Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  Staring at the casket with its blanket of flowers on top, Anna tried to wrap her head around the reality that her husband was dead in that box. Other people were put in caskets with all the flowers on top, and buried, but not Mike. It simply could not be. I'm alone now. All alone.

  It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were supposed to be a family that lived and laughed and went on vacations . . . the four of them. And now they were three. Just her to raise their two kids alone. How would she ever do it?

  At her mother's house after the interment, Mallory withdrew to a corner and hunched into a fetal position, her iPod plugged in her ears. Anna let her be and didn't force her to talk to relatives and friends that milled around. She probably needed to grieve in peace for a while.

  Detective Thomas stopped by to see how she was doing. “I can’t stay long. I have to appear in court for a DWI case,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  Anna shrugged. "I don't know, Detective. I don't know if I'll ever be all right again."

  Chapter 2

  The morning of Anna’s appointment with her lawyer, she dressed in a navy blue suit and matching pumps. It was her funeral outfit, which was kind of ironic, but she wanted to look businesslike when she met with Mr. Lemelin, Mike's lawyer. A feeling of dread enveloped her as she walked into his office on Court Street in Binghamton. Things hadn't turned out as she hoped with the insurance agent the day before, and she was afraid the trend might continue.

  A single file folder lay to one side of Mr. Lemelin’s desk. He opened it and spread several sheets on the polished mahogany top. "Good morning, Mrs. Lamoreaux. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

  He glanced at her, and then continued, "Fortunately, your husband left a will. It specifies, if you'll recall, everything goes to you. Pretty standard stuff.”

  "All right."

  "Did your insurance man tell you when you can expect the check from Mike's life insurance?"

  "No. He said it'd take a while, although he didn't know how long. There are two different policies—one through an independent company and one from work. The family's policy isn’t large because it was intended to pay a certain small amount for each member of the family. It'll about cover the funeral expenses. The other one, with his old company, is the one that may take a while."

  Leaning forward, Mr. Lemelin looked grave and suddenly a bit nervous. “Then we'll have to deal with finances. I know there was some debt, but Mrs. Lamoreaux, please tell me, to the best of your knowledge, how far in debt are you?"

  Anna took a deep breath and wrapped the handle of her purse around her hand tight enough that it nearly cut off the blood supply to her fingers. "At the bank I was told we were in quite a bit of debt when the accident happened. The house payments are high. Plus, we needed extra furniture because the house was so much bigger than our apartment was. We charged a lot on our credit cards to pay for all of it. The charge accounts would have been paid off in a year or two because Mike had a really good job and we didn't have difficulties while he was working. Now I don't know what I'll do without his salary."

  He nodded. She went on. "And the house? We were advised to buy as much house as we could possibly afford."

  "Someone gave you bad advice. It might have been true a few years ago when housing values were appreciating. They're not right now."

  Tears threatened to fall and she got out a tissue to blow her nose and tried to keep what poise she still had.

  Anna spent the next hour giving Mr. Lemelin all the figures she'd compiled and they called the banks and creditors for the rest. She scanned the figures and sighed. It was not a pretty sight.

  He looked up from the scores of numbers on the papers and gazed at her grimly. "From my calculations, you could get by for six to seven months without any additional earnings."

  "So I'll have to get a job by summer?"

  He nodded. "Yes. There's really no other way. It shouldn't be a problem though, right? You have a college degree and some sort of experience, don't you?"

  "Uh, no." Her hands began to tremble. "You see, I met Mike when he was in graduate school at Cornell. I was a junior at SUNY Binghamton and we got married right after my junior year. I left school when Mike got his job here because he was making such a good salary, we didn't think I'd need to work.”

  "At least you have some college. That'll help. What was your major?"

  Anna winced. "English Literature."

  Lemelin's face fell in an almost comical manner. "Hmm, not much call for a profession like that in this lousy economy. If you had your degree, you could teach, however as it is . . ." He shrugged. "You have no job experience at all?"

  "No. I always felt I should be at home when the kids were growing up. It was important to us to give them solid parental support. Until we bought the house, we were debt free. I didn't really need to work."

  She saw that Mr. Lemelin was about to speak again and hurried to head him off. "No, I can't type and I don't like computers except for e-mail. I've spent my time volunteering with senior citizens and helping out with Brian's Boy Scout Troop."

  "Admirable," he said. "But I don't think any of those things will snag you a job. Try Social Services, though. Your experience as a volunteer might get you something."

  He smiled and stood up, then took her hand. "I know this has been hard on you, but you've been a trooper through it all. It needed to be done. I'd like to give you a couple final pieces of advice, though, Mrs. Lamoreaux. First, hire yourself a good financial planner. There's a limit to my knowledge about how best to pay off everything and where to get help. Second, if you follow this budget with care, your money could last until summer. However, I suspect your lack of experience, coupled with no degree will make it hard for you to find a job in this tight market. I suggest you start looking right away. You might find yourself in a difficult position in six months if you wait until the last minute to look. And even if you do find a job, it’s not likely to pay half as much as what Mike earned, hence you may need the insurance money as a cushion. Don’t wait too long to start looking.”

