Loose Ends
The scent of roses permeated the sanctuary of Parkview Christian Church. Andrea Lewis sat in the front pew with Jack's family and listened to the organ play softly. From somewhere in her childhood the words to the hymn flowed through her mind.
Andrea's soul was far from peaceful, and she fought to control her emotions while the ritual continued. If she allowed one tear, it would surely be followed by a torrent. Andrea didn't dare listen to the proceedings, so she forced herself to think of something else, anything else. Dickins.
Dickins had been a sweet old dog and had lived his entire life with Andrea. Her father had given her the beagle pup when she was fifteen. She'd named him Dickinson after her favorite poet, but the last two letters were soon dropped. When she and Jack married, the dog came to live with them in the modest house on Twenty-third and then later to the lovely two-story colonial on Willow Creek Lane. Dickins died only a couple of years ago when Robin was in first grade.
Andrea remembered the old dog's last day. He ate a good meal, collected his tennis balls and lined them up along the edge of the courtyard, then settled down in his favorite place in her flowerbed and went to sleep. She found him there later among the irises with his affairs in order. That's the way it should be at the end of a life, thought Andrea, with all the loose ends tied up neatly.
Andrea stamped her foot on the red rose, grinding it into the sparse grass on Jack's grave with a twist of her ankle. She had found a missing piece of the puzzle.
Her mood had lightened in the last week with the appearance of daffodils and the smell of spring on the breeze. Now everything was crashing down on her again.
Andrea had driven to the cemetery to see if the headstone had been set. She walked toward the sweet gum tree that had become her landmark, hoping that the sight of Jack's name etched in granite would help her accept his death. A few feet east of the noble tree, Andrea saw the gray stone marker that was his. She wasn't prepared for what else she found there.
Next to the stone, on the grave that had not yet settled, there lay a faded red rose with a handwritten note that read, I love you, Jack. The words hit hard. Andrea collapsed to her knees and read the note over and over. No signature, just, I love you, Jack. Andrea was furious; but more than anything, she was confused.
"Estelle?" Andrea wondered aloud. "Were they lovers?" The thought made her sick.
Andrea struggled to breathe, her mouth agape. There had never been a hint; but here it was in black and white, not something she had overheard and, perhaps, misunderstood. This was a love note to her husband. A million thoughts raced through Andrea's head as she leaned with both hands on the cold earth, then slowly rose to her feet and brushed at the dirt on her knees. She crumbled the soiled note and shoved it in her pocket.
Andrea's life was about to change. Before the warmest days of summer were passed, she would feel it in the air, the same way she felt when a change in the weather was coming. Things would be different from then on.
It hadn't seemed possible on the sixth month anniversary of Jack's suicide. Andrea marked the occasion by crying most of the day.
Bonnie called her that evening. They hadn't talked for weeks.
"You sound terrible, Sis," Bonnie said. "Are you sick?"
"It's been a rough day. Make that a rough six months." Andrea said. "but I'll be okay. I'm a mother; I've got to be okay."
"Is Robin doing any better?"
"Not really. I've been thinking maybe she should see a counselor. She won't talk to me," Andrea said, "and I don't want her to get off on the wrong foot when school starts again."
"Maybe your minister could help."
"Maybe." Andrea hadn't been to church since the funeral.
"How is Brian?" Bonnie asked. "I'll never forget how brave he was when I took the kids to the funeral home."
"He's just sailing along with his life, having a good time with the dog this summer and excited about going into second grade. It's hard to believe. I always thought he was so sensitive, and you know how he worshipped his father." She sighed. "At least I don't have to worry about him."
Andrea knew her life had changed even before the mailman came on Wednesday morning. She awakened before the alarm, as she had the two previous mornings, with the unshakable conviction that the darkness of the past was over for good. If there were yet to be times of gloom for Andrea, they would be passing shadows. Life was good; she sensed it in the smallest details of her life.
Grabbing the robe from over the footboard, Andrea wrapped it around her and eased her feet in the fur-lined house slippers waiting by the bed. The sun was barely up when Andrea walked down the stairs and into the kitchen to start the day. She opened a bag of hazelnut coffee beans, poured a measure full in the mill and pressed the lever. With a whir, the blades released the aroma of freshly ground coffee into the air. Andrea started the pot brewing, then stepped to the pantry and opened the sack on the floor. With the plastic container she kept in the bag, she scooped out a generous portion of dry dog food. Buddy had not yet begun his morning vigil at the kitchen door when Andrea took his food outside.
"Here, Buddy," she called, closing the door behind her. The big dog peeked out of his house and came running through the yellow birch leaves beginning to collect on the lawn. Andrea filled Buddy's bowl on the flagstone terrace, gave him fresh water, then looked into the eastern sky.
