by Leslie Gould
Elise reached for her travel mug. “Ready.”
Ted drove the Volvo north on I-5. Farms and nurseries flew by, Mount Jefferson reigned in the distant autumn haze, and the outline of Mount Hood was visible further north. Two horses stood under an oak tree. “What do you think Pepper’s chances are of finding a kidney?” Elise asked.
“It’s a bit scary. So many people need transplants.”
They rode silently. A grove of fir trees flew by; a narrow bridge over Forest Creek slowed them down briefly. Ted drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He tried to contain himself, she knew. She thought of the soldiers in the Shakespearean tragedies who had been giddy to go off to war. At all these call-ups, all these times, Ted had been giddy to go, giddy to do his duty—giddy to leave her and the boys.
She wasn’t being fair. Ted had never been eager to leave them. The time away was hard on him too; he missed so much of the boys’ growing up. He cried the first time he held Mark, cried on the tarmac with all his army buddies swarming around him, because he knew that the five months he’d missed of Mark’s little life were gone forever.
When Ted got the call about Afghanistan, Mark asked Elise, “Why is Dad so happy?”
Elise took a sip of coffee. He was only going to Germany this time, and the boys would hardly change. As they crossed the Boone Bridge, spanning the Willamette River, the traffic slowed.
Ted reached for her hand. “Will you go back to Rebekah’s shop?”
Elise shrugged.
“Rebekah seems like a good woman; she’ll be a friend.”
“It’s only for a few months, Ted. I’ll be fine.” She hoped she would be fine.
“Don’t try to be too self-sufficient.” Ted squeezed her hand. “God wants us to rely on others.”
It was a conversation they’d had over and over. Elise knew it was up to her to take care of the boys. Ted seemed to think other people would help her, but over the years, no one had. Not her mother. Not his parents. She had to be independent. It would be harder on her to hope that others might help her and then be disappointed when they didn’t.
Ted turned onto I-205. Twenty minutes later he took the exit to the airport. “I’ll stop at the departures area; there’s no use in you going inside.” He pulled along the curb in front of the Delta counter. They both climbed out and met at the back of the Volvo. Ted hugged her, holding her close. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you.”
“We’ll be fine.” Elise tucked her head under his chin. “We’ll see you in just over two months. That’s nothing.” She relaxed.
“Move your car!” the security guard yelled, waving for her to leave.
“I’ll call when I get there.” He kissed her mouth. “Thanks, Elise, for keeping everything together the way you do. I know this isn’t what you expected.”
Elise cried on the way home, cried as she drove over the bridge, past the river and the stand of fir trees, past the two horses huddled under the oak, past the farms and nurseries. She cried because Ted was supposed to be retired. She cried because she didn’t walk into the airport and wave until he disappeared, as she always had before. She cried because she couldn’t feel her soul. No, that wasn’t true. But it didn’t feel like the same soul. It felt like an old, worn-out soul.
She turned off I-5 onto the winding road toward Forest Falls. She didn’t want to be a single parent again. During the golden years when the boys were eight and nine, even nine and ten, being a mother felt easy. Now it felt as if they were toddlers again. Giant, unpredictable, independent toddlers. Make that toddler. Singular. Mark in the garage, wedged into the cupboard. Mark at Rebekah’s, shoving Reid through the door. Mark on the field, running recklessly with the football.
Elise turned on the windshield wipers against the light rain. It was the first rain since they had moved to Forest Falls, and she hoped it would end by the time the football game started. The CBS News jingle chimed on the radio. The music still made her stomach lurch. On the first day of the first Gulf War, she had been driving home from Mark’s pediatrician appointment when the jingle had announced that the bombing had started.
A doe and fawn bounced through the field to her left, and Elise gripped the steering wheel. She turned her windshield wipers to high against the sudden torrent of rain. Germany is the epilogue, Elise told herself. Nothing ever happens in an epilogue. The happy reunion at Christmas will conclude our army story. What does Rebekah always say—“You have to make things happen”? Elise laughed. She would make this story end even if it meant putting a picture of Landstuhl on the last page of a scrapbook entitled Our Life in the Army.
