+ + +
“It sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder,” my sister says to me when I call her shortly after I pull onto the highway.
“PTSD? I thought only military personnel suffer such a thing,” I state even though I know that’s not true.
“Post-traumatic, Em. It could be from anything.”
“What are you thinking? Think something happened to her? Did her mother or someone else do something to her?”
“I don’t even want to make a guess. It makes me sick to think her mother said or did something, but we all do things we don’t mean to do. As parents, there are always things we wish we could take back. We’re still only human,” she says, dispelling wisdom to me like Nana used to do. Grace should have been a counselor for all the years she’s counseled me. “Where’s the mother again?”
“I actually don’t know.” It’s not like Jess and I are close enough to share our personal history, and I’d never ask Nana, knowing I’m unable to trust her answer. Still, I’m just as curious. Where is his ex-wife?
“Did she die? Divorce?”
“Grace,” I breathe out. “I don’t know.”
“Do you like him?” she says next, and I choke as I grip the steering wheel.
“What? No, of course not. He’s not my type.”
“And what is your type, Em?”
“Educated. Worldly. Sophisticated.” I sit straighter with each word, enjoying the roll of them off my tongue but admittedly not so confident in what I’m saying.
“Want some advice?”
“Not really,” I say, knowing she’s going to offer it anyway as my big sister.
“Don’t have a type. Be open-minded.”
I snort. “Well, he’s certainly not.”
“How do you know?” she says, then quickly adds, “And why do you care if you aren’t interested in him?”
I hate when my sister is right. I don’t want to like him, but the concern in his eyes yesterday when Nana insulted him made an impression. Maybe because he showed sympathy without pity after what happened on Nana’s porch. Sue and Joe are concerned too, but I can’t go to them for what I need.
Comfort. Compassion.
Jess had silently offered me these things, and I’d refused.
Yet isn’t that what I’m offering his child? Could it be that Jess and I are somehow alike?
“Grace, what am I going to do about Nana?” I ask, hoping to switch subjects.
“Give yourself a break,” she replies, and I don’t even know what that means.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you haven’t had time off in forever. Spend some time with her. Enjoy yourself a little bit.”
“Grace,” I say her name, hardening my voice. “The house is a wreck. The yard is in shambles. I’m not on vacation here. I’m here because Nana is losing her mind.” My voice rises along with my stress.
“Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I just think . . .” Her pause makes me want to close my eyes, but I’m driving. “I just think it might be good for you to slow down a bit. You could use this time to reflect a little.” Her voice gentles, but I don’t know what she’s saying because she isn’t actually saying anything. Reflect on what?
“I don’t have time for reflection. I need to concentrate on the road,” I state, though there isn’t another car for miles, and thank goodness because I’m speeding. My heart rate matches the pace of the tires on the asphalt.
I need to get home.
And then I need to return to Elk Lake City.
+ + +
Foregoing a night in my condo because I knew I wouldn’t sleep, I turned right around once I’d collected my things. It’s almost midnight when I pull into the gravel drive. The front porch light is on. A little body is wrapped around the bannister post of the stairs. Another body sits on the porch swing I’d asked Joe to hang the other day.
Jess.
How long has he been here?
I’d spoken to Sue earlier, checking in on Nana, and learned Katie had attached herself to the porch, kicking and fighting her father when he tried to remove her. Finally, he’d given up and positioned himself in the swing to watch over her.
“He’s like a zombie,” Sue’d said. “He hasn’t moved. I don’t know why she reacted as she did. Never seen anything like it.”
When I’d asked if I could speak with Jess, Sue said he refused to talk to me.
So why were they still here?
Jess stands once I start to cross the yard. His hands slip into his jean pockets, and he glares down at me from his perch before looking to the side. His shoulders sag, and I can’t tell if he’s relieved I’ve returned as promised or if he’s frustrated I’ve returned at all. Ignoring the expression on his face, I bend for his child.
“Katie.” I softly call her name, placing a hand on her shoulder to rouse her. She’s fallen asleep in this position, hugging the bannister, her head using the hard wood as a pillow and a prop to hold her upright. “Katie bug, I’m back.” Her eyes blink open, and she releases the post, reaching out for me. I draw her into my arms and stand on shaky legs. She’s heavier in her sleep, and Jess rushes down the stairs.
“I got her,” I say, holding out one hand to stop his intrusion. She’s his child, but it’s her heart I’m worried about, and I want to do what I can to put her at ease.
“Time for bed,” I whisper, uncertain if she hears me. My eyes meet Jess’s. “Can I lay her down in the house? Maybe on the living room couch? Or do you want to take her home?”
Jess struggles for a moment. The war within is etched in his cheeks, but he finally acquiesces to my request. As his shoulders stiffen, he says, “Maybe the couch will do for now.”
I nod and take a step for the stairs, still struggling with Katie’s weight. Jess wraps an arm around my back to steady me, and together we climb the treads. He holds the screen door open, and we enter the living room. Sue’s sitting in the front room reading, and she smiles in sympathy when she sees me.
“Elizabeth already went up,” she whispers, and I mouth my gratitude. Sue stands and gathers her bag by the side of the couch. “I’ll see myself out.”
The moment I set Katie on the couch, she curls into the back cushions, and her knees draw upward to her chest. I reach for a blanket in the basket near the fireplace and cover her.
“We need to talk,” I say as I turn to Jess who stands behind me, peering down at his child. He nods and then tips his head toward the front porch. With the side table lamp on low, we can still see Katie from outside.
As we sit on the porch swing, Jess leans forward, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped. I sit back, tucking a foot under one knee. Silence weighs heavy between us, and once again I wonder how Jess handles the quiet of his daughter.
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Grace had said. Perhaps Jess suffers from it as well. He’s certainly stressed about his daughter and her reaction to me.
“My wife and I were high school sweethearts,” he begins, letting out a long breath. “Deb wanted out of here, but she was three years younger than me. I went off to college, and we did that awkward long-distance thing, giving each other permission to do our own thing. She was more wayward than me, as I was dedicated to my studies. Eventually, I thought we’d just fizzle out. Instead, she came to me after her high school graduation. She couldn’t get into the University of Michigan where I intended to be a grad student, so she went to Eastern.”