Seventeen Days

by Linda Griffin

  “Your mother makes better tamales,” she guessed.

  “I probably make better tamales,” he said. “If you want tamales, I’ll make them when you come to dinner.”

  “Will you teach me how to make them?”

  “Sure, if you’ll tell me what you put in your French toast.”

  “Cinnamon, vanilla… We’ll make it together sometime.”

  They opted for Fidelia’s, an upscale Italian restaurant known for its hot, fresh bread and seafood ravioli. She was taken aback by the prices, but he didn’t seem concerned. He asked if she wanted wine.

  “I prefer to keep my wits about me,” she said. “I’m out with this very dangerous guy.” The bread was indeed delicious, still warm from the oven and so moist it didn’t need butter.

  When they had ordered—Jenna chose spaghetti marinara, and Rick the famous ravioli—he said, “This is sort of like college—taking a girl out to eat, trying to impress her.”

  “Wondering if you’ll get lucky,” she added, because she knew he wouldn’t say it. “Did you?”

  “What?”

  “Get lucky in college.”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said.

  “Lucky for me,” she said, but would she ever know about the other women in his life? “Did you meet Celia in college?”

  “No, I met her at work, on my first teaching job. She taught Spanish and English as a second language. When we got married, they wouldn’t let us teach at the same school. She was more invested in her students, so I transferred.”

  “I knew you were a nice guy,” Jenna said. “I don’t think Patrick would have changed jobs for me.”

  “Okay, I’ve had enough of this guy Patrick. Where does he live? Are you sure you don’t want me to break his neck?”

  “Let’s pretend you already did, and we can both forget he ever existed.” She mimed zipping her lips. “I won’t mention him again.”

  The food was wonderful. Rick let her try the ravioli—she tasted crabmeat, green peppers, mushrooms, and wine sauce. He smiled at her expression. “You’d better order this next time,” he said.

  Yes, there would be a next time.

  He talked her into dessert—“Just this once. It’s our first date”—but he barely touched his blueberry crisp.

  Jenna’s chocolate chestnut cake melted in her mouth. “I’m going to get fat at this rate,” she said. “I knew you were dangerous.”

  He brushed off her suggestion that they split the bill and paid in cash, tipping generously. “I still owe you,” she reminded him. “I may have to file a complaint—my contractor keeps refusing to give me an estimate.”

  “I’m having a little trouble with the math,” he said.

  The rain had started again while they were eating. They ran to the pickup, having of course left the umbrella inside it. They left in plenty of time to get back to San Ignacio on schedule, but it rained most of the way, and traffic was slow. The showers finally stopped, but they were running a little late. “I guess we should pick Danny up before I take you home,” he said.

  Jenna was dismayed, not because she didn’t want to see Danny or believed his seeing them together would do any harm at this point, but because their good intentions could be so easily derailed. She couldn’t explain her feelings and said only, “I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rick said. “He’ll bounce.”

  “Will I?” she asked.

  “You will,” he said. “Don’t give him the book—save it for dinner tomorrow.” Which sounded as if he’d already begun to plan the entire evening. Now she was curious—she wanted to know everything about him and about Danny, to see where they lived, how they lived—would she see pictures of Celia? Did he have a modern kitchen? Did they eat enough vegetables?

  San Ignacio Elementary was a small building, but otherwise resembled every other school she had seen. They were in time—the children hadn’t begun to come out yet. When they did, Jenna spotted Danny at once and was surprised by a rush of emotion. She had not seen him since he’d brought her flowers on Monday morning, and so much had happened in between. What an extraordinary thing it was to see the features he shared with Rick in this new light, to discover that strong feelings for a child could come from loving his father, even though she hadn’t given birth to him. If she and Rick had a little girl together, would she have those spectacular cheekbones?

  Then she noticed what he must have seen at once. A slender, brown-haired woman in a yellow dress held Danny’s hand, and he had, if not a black eye, at least a bruise on his cheek. Had they been irresponsible in leaving town at such a time? Rick got out of the pickup, moving slowly, and now she realized this reaction, which she had also noticed when Danny skinned his knee at the barbecue, was not calmness, but a way of controlling the instinct to be overprotective. She got out too but hung back, not sure of her role here.

