The Light Before Us

by Stephanie Vercier

  “Hmm,” I say, setting my bags on the wood floor just inside the bedroom and looking around.

  It’s sparser than the bedroom of my memory with nothing more than a single bed, a desk with a lamp on it and a dresser. I do remember the floral wallpaper, though the colorful pictures of cartoon-like animals that hung on the wall have been taken down, small nail holes and slightly darker wallpaper the only sign they’d ever been there at all. I walk to the window with curtains patterned with the same print as the wallpaper and look outside. I can see my car at the side of the house, and in the distance, I make out the rooftops of the few houses that line the winding, disappearing road. From this second floor vantage point, the world outside had always looked so big and endless to me as a child. In a way, it still does.

  When I turn away from the window, I sit down on the bed and note how clean and tidy the room is, as if readied for any occupant that might stroll in.

  I feel a small flush of nerves at the thought my parents might have made this into one of those short-term weekend rentals. But I recover, knowing my parents would think it tacky to offer up something they owned to families or groups of women on weekend getaways or men who wanted to fish the lake out back. They’d rather lose money on hiring a caretaker then rent it out to strangers for money they don’t really need.

  I’m really not worried at all when I leave the room and plan to go downstairs and make myself something to eat. But when I make it to the landing, I can’t help but to see through the door of the largest bedroom in the house, the one at the top of the staircase. It’s the sight of what’s inside that makes my body stiffen and goose bumps rise all over me.

  “What the hell?” Still closer to surprised than outright fearful, I step just inside the threshold to get a better look at the unmade, full size bed. The comforter is pulled back, a dent in one of the pillows and the subtle wrinkles in the sheet saying someone has slept here recently.

  Michael?

  It’s the first thought that pops into my head, that he’d known exactly where to find me and that I’ve made a grave mistake in coming here.

  I step back onto the landing and try to calm my heartbeat that is now racing.

  “It’s the caretaker,” I mumble. “It’s got to be.”

  I work it through that the caretaker must take naps when he’s here or might even stay the night once in a while if he’s working on a big project. And maybe he figures why should he make a bed when he’s just going to use it again? That explanation makes sense in my head, but it doesn’t put me at ease, and I’m already rushing down the stairs to do another once over of the house, to look for things I might have missed before.

  There’s nothing changed in the living room, nothing but my empty grocery bags in the kitchen. But when I go into the back hall and flip the switch on in the bathroom, there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the sink along with what I think is a men’s shaving kit. The sight of it gets my heart galloping again, if it had even stopped in the first place. I remind myself the personal items fall in line with what I’d been thinking about the caretaker spending the night now and then, but it still makes me edgy. My decision to stay here had been based on the schedule I’d seen on the clipboard, but if his visits overlap that, I might not have those two weeks of solitude I’ve been hoping for, might have a tough time explaining who I am while begging the caretaker not to call my parents and give my hiding spot away.

  A voice inside of me tells me I should at least consider finding alternative accommodations, but before I can even turn the bathroom light back off, I note a mechanical sound that grows louder with each passing second. It’s a vehicle, probably a truck, and I hope to god it’s just passing along the road.

  No such luck.

  It sounds as though its motor is right up against the side of the house before suddenly growing silent when the engine cuts out.

  Shit!

  I feel like I’m in a real life dream, the kind you have when you’re in a house you aren’t supposed to be in when the owners unexpectedly arrive. I eye the back door just around the corner, deciding I can run out if I need to, but with the metallic sound of the truck’s door shutting, it dawns on me that I’ve dumped my purse and keys upstairs along with my newly purchased clothes.

  Oh, damn.

  Footsteps that I identify as hesitant even through the loud beat of my heart make their way up the front porch.

  It’s got to be the caretaker, and I can explain why I’m here, even if it ends up blowing my cover. Better that than a visit from Michael or my father who will make sure I’m back in Seattle before the day is over.

