A Flicker of Light

by Katie Powner

  Gravel crunches and I stiffen. “Someone’s here.”

  “I told you Mitch was coming out, remember?” Rand stands again. “With the kids?”

  Oh. Right. His truck appears over the little hill along the drive. “And they’re bringing someone?”

  Rand nods and descends the steps. Thud, drag. Thud, drag. He waits at the bottom of the stairs, knowing they will come. I would jump up to meet them, too, but I am so tired today. Just so tired.

  Another car I’ve never seen pulls up behind the truck. That must be the someone. Last time it was Amber who came out. I liked that. I don’t know who they’re bringing today.

  Mitch, Beatrice, and Jeremy climb out of the truck. Bea waves at me, and I lift a hand. I think I smile. She looks so much like Caroline. Another man joins them, and he watches me as the four of them walk over to the house.

  “Howdy,” Rand says.

  Mitch nods. Jeremy reaches out to hold Bea’s hand. That makes me happy, even though I still think they’re practically children.

  “Hi, Mom,” Mitch says. “How are you?”

  “Good.”

  I narrow my eyes at the stranger, and Mitch understands. “Uh, this is Ken. He . . . well, maybe we should all go inside and talk?”

  I’m quite happy on the porch. I’m waiting for the light. But Mitch looks so serious, and the stranger’s eyes fixed on me are so unnerving that I push myself to my feet. Rand stands ready at my elbow as if I might topple over, but the rush of activity has given me a jolt of energy. I go inside, and everyone follows me to the kitchen.

  “What can I get out?” I ask. “Let me cut up some cheese and salami.”

  “No, Mom.” Mitch waves a hand. “We’re all fine. We don’t need anything.”

  I open the cupboard. “Let me pour some drinks.”

  “June.” Rand pulls out a chair and gestures toward it with his chin. “They said they’re fine. Why don’t you come and sit.”

  It’s like he knows something I don’t. A small match of anger bursts to flame in my chest. No one needs to tell me what to do in my own house. But I catch a glimpse of Bea’s face and realize perhaps someone has died. That is why they’re here. But then who is this man? Why is he looking at me like that? His eyes . . .

  “Mom, we need to ask you about something important,” Mitch says. Everyone is sitting now.

  I feel my hands tremble slightly in my lap. Something important? What if I don’t know the answer? “Okay.”

  “Do you remember your aunt from Chicago? Gladys Fennel?”

  I tilt my head. Aunt Gladys? Is it Aunt Gladys who has died? I sigh. We haven’t been in touch in years. She was a good woman, but I lost her long ago.

  “Mom? Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  Will they expect me to be sad?

  “And do you remember going to stay with her the summer after you graduated high school?”

  My stomach twists. I wish he would just tell me she’s dead. “Yes.”

  “I was hoping you would be willing to talk to us about why you went to Chicago that summer.”

  My heart pounds loud enough that I wonder if everyone can hear it. None of this will bring Aunt Gladys back. There’s no point . . .

  “I’m not sure why that’s important now.”

  The stranger flinches, and Mitch clears his throat. “Well, Mom, I think it is important. Because this man here”—he points with his thumb—“this is Ken, remember? And Ken was born at Mercy Hospital in Chicago on August 17, 1976.”

  I hear a newborn cry, and I gasp. It’s such a beautiful, horrible, vulnerable sound. I long to see his face. To touch his hand. But they are carrying him away.

  “No,” I shout. I cry. My baby. My sweet, precious, perfect baby. “No!”

  Bring him back. Bring him back.

  Oh, God, what have I done?

  FORTY-FOUR

  Fear and confusion twisted his mother’s face as she shouted, and Mitch wished he could take it back. The whole thing. But they were here, and Ken sat beside him, intense and intent, not going anywhere.

  Rand reached toward June as if to comfort her or hold her down, but then pulled his hand away. Unsteady. He addressed Mitch while turning a suspicious eye on Ken. “What’s this about, son?”