  The woman, presumably Danny’s teacher, greeted Rick coolly. “He was in a fight,” she said. “He didn’t start it.”

  “I asked you—” he began.

  “I can’t be everywhere every minute, Mr. Alvarez.” She spoke to him with an exaggerated politeness that suggested a previously contentious relationship. “Both boys were kept in at recess,” she went on. “We must remember to use our words, mustn’t we, Danny?”

  “Yes, Miss Lacey,” he said meekly, but he was looking at his father.

  “Thank you,” Rick said in the same overly polite manner. “I’ll take it from here.”

  As soon as the teacher let go of Danny’s hand, Rick got down, eye to eye with his son, and gingerly touched the bruised cheek. Behind Miss Lacey’s back, he gave Danny a light, affectionate punch on the shoulder, a masculine gesture of approval. “Look who’s here,” he said, and Danny looked past him.

  “Miss Scott!” he cried and ran straight into her, throwing his arms around her waist. “Are you going to marry us?” he asked.

  Jenna was too surprised to speak, and Rick, smiling, said, “Using his words,” and to Danny, “Let’s not put the lady on the spot.”

  Recovering, she said, “I’d marry you in a minute, Danny. I’m not so sure about your dad.”

  They walked back to the pickup, and Rick said, over Danny’s head and so quietly she wasn’t sure the boy could hear, “She thinks I’ll break her heart, but I won’t.”

  She imitated the punch he had given Danny and said, “Behave yourself.”

  She would have slid over against the door to make room for Danny, but Rick took him on his lap and fastened the seat belt across both of them. Danny grasped the steering wheel in the approved ten-two position, and Rick put his hands on top of Danny’s.

  As they drove away from the school, he asked, “What was the fight about?”

  “I don’t know,” Danny said indifferently. “Sean cried.”

  “When you hit him?”

  “He’s a crybaby,” Danny said. “Are we going to Miss Scott’s house?”

  “We’ll take her home,” Rick said. He was smiling. This fatherly pride in such uncivilized behavior was absurd, but she couldn’t help feeling a little of it herself. The important thing was that, whatever had happened, Danny wasn’t upset.

  “You are such a dad,” she said.

  As they approached the house, Danny cried, “Police car!” Indeed, a white patrol car with beacon lights was parked in the driveway next door.

  “Oh, no,” Jenna said involuntarily.

  “What?” Rick asked and took a glance at the car as he pulled into her driveway.

  “I know Vince Allan and Rosalie are friends,” she temporized.

  “It isn’t Vince.” He stopped in the turnaround, told Danny to stay in the pickup, and came around to open her door. He studied her with curiosity and concern. “It’s Officer Landis. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been trying all day not to believe Mike Hayes murdered Mrs. Raymond.”

  “Whoa! Where did that come from?”

  “Some things Rosalie t
old me—in confidence.”

  “Then don’t tell me, but there are hundreds of reasons for Landis to be there. So is that what you think about when we’re together—who killed Barbara Raymond?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t think he was annoyed—perhaps he was getting her back for the kitchen crack—but she was sorry to have let ugliness intrude. “It was a great day. Thank you, Rick, I had a wonderful time.” It sounded like such a clichéd, classic dating formula, and he gave her a knowing smile. “No, really!” she insisted.

  He checked to see if Danny was watching before he kissed her. “So,” he said, “are we on for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’ll make dessert—no chocolate.”

  “Six o’clock,” he said.

  “I’ll be there. Next time, we should try the café in town for cheeseburgers—Danny too.” She understood —and knew he understood—that although she couldn’t be rushed, she had made a commitment.

  This time he didn’t glance toward the pickup. She could feel the kiss right down to her toes. “Best first date ever,” he said.

  The passenger door of the pickup opened. “D-a-a-a-a-d!” Rick gave her a heart-stopping smile and hurried to join his impatient son.

