Maybe she should try to do an extra pumpkin, just in case.

She started the car so she could run the heater. It was almost noon, but the day was still chilly, with thin sunshine shining from a distant pale blue sky. The last of the leaves had fallen that week, as if the trees had decided by mutual consent to shed their clothing and fearlessly expose their bare branches to the world.

Through the clear, cold air came a peal of laughter, followed by the thunderous sound of a dozen or so young children set free from the classroom. She spotted Christopher, identifiable as always by his red coat and the baseball cap that he refused to abandon. They might end up battling over that thing in a few weeks, Jenna thought, because before long it would be cold enough for her to insist on a wool hat that covered his ears.

But there was time enough to argue about that later. As Jenna got out of the car to open the back door for him, she waved to Miss Naverly, the principal. Jenna was never sure how such a slender, delicate young woman could handle so many robust five-year-olds, but she always seemed quite capable, and Christopher certainly never had any complaints. In fact, Jenna thought with a smile, her son seemed downright full of himself lately.

She held the door as he climbed into the backseat. With great aplomb, he pulled the belt across his lap and snapped it in smartly, as he’d been taught to do. He’d started chattering the moment he saw her, and as Jenna pulled the car away from the curb, he told her about the painting they had done that morning. “With real brushes, Mom,” he said proudly. “Not finger paints.”

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” She noted his use of
Mom
instead of
Mommy
with a pang. “What did you paint?”

“Oh, trees and leaves and things. Miss Naverly said my trees were really good. I told her that we have really tall trees in our backyard, and that we have a squirrel who lives in one and he’s my friend. Oh, do you think he already ate the nut that I put outside for him this morning? I left it for his breakfast because Miss Naverly says you should start every day with a good breakfast. There’s this kid named Johnny and he’s in my class and he has oatmeal for breakfast every morning, but I don’t really like oatmeal, do I, Mom?”

“No,” Jenna agreed absently. She was trying to remember if she had enough cinnamon at home. “You like eggs or toast with peanut butter for breakfast.”

“That’s just what I told him! And do you know that Johnny has never even eaten toast with peanut butter? I told him that it’s the best thing ever and that sometimes I have toast with peanut butter for breakfast and then a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, and I love them both, so can I have peanut butter and jelly for lunch?”

Jenna once more agreed, smiling to herself as his little voice switched back and forth from sounding very young to nearly grown-up. If he was putting on such airs having just started playschool, Heaven only knew what he would be like when he went to kindergarten.

They had just turned onto Farley Street when she saw the body of a squirrel lying dead on the street. Her heart stopped. The front part of the squirrel had been flattened, but the back legs were still pumping furiously, as if even now it were trying to make it to the safety of the sidewalk.

Her stomach twisted painfully, her physical self revolting at the sight. She jerked the wheel to the left, swinging wide in an instinctive attempt to avoid driving over the mangled gray body. The left tire caught the edge of the opposite curb with a painful sound of metal against concrete. She sent up a convulsive prayer:
Don’t let it be our squirrel. Please God, not Christopher’s squirrel. And please, please, don’t let him see that thing.

Jenna knew she should distract Christopher, make a comment about hitting the curb, point out something on the other side of the street, say something — anything — that would direct his attention someplace else. She opened her mouth, but her voice clogged in the back of her throat. It was only for a split second, but it was enough. A wail came from the back seat.

“Mommy!”

She said the one thing that she should not have said. “Don’t look, sweetheart. Don’t look at it.”

But again she was too late. Her son’s pale face was pressed up against the glass, one hand on either side. It seemed to take forever for them to roll past the monstrosity.

“Mommy,” he said again, softly. And heartbreak lay within that word.

“It’s not our squirrel,” she told him firmly.

Moments later they reached the house. The car had barely come to a stop when Christopher unbuckled his seat belt and launched himself out the door. “Christopher, slow down! Be careful!” she called, but he was already gone, around the back of the house, to check on the walnut that he had so carefully laid out this morning. She knew from his silence that it was still there. Caramel-colored and silky smooth, a half-sphere that spoke volumes.

Christopher ran and found Fritz, wrapped his arms around the dog’s thick neck, and burst into tears.

