Water's End
A Love Revisited
by
Jessica Deforest
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Deforest.
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published in the United States by Jeancoq Publishing.
Dedicated to my husband, my children, my friends, and my daughter-in-law for their help and support during the arduous process of editing and producing this book.
Water's End
Young summer's children, we lay in our tracks,
Near drowned in laughter, new grass to our backs,
Far beneath the weeping willow tree,
In darkness deep, where prying eyes can't see,
I looked into your wondrous amber eyes,
Today I know how swift each moment flies.
On water glassy still, the black swans glide,
Homing to a nest the restless reeds hide,
There at Water's End.
With a sigh you drew me to you to look,
So deep beyond my eyes, my fingers shook,
When I placed them softly in your rough hair,
To touch and kiss the tawny tresses there.
Not one shining word ever went unsaid,
And yet somehow a slowly growing dread,
Clasped its hands and held them tight on my throat.
I watched a brown leaf float
Away to Water's End.
Silently, our love died and ebbed away,
Fading, dying like dusk at end of day.
Our fleeting days were seconds, all too few.
First flame, then smoke and ashes were we two.
When I was numb, you made me feel.
When I was hurt, you helped me heal.
Your love made me stronger, made me better.
In a trunk I found your final letter,
And a poem called "Water's End."
—Jessica Deforest
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 1
Will I ever see him again? She asked herself. And will I ever have real love in my life?
Anne drew her sweater closer as she sat on the balcony of her beachfront motel in Ventura. She watched as the sun painted the sky in tints of tangerine and maize, fading to rose and lilac before it dipped into the Pacific.
Staring at the sea, now dark before the glowing sky, Anne let her mind wander. Dread filled her. She loved California, wanted to stay here forever and never go home, but she had unfinished business with her husband.
Not wanting to think about going back, she gave in to memories. Not surprisingly, her thoughts turned to David. She would never forget the first time she saw him. It was in the summer of 1959, when she was still married to Joe, her first husband.
What happened exactly, she wasn't sure, but she knew the first time she saw him. Forever and forever she would carry the sight of him in her mind's eye and her soul. Like a brand from a hot iron, his image seared into her and would never fade away.
Something changed that July afternoon thirty-five years ago. It was indefinable: A subtle shift, perhaps, in the way her planets conjoined or her plasma flowed. Maybe it was a realignment of her magnetic field. Anne didn't believe in such things, but something had undeniably happened.
He would be there forever, so deep within her that nothing could ever erase that first image. She would always see him whenever she closed her eyes.
Although she didn't believe in love at first sight, this man, this golden shadow on her retina, filled a missing piece of her puzzle. Something was complete within her now. She didn't want it to happen, didn't intend it to, but David slipped into her heart as easily as he slipped into her daily office routine at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, where she worked.
Keeping student officers' personnel records current was part of her job, and though it was often boring, it wasn't so bad. One of the bright spots was meeting interesting people. The young captains, majors, and occasional lieutenant colonels who came through her office had been all over the world, stationed in exotic places she had only read about. She loved the casual conversation they made about their travels.
That quiet summer day, Anne was thinking about a walk along the river after work when Betty Trubeault, her supervisor, interrupted her reverie.
"The help we've been praying for has finally arrived," Betty said. "This is Specialist David Hawkins. His last station was Seoul, Korea." A young soldier stepped forward, and she patted him on the shoulder. "David," she said, "this is Anne Peterson."
"Hi, Anne," he said.
She looked up into large eyes of the most unusual amber brown she had ever seen: golden, almost yellow. Then she realized with a start that everything about him was golden, not just his eyes, but his hair and even his skin. Shifting in her chair, she stuck out a hand.
"How ya doing?" He said, firmly gripping her hand and smiling at her.
"F-f-f-ine," she stuttered, staring at him. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners was nice, but what touched her was the expression in his eyes. She felt as if she could see his soul lying bare in his calm gaze, guileless as a child's. And, just as animals trusted her, she felt everything wild in her heart respond to this man, so trim in his army uniform.
Something came into his eyes as he looked at her, and she felt herself filled with peace. She couldn't explain what had just happened, but she knew there was a rightness about his being there. It was as if she had been waiting her entire life for the fulfillment of a prophesy, and it had finally happened.
"How long have you worked here?"
A flush mounted her throat and climbed up her cheeks. She thought her face would burn off, leaving only ashes. "Uhhh, three years," she stuttered. "Welcome. This your first time out West?"
"Nah," he laughed, revealing even white teeth and big dimples. "This is my first time in the East." He paused. "I'm from California. That's way west of here." A mischievous grin curled the corners of his mouth and lit his eyes.