She had the urge to drive through town and east to Rebekah’s, to saddle the mare and ride all the way to the falls, even in the rain. She felt hollow. She would go home, fix dinner, and get the boys to the football game. She accelerated. She would do basically the same thing day after day, relentlessly, with little adult contact and little support, until Christmas break. She hoped she could sleep tonight.
The deer jumped the fence. Where was the fawn? Elise pumped the brakes. The car fishtailed on the wet pavement and then veered to the right. The air bag exploded in her face as the car slammed to a stop with a sickening clunk.
Rebekah leaned against the shop counter with the phone to her ear, winding the cord around her fingers. She had been on hold twenty minutes. Twice before, earlier in the day, she had hung up when customers came into the store. Neither had purchased a single item. How could a woman shop in a scrapbooking store and not buy anything?
Rain began to pelt the window. Passersby hurried for cover.
“Thank you for holding,” a female voice said.
Rebekah explained the problem. Their insurance hadn’t paid for the visit to Dr. Thomas.
“There’s an issue with your paperwork.” The voice continued, “We haven’t received the reenrollment form. It was due September 1.”
“I sent it in.”
“Before the deadline?”
Rebekah paused. “Close to the deadline. We’ve had your insurance for the last fourteen years.”
“No, you’re new with us.”
“No, my husband has worked for U-Tech for fourteen years.” Rebekah leaned against the counter.
“He started a new position at a new site last year.”
“So?” Rebekah turned toward her scrapbook layouts behind the register.
“We start a new account when an employee is transferred.”
Rebekah took a deep breath. “That’s ridiculous.”
The woman ignored her. “Let’s see. Your daughter has a preexisting condition.”
“It’s not preexisting. She’s been enrolled with you for eleven years.” The pitch of Rebekah’s voice rose.
“But she’s twelve.”
“We adopted her when she was one. She didn’t have the condition when we adopted her.” At least, we don’t think she did.
“I see.”
What? What do you see? “Perhaps I should speak with your supervisor.”
“My supervisor is out today. I’ll look into this and call you back tomorrow.”
Rebekah dropped the phone into the cradle and ran her index finger over the scar on her lip. When she was nine, her brother had pushed her, hard and on purpose, over the handlebars of her bike onto the pavement. As their mother drove her to the doctor, her brother told a detailed story about Rebekah swerving for a cat and bouncing over the curb and somersaulting onto the street. Rebekah sat in the backseat holding a dishtowel to her bloody face and shook her head while her mother soaked up every nuance of her brother’s fabricated tale.
Her family was like that—they were gifted at telling lies. Patrick was forever telling her to stop exaggerating. That’s what she had done on the phone about missing the deadline. Exaggerated.
Rebekah picked up the duster and ran it over the rack of glossy cardstock. She needed customers. Sandi hadn’t stopped by all day, for the first time since Rebekah had opened the Scrap Shack. She droppe
d the duster onto the counter and pulled the latest issue of Simple Scrapbooks from the rack and skimmed through the magazine. A military layout caught her eye. The headline “Thanks for Serving” with flag stickers, dog-tag cutouts, and photos of a soldier and his family taken on an army base filled the spread. She would make a card for Elise, a thank-you for their sacrifices. She had the exact same stickers in stock.
The door buzzed. A customer. Sandi hurried through the door, closing her umbrella. “What’s with the rain? It’s coming down in sheets.”
“And driving all my business away.”
“I was on my way to the post office and thought I’d stop in to say hello.” Sandi leaned her umbrella against the counter. “What are you working on?”
“A patriotic card for Elise.” Rebekah folded a piece of cardstock.
“How is Elise doing?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her.” Rebekah positioned the flag sticker.
Sandi shook her head. “She’s an odd one. I guess we’ll see her at the game.” Sandi turned the card around. “Hopefully Mark will pass tonight, but I’m not going to hold my breath.”
It couldn’t be easy being Mark right now. It wasn’t easy being Reid now, either—or Pepper, for that matter. Michael was the only one of the four who seemed settled.