  I finally flip the bathroom light off, then slide through the hall, giving myself the option of escaping out the back door if I need to, even if it means running off on foot.

  The front door opens, followed by a few more, heavy steps. The person pauses their movement, surely having seen my car in the driveway and knowing that they aren’t alone.

  “Hello?” It’s a man’s voice that calls out, somehow familiar, but one I’m unable to place as my mind is moving at a million miles an hour trying to figure out what to do next.

  “Hello?” he calls again, a few more footsteps following his voice.

  I can’t hide forever, so I take some tentative steps toward the kitchen where I’d left a light on, my legs nearly giving way when I see the man standing in the kitchen and looking right at me.

  Leaning—actually nearly falling back—against a counter, I resist the urge to run or to scream.

  I know him.

  He’s a tall man, easily over six feet in height. His hair, mostly hidden by a baseball cap, is dark. Under the button-up shirt, it’s easy enough to make out how fit he is, bulkier than the last time I’d seen him but all of it muscle from what I can see of his bare forearms. He’s got on a pair of well fitting jeans when all I’d ever seen him in were dress trousers. And then there’s the beard, one that he seems to be haphazardly growing, thick and dark. But it’s his deep brown eyes that offer the most recognition. They aren’t as lively as I recall them being, but they are still his.

  “Mr. Pierce,” I finally manage to utter.

  “It’s Jack,” he says with equal recognition in his eyes. After clearing his throat, he adds, “You don’t need to call me Mr. Pierce.”

  “Sorry,” I say, confused, if not at least relaxed by his presence here. I detect that he isn’t all that shocked to see me.

  “Your parents are looking for you,” he tells me, setting a grocery bag he’d been holding down on the counter next to him.

  Of course.

  They’d sent people out to find me, Jack instructed to check out the old cabin.

  But why?

  Why in the world would Jack Pierce allow himself to be roped into finding his work partner’s daughter?

  “Look, all I can do is beg you not to tell them I’m here,” I say with the kind of desperation I’d felt when I’d darted out of church on my wedding day.

  He sighs, then takes off his baseball cap and drags his fingers through his thick, dark hair, a bit longer than I’d ever seen on him. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Natalie? Your dad sounded pretty worried when he called here last night.”

  There’s a phone mounted on the wall of the kitchen, probably the same one that had been here when I was a little girl. “You’ve been staying here?” I ask, unsure if the cabin gets any cell service.

  “In a matter of speaking. Been here for a few days. I needed to get out of the city, and your dad mentioned this place to me a while back, so I bought it.” He reaches into the grocery bag, pulls out a bottle of beer, pops the cap with his fingers and takes a long slug of it.

  “You bought it?” I really do feel like an intruder now, a very confused one.

  He lowers the beer bottle and nods. “Ink’s barely dry on the deed, but yeah.”

  So, where is Marjorie?

  “But what about—” Just then, I notice that Jack’s wedding band is missing.

&
nbsp; And as wrapped up as I should be in my own drama, it’s not seeing his ring that absolutely crushes me.

  It doesn’t occur to me that he’s only taken it off for some innocuous reason. No, instead my chest aches because I know they are as over as one of those Hollywood couples everyone thinks will bypass the curse and make it the long haul. Whatever has happened between Jack and Marjorie, it explains why he needed to get away, why he bought this place on a whim and perhaps why he hasn’t bothered using that shaving kit in the bathroom to take care of his scraggly beard and is now chugging beers to drown his sorrows. If I weren’t so focused on keeping him from calling up my parents or Michael, I could really lose myself in trying to imagine just what went wrong with the couple I’d deemed perfect, one of the few I’d ever looked up to.

  “You never answered my question,” he says after setting the bottle on the counter. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “Huh?”

  “Trouble. What’s got you running away, Natalie?”

  “I’m not… well… didn’t my father tell you what I did?”

  He looks at me, confused, and shakes his head.