* * *

He cried for hours. Sitting on the back porch, watching the trees, hoping against hope that his bushy-tailed friend would come hopping over the grass. Tears stained his eyes red, left trails down his cheeks. Jenna tried to coax him into the house to eat something, but he would have none of it. When she tried to pick him up and carry him in, he became hysterical. Finally she could only sit with him, one hand on his back, as the afternoon rolled on to early evening, and the light began to fade.

“The squirrel is dead,” Christopher said softly. His voice was rough with weeping.

Jenna shivered. Death. It was all around her. It clung to her like a fog, smothering her no matter which way she turned. And now it had touched her son.

“A
squirrel is dead,” she said, rallying. “But we don’t know it was
our
squirrel.”

“But we don’t know it
wasn’t,”
he returned tearfully. Inexorably logical. Just like his mother.

She knew that Christopher was picturing those legs, pumping furiously, running for safety. And above the legs…nothing. She knew, because she couldn’t get the image out of her own mind. Fritz came over and nosed in between them, resting his giant head on Christopher’s knee. His deep brown eyes glowed with love and sympathy. He didn’t know what was going on, but he wanted to make it better.

“Look, sweetie,” Jenna whispered. “Fritz wants to help.”

Christopher reached out to stroke the silky ears, but his hand faltered as a sob rose in his throat.

“It was still running,” he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her lap, as she’d wanted to do for hours. “I know.”

He shifted, needing the comfort of her embrace but also rebelling against it. Growing away from her already.

“It was running, and then it wasn’t.” The enormity of it seemed to press in on him. The instantaneous transformation. They had been over this so many times this afternoon. Suddenly he was awake to the fact that someday everyone he loved would be a
wasn’t
. Fritz, Grandma, Grandpa, even his mother.

“Is my daddy dead?” he asked.

Jenna closed her eyes. That was the one question she had been afraid to answer, and the only one he hadn’t asked at least once. She didn’t want to lie to her son. She could lie to everyone else and it somehow seemed all right, justifiable. But to tell a lie to her little boy was the lowest she could ever sink. Lucien may have not have been perfect, but he had always told her the truth, no matter how it hurt.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said. And in that moment, she hated herself.

“My daddy’s dead.” He wailed softly into the gathering darkness. And when she tightened her embrace around him, this time he turned into it, seeking the warm oblivion of a mother’s comfort.

She rocked him gently as he cried, groping for the magic words that would make this all right, and coming up empty.

“Jenna?” A man’s voice came from the side of the house, making her and Christopher lift their heads.
Frank,
Jenna thought wearily.
He’s come to check on us.
The phone had rung earlier in the afternoon, but she hadn’t wanted to leave her son alone long enough to answer.

She expected to see Frank’s lithe figure rounding the corner from the driveway, but instead it was the tall, lanky body of Adam that appeared. His eyes were large and dark with some unnamed anger. But when he saw them, with tears reddening their eyes and their arms around each other, the anger evaporated. He rushed up the steps of the back deck. For a moment, Jenna thought that he would gather both her and Christopher into his arms and hold them close, but he stopped a few feet away.

“What is it?” he asked. Even in the dim light, Jenna could see the anxious look in his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched with worry. “Did you know your car has a flat tire? What happened? I’ve been trying to get you on the phone for hours.”

His presence was a warm flood of relief pouring over her, followed by a hot wash of embarrassment at how she had ended their last meeting. She was groping for an answer when Christopher launched himself out of her arms and into Adam’s. “Uncle Adam!” he cried piteously.

Jenna could only watch and try not to weep as Adam embraced the boy, closing his eyes and giving in to the sweetness of having those little arms around his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Adam whispered. “What’s wrong, huh?”

“It’s my daddy,” Christopher hiccupped. “Mommy just told me that my daddy’s dead.”

The glare that Adam shot Jenna made her cringe. She shook her head slightly, trying to indicate she hadn’t said that — at least, not exactly. She stood up, feeling more confident on her feet, and tried to keep her voice firm and calm. “It started with the squirrel — ”

But that only brought fresh tears from her son, who buried his head into Adam’s neck as he wept.