Andrea was drifting in and out of slumber when she felt Torry stirring. She didn't know what time it was, only that it was getting light.
She had awakened much earlier and had remained sleepless for a time, intoxicated with the wonder of being in Torry's bed. The only light in the room had been the digital clock shining 5:14 on the night stand. Seeing a night-light in the adjoining bathroom, Andrea had slipped there and back, shivering, across the cold parquet floor in the darkness. Crawling in bed again, she had lain next to Torry and fell back into blissful sleep feeling the warmth of his body next to hers.
It was nearly seven when she felt Torry kissing her cheek as she lay motionless on her stomach. Andrea opened her eyes and smiled.
"Good morning," Torry said, lying on his side next to her, clothed only in the white comforter they shared.
Andrea opened her eyes without moving, then smiled and whispered, "Hi."
"You were great last night," he said. "I thought you were a fantastic dream until I woke. I'm still not sure you're real."
"A real mess, I'm sure," Andrea said, burying her face in the pillow.
Andrea felt Torry lift the comforter up, feeling a draft down her back all the way to her hips.
Andrea caught her breath when headlights flashed past the window at nine fifteen. She heard the sound of a vehicle pulling in her drive, and rose, listening to hurried steps on the walk. Andrea waited by the door for the chime to ring and took several deep breaths before turning the knob. All of her anxiety vanished when he saw Torry Bridges standing at her door, smiling. He was holding out three red roses at arm's length the way a child might.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Do I get points for the flowers?"
Andrea took the roses and smiled. "Come in," she said. "They're lovely, but it wasn't necessary."
"Oh, but it was necessary," he said, "That road-side entrepreneur was aggressive. I wasn't sure he was going to let me pass unless I bought his flowers."
"Whoever said romance was dead?" Andrea said, smiling as she held the door open. She detected a hint of the musk cologne she was beginning to associate with Torry as he stepped through the doorway. He was wearing a different shirt than she had seen him put on that morning, a beautiful Guatemalan print of blue and burgundy. Torry had obviously gone home to freshen up first.
"A jazz club? Sounds fun, Mark," Andrea said into the phone as the afternoon sun streamed through the garden doors, "but are you sure?" She leaned back against the hard kitchen counter, wrapping the cord around her finger while she talked. "I'm sure you know it can never be the way it was for us."
She looked at the slender narcissus on the kitchen table. The miniature buds were just beginning to open into fragile white trumpets. Andrea had placed Mark's gift there when it began to grow so the children would have a better view of the marvel. They'd watched in wonder as the emerald stems reached for the sky with no more encouragement than sunlight and water.
"I don't want it to be the way it was either, but that's behind us now," Mark said. "Can't we go just to hear the music?"
They made plans to go out that Friday.
After replacing the phone Andrea walked across the kitchen and looked out the glass doors into the deceptive sunshine where the dog lay curled up on the flagstones. The chilly March winds had delivered a pile of dry leaves to the corner of the terrace on a day too cold to sweep them up. She gazed beyond the terrace to the birch trees, their graceful limbs still barren after the long winter. Soon it would be time for things to come alive again. It couldn't come too soon.
Torry's words had devastated her. They were more hurtful than anything he might have done to her that night. "We've both fucked her plenty of times. What's the big deal?" he'd said to Mark. "She's not worth it. Ask anybody." Surely, her affair with Mark wasn't common knowledge too. Mark surely had not told anyone the details -- or had he? It's not like they were in love back then. Andrea had always heard that men brag about their sexual exploits.
Torry was right. She wasn't worth it; she'd behaved like a whore with him, and Mark before. Even tonight, she'd been ready to do any degrading thing Torry asked her to. Andrea was nauseous at the thought. What if she had? Did it even matter? She was ready to. Would Mark even want her if he knew?
She didn't sleep. The stabbing pain in her back had returned, and Andrea lay next to Mark thinking about the three men she had been intimate with in her life. She examined every detail of her relationships, turning each on end and looking at it from different angles. Andrea had not done well in any of them.
"Excuse me," Pete said, "I want to find Mark before we leave."
"He's over there," Andrea said, gesturing toward Mark, just breaking away from the group that had detained him.
Pete made his way in that direction as Andrea watched. Mark greeted Pete with a hand shake and then a hardy grip on his shoulder.
"I could introduce you, you know," Joni said. "I have connections."
Andrea smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Things have gotten so messy."
"So?" Joni said, raising her eye brows.
Andrea didn't answer. She turned to watch as Pete and Mark walked toward them.
"Joni," Mark said, when they reached the women. "I just heard the good news. Congratulations." He leaned in and gave Joni a warm embrace. "Trinity won't be the same without you."
His eyes met Andrea's. "Hi." Mark looked uncomfortable for the first time that evening.