  Mitch let out a deep breath through his nose. Bea and Jeremy seemed to know more about it than he did, but they’d agreed on the drive over that he should take the lead in this conversation.

  He grasped at straws. “Will you tell us about your visit to Chicago, Mom?”

  She made an unintelligible sound and stared at the table as if seeing something else entirely. Mitch was glad he’d warned Ken about her condition before they drove over. Her appearance was improved from the last time he’d seen her—that haircut had done wonders—yet her behavior remained unpredictable.

  His father’s voice grew impatient. “Mitch?”

  Mitch drummed the table with his fingers. Boy, oh boy. There was nothing for it but to dive in.

  “Ken has a birth certificate that says he was born in 1976 in Chicago to J. Reynolds.”

  Rand’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at June. Looked at Ken.

  “Did you ever wonder what she went there for, Dad?” Mitch tried to keep his voice calm and level. “Did you ever ask?”

  “You know what she always says.” His voice sounded far away, an echo in the bottom of a well. “‘Today’s more important than yesterday.’ I never gave it much thought. June?”

  Mitch held his breath as five pairs of eyes fixed on his mother.

  Rand persisted, his voice harder now. “Juniper?”

  She made a sound like a whimper.

  Ken leaned forward and spoke for the first time. “Mom?”

  Her eyes snapped up to meet his. All the air was sucked from the room. Mitch felt it leave his lungs and disappear. The moment hung there, weightless yet immovable.

  “Marshall.” June’s voice was small and strained, but her eyes were clear. “My boy.”

  “Mom.” Ken sprang from his chair and hurried around the table to crouch beside her. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Marshall. So sorry.” She reached a tentative, shaking hand toward his face but stopped short.

  “Go ahead,” Ken said.

  She touched his cheek. Touched his hair. “I’ve missed you every day of your life. I’ve thought of you every minute. I’m so sorry.”

  Mitch’s neck tensed. Maybe there’d been a mistake. This man’s name wasn’t Marshall; it was Ken. He snuck a glance at his father. His expression was cloudy, his jaw tight. If Mitch had harbored any suspicions that his father knew about Ken before today, they were gone now. What was he thinking? Mitch felt a stab of grief on his behalf. How would he feel if he learned his wife had kept a secret from him for over forty years?

  “What happened, Mom?” Mitch glanced at Bea and Jeremy, reading the same desire to know more on their faces.

  Rand shook his head. “June, is this true?”

  “Please tell us.” Ken stood and pulled his chair over next to June. “Who is my father? Why did you give . . . Why didn’t you keep me?”

  Mitch glared. “Don’t push her.”

  “It’s all right.” June folded trembling hands in her lap. “There was a boy in my class. A nice boy. I’d never been involved with anyone before, but he promised we would get married. I let it all go to my head. I should’ve known better.”

  “He left you?” Ken asked.

  She stared past Mitch’s head, as if watching her past play out on the wall. “He enlisted the day after graduation, and I never heard from him again. My parents sent me away to Chicago.”

  A pit grew in Mitch’s stomach as she told them about her desperation and humiliation. The young girl she described was nothing like the strong, capable, almost defiant woman he’d always known. The one who never let anyone tell her what to do or where to go or what was best.

  “The moment they took you away and wou
ldn’t let me see you, I knew I’d made a mistake.” His mother’s voice broke. “But it was too late. I did nothing but scream and cry for days, and Aunt Gladys . . . well, she did what she could with me. Eventually, I took a bus home. Everything about Chicago was a reminder.”

  She looked at Rand. “That’s when you started paying attention to me. And you were so good and honest and strong.”

  His father looked back, his eyes trying to tell her something, but Mitch didn’t know what it was.

  “I should’ve told you.” She hung her head. “I was afraid you’d change your mind about me. I—I’m sorry.”

  Ken shifted in his seat. “What was my father’s name?”

  “Ethan.” June sniffled. “Ethan Swenson.”

  “His name’s not on the certificate.”

  “No.” She raised her head. “I refused to tell them. He didn’t deserve any part in it.”