Sandi picked up her umbrella. “I’m off. See you soon.”
Rebekah held up her glue stick in farewell.
Rebekah tucked Elise’s card into the pocket of her jean jacket and swung her truck into the school parking lot. She dashed across the wet pavement to the field, clutching her jacket and stadium blanket.
“Up here!” Sandi wore a bright red quilted coat and waved both hands. Patrick and John sat on either side of her.
“Where’s Elise?” Rebekah asked John as she spread a blanket on the damp bench. The rain had stopped, and the evening had turned clear.
He shook his head. “I haven’t talked with her all day, but Ted called to say his plane was delayed.”
Rebekah sat next to Patrick and held a second blanket on her lap. The boys ran a lap around the field.
“Mark and Michael were late for warmups.” Patrick nodded toward the field. Mark was the last player in the line of runners. He skipped from foot to foot for the final fifty yards.
Santiam, the visiting team, kicked off. Reid caught the ball and ran it to the forty-yard line. The center snapped the ball, and Mark snatched it into his arms and sidestepped for a few yards. Michael fell into the Santiam line, but Reid rushed forward, wide open. Mark didn’t hesitate. He dashed between two defensive players and broke into a sprint, the ball tucked against his side as if it were as precious as a newborn baby. Ten, twenty, thirty yards. The defenders fell back. Forty. Touchdown. John sprang to his feet. “That’s my grandson!”
“Brilliant.” Patrick clasped his hands together.
“Way to go, Forest Falls!” Rebekah stood and clapped. “Too bad Elise missed it.” She searched the stands and sidelines. Mark took off his helmet and faced the stands. John waved.
Mark ran in the two-point conversion. Just two minutes into the game it was 8–0. Michael yelled something as the boys reached the sidelines, and Reid bumped into Mark. Ten minutes later the coach put Reid in as quarterback and Mark in as the wide receiver, along with Michael.
“I hope he’s not rusty.” Patrick stood.
“He’ll be fine.” Rebekah clapped her hands together.
“There’s Elise!” Sandi stood beside Patrick. “You missed Mark’s touchdown. And the two-point conversion.”
Elise waved and climbed the stands to sit next to Rebekah.
“Everything okay?” Rebekah asked, handing Elise the card.
“Kind of.” Elise looked at the envelope. “Thanks.” She slipped it into the pocket of her suede jacket.
Reid threw an incomplete pass to Michael.
“What happened?” Rebekah spread the blanket over her lap and onto Elise’s.
“I slammed into a boulder on the way home from Portland. On the shoulder. It messed up the Volvo’s undercarriage.”
“What happened?” John leaned across Sandi.
“I had a little accident. The car’s in the shop.”
Reid completed a pass to Michael, but Santiam’s defenders tackled him immediately.
“What made you hit the rock?” John asked.
Elise sighed. “A deer ran out in front of me, and I slammed on the brakes and then spun around. The road was slick from the rain and the oil on the pavement; at least that’s what the tow-truck driver said.”
Reid passed again. Another incomplete.
“Was anything chasing the deer?” Rebekah asked.
“I don’t think so. She had a fawn with her at first, but then it was gone.” Elise paused. “I was frightened that I’d killed the fawn. I was so relieved to get out and see that I’d hit a big rock.”
John whistled loudly. “How bad is the car?”
“They’ll give me an estimate tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” John asked.
“I have Triple A.”
Reid passed again. Michael caught the ball and ran—ten yards, twenty yards, thirty yards. Touchdown. The crowd exploded. Rebekah and Elise jumped to their feet.
“Boy, those Shelton brothers sure can play ball!” the announcer shouted.
“That’s my other grandson!” John called out.
“Both of your boys are fast.” Rebekah held the blanket with her elbows as she clapped. Mark shuffled off the field and turned, legs apart and arms crossed, toward the game.
Pepper and Ainsley ran up the bleachers at halftime. “Mom, look at Ainsley’s cowboy boots.”
Ainsley held up a suede boot that sagged around her leg. “They’re slouch boots.”
“They don’t look very practical for riding,” Rebekah said.
