*Juliet*
A gust of wind picks up my braid and sets my skirts clinging to my legs as Sam and I follow Julia and Ajax to the truck across the front lawn’s yellowed grass. Overhead, it drags at the last few dried leaves clinging to the bare maple branches, rustling them ominously. “Wind’s picked up,” I mention mildly.
“And shifted direction,” Sam adds. “Julia, you’re too little for that. Wait for Mommy or me to open the door.” He jogs ahead and scooping our wayward daughter up around her middle with one arm, tucks her into a giggling squirming football carry, swinging her just a little wildly out of the way just so he can get a thrilled squeal out of her as he opens the driver's side door.
Righting her on her small feet, he gives her a light smack on the bottom. “Now, you can get in. Ajax.” With a graceful bound,
*Junior*I had no idea where I was going when I ran off after the trainman yelled at me. And frankly, I’m not all that certain I knew where I was anymore. I don’t remember even seeing Father Brennan’s house. Or the church. And I didn’t run through the cemetery or see the train tracks or the shops along Main Street. My head wasn’t particularly clear.
*Juliet*With a contented sigh, I collapse against Sam’s chest, sweating despite the cold, heaving oxygen into my lungs.“I love you.” Sam’s panting whisper sounds as sapped as I feel, but pleasantly so, and his arms slide from where he held my thighs, over my back to cradle me against him. “I love you.”“I love you, Sam.”Time drifts in an exhausted haze, warm welcoming sleep wrapping its cloak of peace around us both, bidding us rest. Still kneeling on top of him, I relax heavily, his arms relaxing heavily over me in return. Every part of me still tingles faintly, absolutely satiated with the love we’ve made.Downstairs, the mantle clock chimes faintly, once—the half hour—though I have no idea which half hour that is and care even less.
*Sam*The Nazis were responsible for many—innumerable—war crimes, many of which it was, unfortunately, my job to observe and secretly report to the Allies, before finally receiving orders to sabotage. Some of that was because available communications were not what they are now, but in part, it was because there was so—much.That I didn’t learn of research experiments, couldn’t stop them long before I was clearly commanded to, dogs my every day and will until the last one God gives me, and I’ve spent a great many of them trying to drown those memories in booze, exercise and work, prayer and loving care for Juliet and Julia, trying to attone for it.Having Juliet as an unwavering conscience is of small solace as I prepare the cold cellar around Junior—move visual distractions outside the close circle of light he’ll have over him,
*Rob*It's agonizing for me, but Margie decides to wait until after Dan and Ella return from their honeymoon before dropping by the farmhouse one blustery January day.As seems to always be her way, she arrives with a labeled storage box of the township's newspaper history that Dan carries for her while I help the aged woman up the veranda stairs to the door."Oh, well now," she says pleasantly, taking a seat on the sofa near Grace. "No wonder you're keeping to yourself and looking so content here. Rob's got you a nice fire built and the house toasty warm. Good for him."Grace flashes that gorgeous smile of hers, all the more beautiful because she carrying my children, tugging her lap blanket up over her rounded belly, and I frown. "Do you need another blanket, Grace? Are you warm enough?"Rolling her big ocean blue eyes, she
*Grace*It’s warm inside, between the great room’s roaring fireplace and all the people. Too warm. I can’t remember a time the farmhouse has ever been so warm. The closest was just before I turned fourteen. At Christmas. After my father married my stepmother and our blended family spent the holiday here, with my grandmother, Juliet, before we moved into our own home.Now it’s warm from the horde of visitors here for Juliet’s repast. Familiar strangers from this small town, mumbling condolences and promises to visit I know they’ll never keep. My feelings now are the same as they were that Christmas sixteen years ago—sadness, numbness.Checking to see if anyone is watching, I slip quietly out the mudroom door onto the wraparound veranda and hurry to the railing at the back corner of the de
*Rob* I ease my way through the crowded hall towards my next class with my best friend, Dan, in tow. I smile politely and nod to the few people who bother to look up from their phones as they rush by. Mostly these are girls, college co-eds attending the same community college and drawn to my boyish good looks, dimpled smile and perpetually tousled wild spikes of black hair. I know because I hear about it all the time from Dan. “How do you do that, Rob?” Here we go again. “Do what?” I turn my head slightly to focus an ear Dan’s direction, waiting for his response. “The girls, man. Every one of them that’s made eye contact with you has done a double take after they passed you. I mean you’re handsome enough—but certainly no model.” There it is, as expected. “Even at the bar, you pull some
*Grace* Ella was upset when I told her I’m having another potential handyman interview last night when we met at the bar. She’d have been even more upset if she knew I’m offering free room and board for the work. Since it saves me the trouble and I’m a grown-ass woman, I let her think I’m just taking in a renter with a particular set of skills. Which doesn’t seem particularly grown-ass, but I really wasn’t in the mood for the argument. I cast a final, nervous glance about the downstairs, sighing in disappointment at the threadbare rugs and furniture, worn finish on the stairs and floors. It’s an old farmhouse, I remind myself. You already warned him it wasn’t glamourous. I don’t have high hopes that this Rob Zhao will be willing to work in exchange for such accommodations though. It just couldn’t be enough, even by comparison to the dilapidated slums of the east side of t
*Grace* Every year fewer and fewer children come, I think, staring at the leftover Halloween treats I made—Juliet’s recipes for homemade caramel apples wrapped like Jack-o-lanterns and candy-eyed popcorn balls pressed around plastic vampire teeth to look like little toothy monsters. Barely half is gone, and I certainly don’t need it in the house. I pack everything in a bag and carry it to the foot of the stairs. “Rob?” I call and wait. When his normally quick ‘yes, ma’am’ doesn’t follow, I glance out the window to check for his car. Maybe I missed when he left for the evening. Seeing the black Mazda on the drive, my brows draw together. “Rob?” I call again, setting the bag of goodies on the first step and starting up the stairs. “Are you alright?” His bedroom door is open at the upstairs landing, and I glance in shyly. Finding the room empty, I c