  Ken was opening his mouth to ask more questions when Mitch caught his eye and shook his head. There’d been enough questions already.

  June looked around the table at each person. “Forgive me. All of you.”

  Rand rose from the table and paused, the lines on his face deep as trenches. Then he left the kitchen.

  “Dad,” Mitch called.

  “Leave him alone.” June motioned for Mitch to stay where he was. “He’s right to be upset.”

  Mitch remained in his chair, but his heart hung heavy in his chest. The front door creaked open and slammed shut. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his father angry at his mother. They’d always had such a strong bond. Always presented such a united front. It felt wrong to witness this distance between them.

  “Now.” June nodded at Ken, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Tell me everything.”

  Bea listened to Ken’s life story with rapt attention. She was delighted to learn she had five cousins, ranging in age from four years old to seventeen. Ken had not gotten married and started a family at such a young age as Dad.

  Grandma June hung on every word, laughing or crying at every detail Ken shared. He insisted several times that he’d had a good life, that his parents loved him. He flipped through pictures on his phone and told Grandma the names of her other grandchildren over and over, which she struggled to keep straight.

  As his story wrapped up, Jeremy asked one of the questions that had been on Bea’s mind, as well. “How long have you been looking for us?”

  “I didn’t even know I was adopted until about five years ago when my dad had a heart attack.” Ken slid his phone back in his pants pocket. “He told me everything before going in for double bypass surgery. In case he didn’t make it out.”

  Bea’s eyes widened. “Did he?”

  Ken smiled. “Yes. Thankfully. But his surgery made me face the fact my parents wouldn’t be around forever. Got me wondering how long I had before I missed my chance to meet my biological parents. It wasn’t long after that I decided to start searching. I registered on that adoption website about two years ago.”

  Grandma June stared at his face as if memorizing it. Or as if she’d known it all along.

  Bea’s father shifted to peer out the window. “Where do you think Dad went? It’ll be dark soon.”

  “What?” Grandma’s brow furrowed as she looked around the table. “Oh. Yes. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  A feeling of impending loss tightened Bea’s chest. She’d been reading up on Alzheimer’s disease and had learned about sundowning, when people struggling with dementia grew more confused and disoriented at the end of the day. She made note of the worried look on Grandma’s face and feared they were losing her.

  She nudged her father and leaned close to his ear. “Maybe we should go. Before . . .”

  He pressed his lips together. “You might be right. But we can’t leave until your grandpa’s back.”

  Ken overheard them and said, “I have so many questions I want to ask still. I told her my whole story, but she hasn’t told me hers.”

  “You can stay with us tonight.” Mitch looked out the window again. “Maybe we can come back in the morning. Oh, there he is.”

  The front door opened, and they all listened to the sound of boots scraping against the entryway rug. Bea stood, and Jeremy followed her lead. It was time to go home. But Ken wasn’t ready.

  “Why did you call me Marshall?” Ken took Grandma’s hand in his. “Just tell me that one thing. Did you name me before they took me away?”

  Grandma was quiet for a long moment, and Bea held her breath, afraid Grandma might say she didn’t remember. Or worse, might ask Ken who he was and what he was doing in her house. Grandpa Rand appeared in the kitchen entrance and stopped, leaning against the wall. Grandma didn’t see him.

  “Rand’s middle name is Marshall.” Grandma’s voice was higher and shakier than before, like the wind whistling through a hole in the barn. “I told Aunt Gladys that if you were a boy, I wanted to name you after a good man. Someone with a good heart. I’d known Rand my whole life and couldn’t think of anyone better than him. I wanted you to grow up to be like that.”

  “It says Ken on my birth certificate.”

  Grandma stuck her hand in her pocket and nodded. “They didn’t let me choose. Your . . . uh, parents, they had already told the nurse what your name should be. But to me, you were always Marshall.”

  She looked over at Mitch and smiled. “My two boys. Marshall and Mitch. Mylanta.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” Ken rose to his feet. “Can I come back tomorrow? I’ll have a little time before I have to catch my flight home.”