  She nodded. “I won’t.”

  Later, Anna sat in her gray Sonata, her fingers shaking as she clutched the steering wheel. She stared straight ahead, and felt the nauseating queasiness that zinged through her veins. Unable to even think, she was both angry and terrified.

  All of the exhausting soul-wrenching of the past several weeks since Mike's death was winding down and now she had to face day-to-day life without him. She had no idea how she was going to manage that.

  Her face hurt from being stretched taut with stress for so long. Her hands trembled with fear. She was afraid of a lot of things.

  She was afraid of living alone without her soul mate, Mike, most of all. He'd been her best friend and lover. They'd raised their two children together, each having equal say in their upbringing. They all went to church together and volunteered in several ministries.

  The bottom of her life had dropped out. At this point, she feared not having enough money to live on, of trying to raise her two children all by herself with no one else to discuss issues that would come up.

  Strangely, she felt as much anger as fear. And that added guilt to the mishmash of feelings she carried around. The pamphlets about grieving the funeral director gave her said anger was normal and part of the grieving process. Well, she was getting there. Mostly, she was angry at Mike for leaving her in the middle of their busy lives to carry on alone in a world for which she was grossly unprepared. She felt terrible for being angry at him—it wasn’t as if he chose to die. It wasn't his fault.

  It was no one's fault except for the maniac that killed him. And that was a nightmare she hadn't even let herself think about yet. All in all, she felt like hell.

  Back home, Anna threw Mr. Lemelin’s papers on the desk in the dining room in
a gesture of disgust. Wandering into the living room, she winced and squinted as she looked around. It was too bright. With a jerk, she drew the drapes. No, closing them made the place look too gloomy. She pulled the cord and opened them partway. There, better. Sort of. She glared at the light green custom-made drapes. She'd splurged on them and they'd cost a fortune. Now she wished she still possessed the money she'd spent on them.

  Maybe turning on a lamp would help it seem warmer. She moved to the floor lamp beside the chair and flicked it on. It made more glare than ever but, disgusted with herself, she left it on anyway.

  Squinting at the hands of the gold clock Mike had given her for their tenth anniversary, Anna noted the time. Five-thirty, when Mike always came home. She hugged herself and looked around the bright living room. It was so empty and much too quiet. The house seemed, oddly, larger since Mike’s death, with a weird hollowness. And flat—the whole place looked like one of those 3-D movie scenes that didn't quite look real. She crossed the room and sank onto the blue sofa, feeling depressed and saddened.

  Brian, alone in the rec room, looked up. If the rerun of “The Simpsons” was over, it must be six o’clock. He stood, turned off the set, and headed for the kitchen, and supper.

  The kitchen was dark and he heard a noise coming from the living room. Looking around the corner, he saw his mother sitting on the sofa chewing on her thumbnail. She was remembering Dad; he could tell by the look on her face and by the way her eyes were all shiny.

  He didn’t want to go in there. It was his fault his father died and his mother was terribly sad. He knew it was. He wasn’t sure yet why what he'd done was so terrible, that God punished him by killing his father, but it must have been. Maybe he was just a bad person and didn't deserve a dad anymore.

  He’d be extra good from now on. He would make a deal with God. If he was never, ever bad again, maybe Mom wouldn’t die. He turned around and went back to the rec room so he wouldn’t bother her.

  Brian switched on “Sesame Street” and lay in front of the set, face down on his folded arms as he struggled not to cry.

  Anna felt an impatient hand on her shoulder, and looked up to find Mallory glaring at her. “Mom, what are you doing in here all alone? You’ve got to stop moping around. It doesn't do you any good.”

  Anna stood, angry at Mallory’s presumptuousness. “It’s none of your business why I’m in here. If I want to spend time remembering your father, I will. He was a big part of my life, and I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s natural. I miss him.”

  “I miss him too, but I don’t carry on like you do.”

  “Maybe you'd be better off if you did. I’m worried about you. All you do is fly around this house. You never settle in one place long enough to grieve. You have to grieve, honey. You can’t keep holding it all in like you’re doing.”

  “No. It would be like admitting that Dad was—no, I can’t even think it. Leave me alone.” She turned and ran from the room, then stopped in the doorway and looked back. “When are you going to fix dinner? I’m starved.”

  Anna turned away from her daughter. “If you’re that hungry, it wouldn’t kill you to fix something for yourself.”

  “I want a regular dinner. The kind we used to have when Daddy . . .”

  Anna spun around, distressed at the wretchedness in her daughter's voice.

  Mallory started to cry, jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Aren’t we ever going to be normal again?” She ran up the stairs and down the hall, slamming the door to her room. In seconds, loud music blared down the hallway.

  Anna stood staring after Mallory, incredulous over the change that had come over her in the last few weeks. It was only a month ago that she’d stood behind Mallory at her bedroom mirror and sprayed fluorescent green spray on her hair for Halloween. Usually her daughter’s hair hung long, blond and straight down her back, but they’d managed to get most of it up on her head and the sticky spray helped glue it together.