Anne couldn't think of anything to say, though she was not known for speechlessness. Fortunately, before she could make more of an idiot of herself, Betty motioned to David. "Come over here and meet Sergeant Traynor," she said as she moved to the next desk. He followed Betty to meet Ardelle Traynor, while Anne dashed off to the powder room to regain her composure.
The rest of the day, as she tried to concentrate on correcting a large file drawer of records, Anne sneaked glimpses at her new fellow employee. His desk sat catty-cornered from hers in front of the windows, through which the summer sun streamed, gilding his
hair and burnishing his tan to bronze.
Never before had she seen anyone like him, except perhaps in movies. But it was more than his looks. She was sure he would be just as compelling even if he were not so good-looking. It was hard to describe. Perhaps it was an inner sweetness that spilled over into the way he looked at her.
Later that day he came over to her as she filed records. "Am I doing this right?" he asked, showing her a form he had just done.
"Umm-hmm," she mumbled.
Standing next to him at the filing cabinet, she noticed he was about three inches taller than she was. She blushed and couldn't look into his face but instead stared down at the curly blond hairs on his arms. Feeling the heat that came off his body, she choked up so badly that she lost her voice and could say no more. So she faked a coughing fit and dashed to the water fountain.
Getting through the rest of the day was a challenge. The trouble wasn't her work, but keeping her eyes pointed at her typewriter. Every time she saw David, she felt faint, and her heart thudded against her ribs so hard she was certain it would tear right through her chest, burst out, and do some kind of crazy dance on her desktop.
In a fog, she updated the stack of records on her desk and got them filed by five o'clock. Then she mumbled, "Good night, everyone," and walked down the long corridor to the back exit.
She hurried to the parking lot. After struggling to unzip the back window of her convertible, she put the top down and snapped the cover over the boot. She slid behind the wheel too late, though, because the band was already playing "Retreat." With a sigh, she got out, stood with her hand over her heart, and watched as the flag on top of the headquarters building slowly lowered.
Glancing around, she saw David on the next corner, saluting the flag, his strong profile silhouetted against the sun. An aching catch in her chest squeezed up into her throat until she had to look away. The flagpole spun around her head like a cyclone, and she was glad when the bugle sounded its last notes.
With a sigh she jumped in her car and drove slowly away, watching David's reflection become smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror. Anne didn't know which she dreaded most, going home, or watching David fade out of sight.
"They're playing songs of love, but not for me," she sang loudly along with the radio. And ain't that the truth, she thought when the song ended at a stoplight. An elderly woman on the corner stared at her. Switching off the radio, Anne punched the gas and drove silently home.
After dinner that evening, she locked herself in the bathroom, staring in the mirror and thinking how awful she looked. There was the matter of the short haircut, the lack of makeup, and worse yet, the extra twenty-five pounds she had gained.
It's marriage, she told herself. That's what's making me look so rotten.
The wedding was a mistake in the first place, but in the small, mostly Catholic town where Anne and Joe Peterson grew up, divorce was an unacceptable, scandalous occurrence. They married in the Church, so there was no turning back, no way out, ever.
Nevertheless, she often thought about leaving Joe. Loneliness was so much harder to take when you were with someone. You expect to be lonely when you're alone, but when you're married and reach out to someone you love, only to be ignored, the pain is almost too much.
"Anne? You in there?" Joe growled through the bathroom door.
"Be out in a minute," she said, turning on a faucet. She heard him shuffle off to bed.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, he'd be sound asleep. Not that it made much difference. Even awake, he was about as much company as a concrete block. They went steady for a year before they got married, and she thought she loved him. Whenever they went out, she was glad to get away from the chaos at home, if only for a short time. Her mother was a pressure cooker of emotions, ready to blow at any second, so Anne treasured the peaceful times she and Joe had together.
Anne felt sorry for Joe because his mother died giving birth to him, and his father hated him, blaming him for his mother's death. His dad didn't want him, so Joe was farmed out to his aunt, a woman with six daughters, who was paid to care for him.
When Joe was ten, his aunt gave him a musty alcove in her dingy, cave-like basement, saying there was not enough room upstairs. His father, a businessman in Chicago, left him a substantial sum when he died, without ever seeing him again.
The other guys she dated were always pawing her, but Joe kept his hands to himself. He respected her. Trouble was, now they were married, he still respected her. Or rather, he never came near her. He made a fumbling attempt at lovemaking on their honeymoon night, a couple of other tries, and that was it in eight months of marriage. Mostly he avoided her.
