Once through, Jessica set the trunk on the grass next to the walkway and gauged the distance to the shed. The shed was a miniature reproduction of their house, with soft gray siding, ivory trim, and a historically accurate Revere red door. The outbuilding was small enough not to be over the top as a child’s playhouse but just big enough that she had claimed it for herself as a workshop before the kids had gotten too attached.
An image of the men from the sidewalk invaded her mind again, and the bump on her head throbbed in opposition to the memory. The shed seemed like a sanctuary now, a place where her sole focus could be this trunk, and there would be no room for anything else. She pushed the trunk forward, the grass impeding her progress.
The shorter man with the cigarette.
She fetched a rope from the garage and tied it around the trunk. Danny would not be impressed with her knots, but they held as she pulled the trunk across the yard. Tripping on the shed’s threshold, she grunted, interrupting the silence of the morning. She dropped the rope and looked at her hands. They were filthy.
Open palms.
After tossing the rope to the side, she lifted the trunk again with a groan and sidled through the doorway.
Orion, flicked embers.
Standing in the middle of the shed, she balanced the trunk against her thighs, looking for the right spot to place it.
Danny asking if she’s okay.
Was she right in not mentioning it to him? Should she have insisted on calling the police? What was Amina doing right now? Oh my God, Amina. I should call her. But she didn’t want to call her, because then she would have to talk about what had happened. She focused again on the trunk.
The weight of it pulled at her shoulders and her hands. The space seemed smaller than she remembered, and the walls felt as if they were closing in on her. The metal edging of the trunk dug into her quads, and she felt the strain of every muscle balancing her body against gravity and fatigue and the heft of the trunk. Any adrenaline she’d had in reserve was now depleted, and without the hormonal crutch, she became vividly aware of how tired she was, how hard her head was pounding, and how utterly, vacantly sad she was.
The sudden vibration in her back pocket shot through her like a Taser, shocking her nervous system and freeing her muscles from her control. The trunk fell forward with a smash. Jessica reflexively grabbed at it, instantly regretting the motion, then crashed to the floor herself as balance lost out to gravity. She felt pain from hitting the floor and pain from a sharp metal bracing slicing through flesh, but it was the dam burst of emotions that crushed her. Jessica tossed the still-buzzing phone out the open door and let the tears wash over the fear, exhaustion, and pain.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gracie nudged her nose under Jessica’s hand. Jessica opened her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. Dust danced slowly in the air. The angle of the light had changed since she had first stumbled into the shed with the trunk. Gracie nudged Jessica again.
“Okay, Gracie, I get it.” The dog had squeezed in between Jessica and the trunk at some point, lying patiently as Jessica’s breathing slowed and the tears stopped flowing. But now the dog wanted some love. Jessica obliged, petting Gracie with one hand and wiping her face with the other. The stinging pain in her upper arm brought her fully awake. She eyed the metal bracing dusted with rust. Images of a dark sidewalk and a looming brick wall shoved aside concerns of whether her tetanus shots were up to date.
Jessica pressed her eyes shut to end the scene. “Gracie, let’s see what this old trunk has to say.” She stood up and brushed off her jeans, wincing in pain. She pulled the waistband down enough to see that she would soon have an ugly bruise on her hip to go with the sliced arm and the bump on her head.
From a cursory glance at the trunk, Jessica was relieved that it seemed to have fared better than she in the crash. If it had acquired any new dings or dents, they were indistinguishable from the ones it had accumulated over the rest of its lifetime. That would really have made her day, to destroy a trunk that had traveled thousands of miles over a hundred fifty years, only to meet its demise on the floor of a potting shed posing as a wood shop.
Jessica turned and jumped at a ghostly glimpse of her face reflected in the dusty window. Black smudges on her cheeks destroyed her trails of tears. She reflexively raised her hands to wipe her face again and sighed when her blackened fingers came into view.
Gracie nudged her again.