  “Hey. I don’t want to look like Kermit the Frog.”

  “We should use it up. Nothing to save it for.”

  “If there's extra, maybe I could wear it to school. Some of the other kids do it.”

  “Not you, pork chop.”

  Mallory had scrunched up her nose. “Meanie. How did I ever get stuck with such a mean mother?”

  “Just bad luck, I guess.” Anna tilted her head, listening. “There’s the doorbell. Must be the other girls.”

  Mallory had streaked down the hall and then flung open the door. Several girls stepped into the foyer and shrieked and squealed over all the mad combinations of fluorescent colors and punky accessories.

  Mike came into the foyer from the living room. “I thought I heard a gaggle of giggling girls.” He’d stared at their outfits. “They're all going out in public dressed like that?”

  “I think the teenagers use it as an excuse to dress in a more outrageous way and act half their age. Where’s Brian?”

  “He’s all dressed. The black cape you made him looks great.”

  “Here he comes.” She’d grabbed Mike’s arm. “Look out, sweetheart. We’re going to be attacked by Dracula.”

  Brian ran down the hall, snarling, then swooped past them with a screech as he ran out into the dark night to practice his evil ways.

  Now, unable to stomach the happy memories, Anna roused herself and made the kids some hamburgers.

  Mallory stuffed food in her mouth as fast as she could, as if someone was going to swipe it from her if she didn't finish in three minutes flat. Without speaking to anyone, she stood, picked up her plate and utensils, and threw them into the sink. Anna winced and waited for the smash of china, but nothing broke. Her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs were rapid and loud.

  Brian sat for a while nibbling at his food but he didn't eat enough to keep his hamster alive. It became apparent that he was only pushing food around and nothing was going in.

  “Honey,” she said, lifting his trembling chin with her forefinger, “it’s all right to feel sad because Daddy . . . died. Everyone feels sad. It’s normal. We have to go through the sadness before we can start feeling better. Don’t let it make you afraid. The pain won’t last forever. It’ll go away. It just takes time.”

  “May I be excused?” his eyes shifted away from her and he fidgeted in his seat. “Please?”

  She hated to let him go, but she was not sure what else to say to him. He’d become an instant enigma after his father’s death. Studying him, sitting in his chair, his eyes downcast and his mouth drooping, she finally decided nothing would be gained by making him sit there any longer.

  Anna sighed and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  He slid out of his chair, put his dishes in the sink, and ran back to the rec room. Anna stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him stretch out on the sofa on his stomach, his face turned into the corner of the cushion.

  With a heavy heart, she assembled the plates of half-eaten food and dumped the garbage down the disposal. After she put away the condiments, she loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. It was only partially full. She stood for a long time, staring at the empty spaces in the rack, trying to decide whether to run it. It would probably be only half-full from now on.

  In a sudden spurt of restless energy, Anna shoved the racks back in and slammed the dishwasher door shut. She rifled through the cupboards until she found a chocolate cake mix. Her fingers flew as she got out the Mixmaster, the cooking oil, the last three eggs, the utensils, and mixed up the batter. She poured the batter into two square pans instead of the big pan she most often used because it was easier. She'd drop one at the senior center tomorrow.

  Once the cake was in the oven, she added the mixing bowl and spoons and beaters and the measuring cup to the dishwasher. “There. Now it’s full.” She shook in some soap and pushed
the door closed, pressing the ‘start’ button.

  Later, Anna got Brian out of the rec room and told him and Mallory to do their homework. Exhausted from not sleeping for several nights in a row, she told them she was going to bed, and took the newspaper into the bedroom.

  When she slipped into her nightgown and reached into the closet for her robe, she noticed Mike’s flannel bathrobe hanging on its peg under an old pair of his jeans. It seemed to beckon to her and her eyes filled with tears as she pulled it off the hook and wrapped it around her body. The tears ran down her face as she held the softness close to her cheek, breathing in its fragrance. It still smelled like him—his familiar scent of aftershave, smoke, and . . . just Mike. It shook her, like a tiny essence of him clung to her. She wondered how long it would keep smelling of Mike if she didn’t wash it.

  She tied the belt and lay down on top of the bedspread, folding the paper to the crossword puzzle without reading the news. She and Mike always quarreled good-naturedly over who got to start the daily crossword. Often they would sit up in bed, shoulder to shoulder, after the kids were asleep, working on it together, laughing and competing on some words, cooperating on others. Now there was no one to quarrel with over the puzzle, and no one to cooperate with.

  After a while, when she got stuck and there was no one to help her, she lost interest and threw the paper on the rug beside the bed. For a long time she stared at the wallpaper, unable to do or think anything, certain she couldn’t sleep either.

  When 11:00 came, she was still awake, so she decided to watch the late news, hoping it would put her to sleep. The remote control was on Mike’s side, since he was usually the one watching the news before he fell asleep. She reached for it and held it in her hand. It felt heavy. Her eyes started to tear up again, and she felt impatient with herself. Wiping them with a handkerchief she found in the pocket of the robe, she pushed the button for channel 12.