She knew it had to be her fault. There was something wrong with her. If she were different, he would love her. Trouble was, she had no one to talk to about it. Certainly not her mother, the loony-bin queen. And not any of her friends. Anne was the first one in her crowd to get married, the Christmas after she graduated from high school. Everyone else was still single and away at college. And how could she talk about anything so private?
Anne wished Joe would talk to her, hold her, and make love to her. But she knew he would only turn away. He grew more silent each day. The less time he spent with her, the more she relied on cookies and donuts. But nothing could fill her up. She had to buy larger clothes, and all too soon, even bigger ones. Anger scalded her brain. She was angry at herself, angry with her mother, angry with everyone. She was always hungry.
And there was the matter of the secret. Does it show? Can anyone else tell how attracted I am to another man? The young soldier crossed her mind. What would it be like to kiss him? An electric spark started in her brain and jumped to her stomach before it burned throughout her body. I shouldn't think such things. Besides, he'd never look at me. And I'm married.
No more California boy, she promised herself, resolving to lose weight. It was her weight. That's why Joe wasn't interested. Yes, that had to be it. Although her stomach felt hollow, she resisted the urge to browse in the fridge the way she usually did.
Later, when she snuggled next to her husband in bed, he moved away, as he always did. The hand she placed on his broad back fell to the mattress. Without a word, Anne turned over, staring into the darkness as Joe's snores shook the bed.
Sometime after midnight she drifted off into a restless sleep full of dreams peopled with handsome soldiers. They all looked alike, with blond hair and amber eyes. Scattering, they ran from her and blended into one. It was David Hawkins who turned and stretched out his arms to her, but no matter how hard she tried to run into his waiting arms, she couldn't. Her feet, mired in yellow clay, refused to move.
With a start, she awoke to find tears streaming down her face. Her pillow had a big wet spot on it. She wondered how long she had been crying in her sleep.
For the rest of the night she tossed and thrashed about, waiting for the dawn. Joe got up, but she lay there until six, when she struggled out of bed and went in the kitchen to make coffee. Joe, who had his nose buried in the morning paper, didn't say a word.
Almost unconsciously she threw herself together and drove off to work, glad to be out of the house. Afraid the day before had been a dream, Anne was relieved to find David at his desk that morning. He wasn't a dream. He was real, all right, just like his smile. And his very presence made her skin hum and her insides flutter, jump, and do strange gyrations.
He filled her peripheral vision, and no matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes on her work, she found herself peeking at him through lowered lashes. Each glance told her more about how perfect he was: the firm chin, the beautiful square hands, and the profile of a Greek statue. She wondered if there had been anyone like him on the planet before. No, she was sure there never had been.
And she knew there would never be.
Chapter 2
By the middle of October, Anne had lost thirty pounds: five more than she had gained since she got married. Her clothes hung on her now-small frame, but
she still had curves. She needed to buy some clothes that fit, but she was afraid to go shopping because she was never sure when she would cry. Embarrassingly, it had happened more than once at the grocery store. She had to snap out of it.
David dropped a stack of records on his desk. "Annie, you'd better watch out," he said. "The way you're losing weight, all the guys are starting to look at you. Joe's going to be jealous."
The sound startled her out of her ruminations. "Nah," she said, cheeks burning. "Nobody's looking at me. And anyways, Joe doesn't care." She paused, wishing she hadn't said it. "I mean . . . he's not the jealous type." Eyes burning, Anne opened a file drawer, grabbed a stack of records, and went to her desk.
David followed her. Sometimes he was just too perceptive.
"What's wrong? What'd I do?"
"Nothing, nothing. It's just . . ." Before she could say anything else, a tear ran down her nose onto the file she held against her.
"Problems at home?"
There was that look of his again. It was as if he could see right into her mind with those yellowy eyes of his. Wordlessly, she nodded.
"I thought so. Don't let it get you down." Tilting his head slightly, he said, "Want to go for a walk down by the lake after work and talk? I've got training at two. Meet you there right after you get off."
"Okay." She nodded her head up and down, but almost as soon as she opened her mouth, Anne wondered why she had agreed. It wasn't right for a married woman to spend time with another man. But she had to talk to someone or she would explode.
Over the past two months she had grown to like David more each day. As she lost weight, he complimented her, told her how nice she looked, and always noticed what she wore. Which was more than her husband ever did. Joe didn't know she was there. Or at least that's the way he acted. When she got down on herself, David said, "Don't talk about my friend like that."
Surely a walk with a friend would be no sin, she told herself.
"Meet you at the little bridge at the lake," he said. "Four-thirty?"
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