  “I left Michael at the altar,” I say, looking down momentarily because I think any mention at all about matrimony will just remind him of Marjorie.

  “You what?” He’s picking his beer back up when I lift my chin and eye him.

  “You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised, as he takes another long drink of his beer.

  He pushes his lips together and shakes his head. “Had no idea, but can’t say my mind has been all that clear lately. I’m sorry… sorry I didn’t know and sorry it didn’t work out. That why you’re here, then?”

  I nod. “He’s not the right man for me—he never was. I just need some time on my own so that they can’t all pressure me into going back and marrying him. Because that’s what they’ll do, and I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to say no a second time around.”

  He lets out a surprised sound. “You don’t think you could say no to that guy? I never thought Michael was worthy of a girl like you.”

  My face warms, his commentary kind and more than I’d gotten from either of my own parents. “He was furious when I refused to repeat my vows,” I say, allowing myself a smile. “And then I ran.”

  “Wish I could have seen it,” Jack says, pushing his lips into a smile.

  “You and Marjorie would have loved it.”

  His smile fades before mine does, and then he lowers his head.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, having realized my error as soon as I’d mentioned her name. Nodding toward his bare ring finger, I ask, “How long has it been since…” Then I stop. I can’t imagine they are only separated because I think Jack would still wear his ring if they were, his way of keeping hope alive they’d find their way back to one another. So, it’s got to be that they’ve divorced, and I don’t want to say the word, a word with so much finality to it that it sounds like death. I have no desire to pick at the open wound I can see Jack must still have.

  “It’s been a year,” he tells me, barely lifting his head. “And I needed to get away. Change of scenery I guess. I’m surprised your dad hasn’t told you how worthless I’ve been at the clinic, pretty much there in name only. And I sure as hell didn’t get in their way when they took on a couple of new surgeons.”

  “I didn’t know.” I take a step forward, wanting to place my hand on his arm, wanting to show him some comfort, but I think better of it and keep my distance. “Since I’d gone off to college, Dad hasn’t told me a lot about the clinic, and I don’t ask.” It’s probably why I hadn’t heard about Jack and Marjorie’s divorce. “And please don’t take any offense, but it’s been kind of a relief not having to go to those work parties and talk about so much superficiality.”

  He just smiles at me, his eyes remaining distant. “I can’t blame you for that, and I can’t blame you for needing a break. And I won’t tell your folks you’re here as long as you don’t mind sharing this place with me for a while.”

  “You won’t? You promise?” I tilt my head ever so slightly, feeling the strain on my expression in needing to be sure.

  “As long as you can guarantee me you aren’t planning on doing something like hurting yourself, that all you really need is some time. If that’s what’s true, then yeah, I can promise.”

  “I promise,” I say as genuinely as I can. “And thank you. Letting me stay is incredibly generous.” I keep a cautious distance from him even though I’d love to hug him with gratitude.

  “No problem. Hey, I know it’s early and all, but I think I’m going to head up.” He picks the paper grocery bag back up, a bag I’m pretty sure is just full of beer, and holds it close to him.

  “Okay.” I want to offer to make him some dinner, to thank him in some small way and to perhaps wipe the sad expression off of his face. But I’m guessing he just wants to be alone, and I’m okay with that too. Actually, I have to be since this is now his house. “Good night.”

  “Night,” he says, turning and walking away.

  I don’t move for a few minutes, thinking about how Jack Pierce is about the last person I expected to see.

  Later, after I’ve made myself a sandwich and cut an apple up for dinner, I’m still incredibly sad about the breakup of his and Marjorie’s marriage. That somberness sticks with me as I take my new clothes out of the bags in the room upstairs and start putting them in the small closet and dresser. Through the wall, I can hear Jack lightly snoring, and I can’t help but smile. Him being here brings me some comfort, and I trust that he won’t rat me out.