“Sorry, girl.” She scratched the dog behind the ears and patted her on her back then sized up the trunk. “Move along. There’s not enough room for the three of us in here.”
Gracie obliged, finding a spot on the grass where she could monitor the shed and the squirrels in the yard.
Jessica squared her shoulders and faced her supply shelves. Everything was in perfect order, just as she had left it after her last project, which she was beginning to think was too long ago. Tools hung arranged by type and size, nestled together like a woodshop jigsaw puzzle on the wall. Stains were organized by shade. The narrow counter was clear, ready for staging. She reached for a wire hand brush.
Inch by inch and piece by piece, Jessica brushed the metal elements of the trunk. She took care not to brush the oak with the wire brush, saving the wood from getting ripped away and blackened by the wires.
The softly grating swish of metal brushing metal became a rhythmic mantra, pausing only when Jessica stopped to wipe her work with a blue shop cloth. Clearing the accumulation of dirt, grime, and corrosion, Jessica felt her focus sharpen as if she were zeroing in on the individual dots in a pointillist painting. Her concentration left no room for other concerns or memories, only the concerns and memories of the piece in front of her.
She meticulously brushed around nailheads, each turn and each edge, noting the large dents on the corner bumpers. The trunk had been dropped many times before today in untold events in someone else’s life. Only the piece that left its mark on her arm fought Jessica’s efforts, struggling against the clamp she used to force it back in place.
Wiping up the last of the bumpers, Jessica stood, grimacing as the waistband of her jeans rubbed against the bruise. The blue shop towel was mostly a black shop towel now. Jessica tossed it into a bin in the corner and turned back to the trunk. The wood looked to be intact and in decent shape, though there were rough spots, more dents, and splinter danger zones. She would work on that next.
She lifted the trunk’s lid to see what work lay in store on the inside and groaned at what she saw. The middle piece of wood framing on the bottom of the trunk was cocked off-center. It hadn’t been at 4:30 a.m. She would have noticed when she was taking out the linens.
Apparently, she was capable of damaging this stalwart piece of family history. She slumped and looked down at her filthy clothes and blackened hands. Her still-shiny wedding band reminded her that Danny would be home early. She should at least be clean when he walked in and found her in her own damaged state. Closing the trunk carefully, Jessica glanced in the window again, commiserating with the woman reflected back at her.
THE washing machine beeped three times, and water started to fill the drum. Jessica walked through the house unclothed. With the dried blood on her arm, the growing splotch of thunderstorm gray on her hip, and the streaks of black on her face, she must have looked like one of those images she saw in her Internet research. Except she was safe in her historic home on the way to a hot shower.
She didn’t wait for the water to get hot before stepping under the showerhead. Even the cold water felt embracing, and she closed her eyes as she tilted her head back to let the water clean her face of the salt and grime.
With a bar of soap and a washcloth, Jessica started at the top and worked methodically, scrubbing and sudsing each bend and curve, ignoring the sting of the cut and the tenderness of her bumps and bruises. Dirt and blood mixed with the water at her feet. By the end, her skin was bright pink from the near-scalding water and the merciless scouring, but it was a good pink, a c
lean pink.
The thickening steam signaled that she had forgotten to turn on the exhaust fan and that maybe she’d been in the shower for too long. Danny should be home soon, which meant it was time to get things back to normal.
The home phone rang just as Jessica wrapped her hair into a towel turban, careful to avoid antagonizing the bump on her head. She would let the call go to voice mail. As Jessica picked up her moisturizer, she heard Danny’s voice coming from the bedroom.
“Hello? Hi, Rosalie... Yes, she’s here... I think she’s okay. Why?” He sounded confused. “Hold on. Let me get her.”
Jessica’s stricken face stared back from the foggy mirror. Rosalie? Crap. She had called Rosalie’s office number on her drive home last night and left a hurried message. She couldn’t remember what she’d said. Jessica threw the turban on the floor and opened the door to the bedroom.