  Grandma didn’t answer. She stared at her lap.

  Ken noticed Grandpa Rand standing by the wall. “Would that be all right with you, sir?”

  Grandpa nodded.

  Bea nudged her dad toward the door. “We’ll let you get some rest now, Grandma.”

  Still no answer. Bea, Jeremy, and Dad moved to leave the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, Ken reluctantly turned to follow.

  “Wait.” Grandma’s head shot up. “Marshall.”

  Ken jerked to a stop. “Yes?”

  She pulled her hand from her pocket and opened it. On her palm rested an old worn penny. “I want you to have this.”

  He gingerly took the offered gift and examined it closely. “Does that say 1976?”

  She nodded. “I picked it up from the floor of Mercy Hospital as I was leaving. ’Course, it was brand-new then.”

  Ken’s voice was thick with emotion. “You’ve kept it all this time?”

  “I’ve never been without it. I’ve held it ten thousand times, praying that someday God would let me know that you were okay. But I don’t need it anymore.”

  His fingers closed around the penny.

  She smiled. “Now you’re here.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  When Bea opened her eyes Sunday morning, she was back in high school for a split second. In her old bedroom, under the comforter she’d had since she was thirteen. She had no responsibilities. Dad was cooking sausage links for breakfast. Mom was alive and well.

  She sat up with a groan. This wasn’t her comforter. It was Mom and Dad’s quilt.

  Reality made its presence felt. As she scrambled down the hall to the bathroom, clutching her stomach, she thought about Grandma June. What was it like for her to wake up some days in a different life? A different time? Thinking it was the past. Thinking things were one way when they weren’t.

  Her own brief fantasy had been right about one thing. The sausage. She dry-heaved as the smell of it wafted into the bathroom.

  Jeremy tapped lightly on the door. “You need anything?”

  She sank to the floor and leaned back against the tub, crossing her arms over her tender breasts. “Just give me a minute.”

  “I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Okay.”

  Perspiration covered her forehead and the back of her neck. Gross. Wasn’t the whole morning sickness thing supposed to be over by now?

  Her
hands found their way to her stomach as they seemed to do often and rested lightly on her lower abdomen, which was tight and ever so slightly swollen. She’d need to go shopping for maternity clothes soon. Mom would’ve loved that.

  She let her head rest against the tub and took a couple deep breaths, concentrating to block out the smell of sausage. Mom would’ve been ecstatic to find out about Ken. Uncle Ken. She’d loved everything to do with family. She probably would’ve asked Ken to send her some of his photos and already printed them out and hung them on the fridge.

  It was weird, knowing he was here. Staying in their house. Dad’s half brother. It might take a while to get used to that. Would she get to meet her cousins? Were his adoptive parents nice?

  With another groan, she slowly rose to her feet and splashed water on her face. She didn’t want everyone waiting on her. Back in the bedroom, she found Jeremy sitting on the bed, dressed and ready.

  He watched her search for an outfit in the closet. “Pretty crazy weekend, huh?”

  “Very crazy.”

  They hadn’t talked much about it last night. By the time they’d gotten home and gotten Uncle Ken settled, Bea had been ready to fall straight to sleep. She hadn’t known what to say, anyway. It was a lot to process.

  “Ken seems nice.”

  “I like him.” Bea settled on her loosest pair of Wranglers and a sunset-orange sweater. “But I still can’t believe it.”

  “That must’ve been hard for your grandma. Giving him up like that. What a burden to carry.”

  Bea touched her stomach again as she buttoned her pants. A burden to carry. Was that how she’d been viewing the child inside her? She thought about how devastating it had been for Grandma to lose her baby. How much he had been a part of her, even after he was gone, and how alone she’d been. Carrying such a tragic secret for so long was a burden. A heavy burden. But carrying a child . . .

  She pulled the sweater over her head and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Sure, maybe she’d have to cut it when her baby was born. Yes, maybe everything would change like Amber had said. But she was going to be a mother, and she was not alone.