  She stood in the driveway, watching, until the pickup disappeared up the shoreline road. Before she could turn back toward the house, a police car passed and turned onto the road to town. She couldn’t see who was inside.

  ****

  Monica Kelly was the first to call to tell her Mike Hayes had been arrested for Barbara Raymond’s murder. At first, Jenna thought she might be fishing for gossip, but apparently she was motivated by concern for Rosalie. Vince Allan, because of his close friendship with her, had stepped aside and handed the case over to Officer Landis. Her phone appeared to be off the hook. Nobody wanted to disturb her if she didn’t want company, but since Jenna was right next door, maybe she could check on her?

  Reluctantly she agreed.

  “If she wants somebody to stay with her tonight, or if there’s anything we can do for her, you’ll let us know?”

  “Of course.” She hung up and stood where she was, unsure what to do next. She didn’t even know how to think about this, much less what to do. She remembered Rosalie coming over on her first day here, only a couple of weeks ago, and saying, “You can just walk up anytime.” Rosalie had delivered a casserole so she wouldn’t have to cook when she was tired from moving in. She could hardly do less.

  Obviously Rosalie was the better cook. Rick, who was so good with his hands, was probably a better cook. “It’s the thought that counts,” she told herself firmly and surveyed the kitchen for something she could use to make an acceptable offering.

  ****

  Sunset was past when she started up the hill to Rosalie’s, but the full moon had risen, and she had no trouble finding her footing. The rain clouds had dispersed, but the air remained damp and chilly. She had wrapped the casserole, still warm from the oven, in a dishtowel.

  Remembering that nobody in San Ignacio had yet rung her doorbell, she ignored the decorative button beside the Hayes front door and knocked loudly. “Hello?” she called, as Rosalie had done the first day. “Rosalie?”

  She waited for a long time and was about to turn away when Rosalie opened the door. She looked weary but calm, her hair slightly disarranged, her plain housedress a little rumpled.

  “Jenna,” she said without emotion.

  “I might be the last person you want to see,” Jenna began.

  “Nobody blames you for anything,” Rosalie said and opened the screen door to let her in. The drapes had not been closed, and no lights were on in the living room, but the TV was blaring.

  “I won’t stay if you don’t want company. I brought you a casserole in case you didn’t want to cook tonight. You can just heat it up, or you can put it in the freezer for later. I’m sure it’s not as good as yours, but…”

  “Thank you,” Rosalie said and took the covered dish from her. “It smells good.” She had no expression at all in her voice. She stepped into the kitchen, where she put the casserole on the table, and just stared at it. “Should I—?”

  “Whatever you want to do. Have you eaten anything?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “No, but I can—”

  “Please stay,” Rosalie said in what sounded like a parody of good manners. “I’ll…I guess I should…make a salad.”

  “Let me. You just sit down and rest.”

  “Rest?” She shook her head, but she sat down at the kitchen table. Jenna set the oven to preheat and rummaged in the refrigerator for salad fixings. While she tore lettuce, Rosalie said, “I know what everybody will say, but I’m going to stand by him.”

  “Nobody will judge you, whatever you do. Monica asked me to tell you she’ll come over if you want someone to stay tonight, or—”

  “No. But if you could stay for a while…eat with me.”

  “Of course.”

  “He didn’t mean to kill her, you know.” Oh, no, he just happened to take his fishing knife with him. Doesn’t everybody? Gabe was right—Rosalie was too trusting. “She taunted him. She said things about Larry… She wasn’t a good woman. She seduced our sixteen-year-old son! She asked for it.” Yes, Jenna thought, let’s all blame the victim.

  When the food was ready, Rosalie didn’t want to eat in the dining room, where Mike had so often sat at the head of the table, and they took trays into the living room. Jenna switched on the lights and closed the drapes, but couldn’t get Rosalie’s consent to shut off the television. She remembered Mike and Larry sitting here, absorbed in the war news, while Rick was being questioned by the police, and had to admit she wasn’t as forgiving as Rosalie.