  After I’ve organized everything the best I can and picked out a comfortable outfit for tomorrow, a T-shirt, my running shoes and a pair of cotton pants, I settle into bed. I’m anxious when I think about what the next day will bring and how important it will be to get Barbara to like, or at least tolerate me. Melissa was willing to take me at face value without needing me to answer a lot of questions, and I’m not sure how many other potential employers would feel the same way.

  I could stay up half the night thinking about it, but there’s something about the rhythmic sound of Jack’s snoring that settles my mind. If he weren’t here, I might not be able to sleep at all, likely waking up at every little sound and attempting to attribute them all to the cat I’d seen earlier. But he is here. And I’m not alone. Knowing that, I easily drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  NATALIE

  The travel alarm I’d gotten at the store wakes me up at 7:30. I’ve slept better than I have in months, my concerns about life in Meadow Brook nothing like the constant stress and worry I’d been under as the day of my wedding had drawn nearer.

  I don’t hear Jack snoring through the wall anymore, so I figure he must be up. Enthusiastic to get things going, I jump up and out of bed, gather up the clothes I’d picked out for today and head out of my room. I half expect to see Jack’s door at the top of the staircase closed, but it’s wide open, and the bed is made. The fact that he’d gone to the effort to make his bed today when it had been unmade yesterday brings a smile to my face while also triggering a run back to my own room where I spend the next few minutes making my own bed.

  Done with that small chore, I head back down the hall and then the stairs, anxiety trying to overshadow my earlier enthusiasm. It’s brought on when I consider what I’m going to say or how I’m supposed to really act around Jack. Our interaction yesterday was short, and, before that, I’d only ever really seen him when he was with Marjorie. While I had a great affection and admiration for both of them, I’d never talked one-on-one with either of them for more than twenty or thirty minutes at a time. But now he and I would be sharing a space, and it’s just now dawning on me how weird that might be.

  The house is quiet, and when I enter the kitchen, setting my clothes on the dining room table so that I can grab some juice, I see a note scrawled out on yellow legal pad paper on the counter.

  Natalie,

/>   I’ve gone into town for breakfast and then to buy some fishing gear. Not sure when I’ll be back, but I imagine I’ll see you later. You can call me on my cell if you need anything. I’ll get an extra key made for the lock, but you can leave the door unlocked when you go.

  He provides his number just above where he simply signs his name, Jack.

  The fact that he’s not here quells my nerves, but I still find myself a little disappointed. I imagine that, if he had his choice, Jack would much prefer that I wasn’t here at all, crashing his alone time in a house he’d just bought to get away from drama and heartache. For as long as I’m here, it’s possible the only communication I’ll have with him is via notes, him taking off while he thinks I’ll be here and coming back when he knows I’m gone. But it’s his house, and I’ll have to honor whatever works best for him.

  Using the pen he’d left just above the note, I write underneath his name.

  Hi Jack,

  Thanks for the note. I’m also not sure when I’ll be back. I got a job taking care of a woman who’s had a stroke. If it works out, I might be there all day. And thanks in advance for the key, and for letting me stay here!

  Natalie

  I have my juice, then head in to take a shower and can see that, like the bed upstairs, Jack has tidied his belongings. If he’d taken a shower this morning, he’d also wiped the tub clean and dry. It’s a small but thoughtful thing to do, especially considering I’m basically crashing at his place. And yet, even while I can tell he’s still grieving the end of his marriage, I wouldn’t expect anything less of Jack, for the considerate, kind man I’ve always thought of him as.

  Wanting to be just as good a roommate, I go through the same kind of clean up he did after I take my own shower. As I wipe down the tub and pick up every last bit of clothing I’d peeled off, it’s not hard to remember when it was Cynthia running around cleaning up after me. I’d walked around our house in Seattle casting things off and dirtying things up, knowing it would all end up clean and organized again like magic. It’s not that I wanted to make more work for Cynthia, it’s just that it was so easy, and she somehow delighted in doing it, like it was her life’s joy to keep our house spotless.