Danny stood with a questioning look, telephone held out in his hand. “It’s Rosalie.”
Jessica put the phone up to her ear, all business. Danny tilted his head, staring at the cut on her arm, which had beads of blood forming on it from being abraded by the washcloth. She felt exposed.
“Jessica.” Rosalie sounded panicked. “Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone? I kept getting your voice mail.”
“I didn’t...” Jessica started. Then she remembered throwing her phone out of the shed what seemed like days ago. “Sorry.”
“You’ve had me going crazy, Jess. I couldn’t find your home number. I finally found it in an old address book on my desk.”
Jessica swallowed a comment about how long it must have taken her to find it among the piles of paperwork.
“Are you okay?”
Jessica nodded over at Danny. It’s all fine. Then she wandered into the hallway, holding the phone close to her face so she could keep her voice low. After looking back toward the bedroom to be sure Danny hadn’t followed her out of the room, she responded. “It wasn’t a big deal. Some idiot drunks emboldened by Islamophobia. We’re fine.”
“It didn’t sound like that in your message. Did you call the police?”
“No. Amina insisted we not call. I’m sure you understand better than I do.”
Silence filled the line for a moment. “Yes, I understand. And I feel terrible for you both. I am so sorry. I left so quickly after the meeting. I had no idea. It must have been terrifying.” Rosalie’s voice had increased half an octave, her words piling on each other in their apologies.
“I’m fine. Really, you don’t need to worry about it.” Jessica eyed the bedroom doorway, willing Danny to stay put and Rosalie to wrap it up.
“We haven’t had this happen before. I mean, of course we know there is anti-Muslim sentiment in general. But we’ve never had any incidents by our office. Maybe that’s because we have so few Muslim clients or—oh crap, the incoming refugees.” Clicks on a keyboard began to accompany Rosalie’s words. “I’m going to put out a memo to staff and make sure we have chaperones for people at night going forward.”
Chaperones. Jessica shook her head at the irony but knew she would be taking advantage of it if she were ever up there again. She couldn’t bring herself to think about that, though.
“If you think so. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s over and done, and I’m fine. No need to make a big thing of it.”
“As you wish.” The clicking stopped. “How is Amina?”
Jessica cringed at her dereliction of duty. She hadn’t tried to contact Amina. To face such hatred and violence in America must make Amina question her safety and future here. It certainly caused some second thoughts for Jessica. She felt like a coward and hated admitting that, let alone exposing it.
“I haven’t been able to reach her.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Her phone was lost somewhere in the yard.
“As I’ve mentioned before, we have referrals for mental health professionals. A lot of our refugees need these services because of what they went through in their home countries. An event like you mentioned in your message could trigger a lot of fear and anxiety and bring awful memories into the forefront for Amina. Let me know if she needs a referral.”
Jessica dabbed the towel at the beads of blood on her arm.
“And, Jessica? I know you said you’re fine, but if you need to talk with anyone or need any help, let me know.”
Jessica just needed to get off the phone and get back to Danny so she could downplay the call, the cut, and anything else that seemed awry. “It wasn’t a big deal. But thanks.”
Hanging up, Jessica braced herself, repeating over and over that it really was no big deal. She could convince Rosalie of that, and she could convince Danny of that, maybe even herself.
Danny was fiddling with his watch when Jessica walked into the bedroom and placed the phone on the dock. He raised his head and folded his hands in his lap. His gaze alternated between the phone and his wife. “What was that all about?”
Jessica avoided eye contact by lifting her towel to feign drying her face. “Do you mind if I get dressed? I’m not even dried off yet. Then I’ll explain. It’s not a big deal.”
Danny raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting to her bleeding arm. “I’ll be downstairs.”
She could only stall for so long. Once in a pair of sweatpants and an Ocean City T-shirt that didn’t quite hide the fresh bandage on her arm, Jessica walked into the family room. Danny set his newspaper aside as she sat next to him on the couch.