“They’re fashion boots, Mom.” Pepper giggled. “She got them at Target.”
“They’re made for strutting,” Ainsley added.
Strutting. Sandi flashed Rebekah a smile as Elise pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket.
“Can I get a pair?’ Pepper asked.
“Of course not.” Patrick stood and rolled his shoulders. “We can’t afford any extras right now.”
“How about some popcorn then?” Pepper flashed her dad a dazzling smile. She wore her hair in a casual bun that came off looking like an updo, with wispy blond tendrils floating around her face.
Rebekah searched her pocket and pulled out a ten. “Get me some too.”
“Is popcorn good for her?” Patrick asked.
“It’s not exactly good, but it’s not going to make her kidneys shut down, at least not tonight.”
Pepper snatched the money, clamped her hands over her ears, and bounced down the stairs.
“Bring back the change,” Patrick called out.
Ainsley strutted after Pepper, carefully holding her camera.
Rebekah leaned against Patrick at the beginning of the fourth quarter. The score was sixteen to seven. The coach put Mark back in to play receiver. Reid sidestepped behind the line. Mark jumped up and down, wide open.
“Reid, pass the ball,” Rebekah shouted. Patrick elbowed her.
Reid passed to Michael. Incomplete. Reid attempted three more passes to Michael but didn’t pass to Mark the entire quarter. With one minute left in the game, Rebekah stood; Elise folded the blanket.
Reid went back for a pass. Michael ran wide and waved his arms. Mark sped toward the goal line. Reid hesitated and then passed to Michael. Complete. Michael ran for the touchdown: 24–7. Rebekah scowled. Reid had blatantly favored Michael. At least Mark hadn’t favored anyone; he simply hadn’t passed. Poor Mark.
Coach Davis jogged onto the field and chatted with the referee as the boys headed to the bench. Mark yelled at Reid. Michael yanked his helmet off and shouted at Mark.
Elise stood. “This isn’t good.”
Mark grabbed Michael by the arm. A camera flashed.
Reid moved in slow motion, trying to get between the brothers, but tripped and fell to the ground.
Patrick stepped forward. Rebekah grabbed his arm, but he pulled away and ran down the bleachers. Mark propelled Michael toward the bench. Michael shoved his brother, said something, and then smiled, showing his silver streak of braces.
Rebekah reached for Elise’s hand as Mark walloped his brother in the mouth.
The camera flashed again.
No!” Elise gasped. Rebekah squeezed her hand, but Elise pulled away, trying to see better. Mark hit Michael again, and Michael fell to the ground. John jumped to his feet and thundered down the bleachers after Patrick. Elise hurried down the steps, mortified, as Coach Davis ran from the field, pushed through the sea of players, and knelt beside Michael.
John ran onto the field and grabbed Mark’s arm, but Mark jerked away. Patrick, looking befuddled, pulled Reid up off the ground.
Blood poured from Michael’s face. Mark stood with his helmet in one hand and his other hand behind his back. Fans left the stands, shaking their heads. John knelt in front of Michael, next to the coach.
“Get me a towel,” Coach Davis yelled. The manager tossed one, and it landed on Michael’s head. Mark took another step backward. Elise ran down the last few steps and crossed the track to the field.
“Your nose isn’t broken. I think you took most of it in the mouth.” Coach Davis pulled down on Michael’s lower lip. “Which is a bummer considering the braces.” He turned toward Mark. “Show me your hand.”
Mark obeyed. “Your brother’s braces didn’t do your hand any favors, either. Get me the first-aid kit,” Coach Davis called to the manager.
Elise had no idea what to do—yell at Mark or comfort Michael. John held the towel against Michael’s face.
She stood outside the circle as Coach Davis finished taping butterfly bandages to Mark’s hand. “Son, this is tough,” he said. “You have more raw talent than I’ve seen in years, but I can’t allow this. You’re off the team.”
John stood. Reid smiled. Elise took a step away from the crowd as Mark brushed his blond hair away from his eyes. He drilled the coach with hateful eyes and swung his helmet back and forth. He turned and walked away.