  Rosalie took a bite. “What’s in this?” she asked with such puzzlement that Jenna couldn’t help laughing. “No, it’s delicious,” Rosalie assured her, managing a faint smile. It did taste pretty good, if not up to Rosalie’s standard, and it was at least hot and filling.

  On the screen, anchors cheerfully reported that the ceasefire was scheduled for nine p.m. Pacific Standard Time. They showed coverage of the liberation of Kuwait City and reported, in a self-congratulatory tone, the remarkably low Coalition casualty rates. They were gleeful because only about two hundred and fifty American boys had been killed.

  “Tell that to the two hundred and fifty families,” Jenna said bitterly.

  “Why don’t you support the war?” A legitimate question, when there had been such an outpouring of patriotic approval.

  “Because it’s war. But I am sorry I said what I did to Larry. I’m sorry if it led to…all this.”

  Rosalie shook her head. “Nice to think you’re so important,” she said. “A few words don’t make that much difference. If anybody else is responsible for what Mike did, it’s me. If I was a better wife…if I had been enough for him…”

  “Don’t say that,” Jenna said sharply. “This is not your fault. You’re a victim too. You were deceived.” Hadn’t she had the same idea, that Patrick wouldn’t have strayed if she had been a better person? Wouldn’t she have just had to break up with him later on? He was not the man she was meant to be with.

  Rosalie stared at her for a long time before she spoke. “We’re all victims,” she agreed. “Mike too—but I’m sorry he let Rick take the blame. I don’t know why. He did such a beautiful job on the cabinets…and you know nobody would ever want to hurt Danny.”

  “Danny’s fine.”

  “Mike was just scared, you know, and everybody seemed so willing to believe Rick was guilty. Three years isn’t very long in a place like this. Will you tell him how sorry I am?”

  “He always knew you were on his side,” she said. “You’re not responsible.” It was easy to forgive, with painful memories—Rick saying “I was blindsided,” and KILLER painted on the pickup—fading in importance next to everything she was feeling now.

  She stayed until just before nine and walked down the hill in the crisp ev
ening air, knowing the Gulf War was ending. She had distanced herself from it but was deeply grateful it was over and had ended as well as violent conflict ever can. She remembered that the ground war had not even begun when she arrived, and Barbara Raymond was still alive, and she had never heard of Enrique Alvarez. Rosalie had brought her a casserole, and now she had paid back the favor, coming full circle.

  Just as she had the first day, she strolled down toward the harbor and wished she had the talent to capture the beautiful, changing ocean—moonlit now, sparkling and mysterious. Her thoughts drifted to anticipation of tomorrow, and she smiled to herself as she headed toward home. Would she meet Señorita, the cat? What would Rick and Danny like for dessert? And after dinner, after dessert, after Danny was in bed…?

  In seventeen days, the last seventeen days of a distant war, in this small town, beside this vast ocean, her life had profoundly changed, and this ending was only another beginning.

  Afterword

  Enrique Carlos Alvarez and Jenna Marie Scott were married on June 23, 1991 in San Ignacio Grace Church. The following year they had a daughter, named Lucia Jane after her grandmothers. They lived in Rick’s house while he remodeled Jenna’s kitchen and built an addition to the Scott house, where they continue to live happily ever after. Jenna now does her design work on a computer, and Rick carries a cell phone, which he never uses while driving. He still drives a Ford Ranger pickup.

  ****

  Lucia Alvarez graduated from UCLA in 2014. She now teaches in San Ignacio and is engaged to be married. She has auburn hair and her father’s cheekbones, loves chocolate, and is fluent in Spanish. She has a cat—or the cat has her.

  ****

  Daniel Alvarez became an engineer, specializing in diesel engines for large trucks. He married his college sweetheart and recently made Rick and Jenna grandparents. He and his family live in Carroll City and visit San Ignacio often.

  ****

  Nancy Hayes became a bestselling children’s author and married a local fisherman. Her two most successful novels were set in Nazi Germany. Jenna illustrated Nancy’s nonfiction book about the peace movement.