“So... last night, I was at the IAP offices for that refugee meeting. You know that.” Best to get through this quickly. “And when I left, there were some rowdy guys out in front of the building. They were obnoxious and made some nasty comments. It’s a questionable neighborhood, and I should have known better than to head out alone there at night.”
It wasn’t totally a lie, not really. And anyway, this whole thing might be over. She hadn’t considered her volunteer position might put her in physical danger and wasn’t sure she wanted to continue with it. Right now, Jessica just wanted to get the previous night’s events out of her head. And if she told Danny what had happened, she wouldn’t be able to do that.
His eyes squinted with concern. “You were alone?”
Jessica’s stomach dropped. “Yes.” Totally a lie.
“What happened to your arm?” He reached out to touch the bandage.
“My arm—oh, that happened this morning.” She forced a laugh, though it was more of a pathetic bark. “I really should have let you help me get the trunk out to the shed. I dropped it. I fell.” She folded down the elastic band of the sweatpants to show off the impressive proof of the fall. She wouldn’t mention the bump on her head.
“Ouch. That looks like it hurts. I should have insisted. I’m sorry.” The guilt in his eyes was unfair.
“But I’m fine, really.” If she said it enough, it might be true. “And Rosalie is having chaperones at IAP now. So no worries. It’s really rogue antique trunks I need to watch out for.” She fake laughed again like an idiot.
“I’m not worried about rogue trunks, Jessica.” He placed his hand on her head in just the wrong spot, and she jerked away with a slight yelp.
“What the— You hit your head on the trunk, too?”
She couldn’t lie again, but she didn’t want to alarm him. She ignored the uptick in her heartbeat as the memory of the previous evening leaked into her consciousness. “There was some pushing.”
“That’s a little different from ‘nasty comments.’” His face hardened. “What else? What happened to your head?”
She placed her hand on his arm to reassure him and hold him from speaking. “They were drunk. They bumped into me when they walked by, and I banged my head. You can probably blame me for being clumsy, really. I mean, look at what happened with the trunk.” She held out her arm and hiked her hip in his direction. “It’s just a little tender. I’m sure by tomorrow I’ll have forgotten it even happened.” She wasn’t doing a good job convincing herself.
�
�I don’t like this, Jess.” He removed her hand from his arm, gently but affirmatively.
“Like what?”
“You need to stay safe. I know you’ve lived in the city, but you grew up in a small town, and now you’re in our safe little enclave. Maybe you should only go to the offices during the day and take advantage of that chaperone thing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He cross-examined her with his eyes. “Be safe. Just promise me you won’t put yourself in danger for this case or some group of refugees.”
“I promise.”
She excused herself to go clear shelf space in the linen closet for the linens she had ironed that morning. But she ended up getting lost in her thoughts again, grasping for the calm and focus she’d left in the shed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jessica stood at the kitchen counter and looked approvingly at her checklist, which was gloriously long and just about completed.
After her less-than-honest talk with Danny days before, Jessica had retrieved her phone from the yard to see whom to blame for the bruise on her hip, the cut on her arm, and the salt trails down her face.
Scrolling past the missed calls and messages from Rosalie, Jessica found that the culprit was her mother. It wasn’t a social call. “Just checking on the boxes,” her mom said. The damn boxes had half driven Jessica out of the house that morning, and their continued, unresolved status would now be another disappointment for her mother. It hadn’t always been this way, the heaviness in Jessica’s relationship with her mom, but its accumulated mass had loomed large ever since the boxes had arrived.
Just in case the message from her mom wasn’t enough to redirect her attention, karma had also provided a message from Christine, her successor as chair for the Literacy Initiative Charity Gala. Christine had called in a panic about losing both the gala’s venue to a kitchen fire and the ticket sales data to a hard-drive crash.
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