Water's End

by Jessica Deforest

  "Okay. Four-thirty it is."

  The day dragged along, and the more Anne looked at the clock, the slower the time crept by. Lunchtime didn't speed things up at all, even though she walked down the hill to the Post Exchange cafeteria with Betty in an effort to break up the day.

  The rest of the afternoon she spent alternately wishing the day would be over and wondering if she should meet David. In her heart, though, she knew she wanted to be with him. That was the trouble. She wanted to be with him all the time.

  One time she had fixed David up on a date with her girlfriend Jackie. The two had dinner with Joe and her.

  "Wow, Anne, where'd you find him?" Jackie said. "What a doll."

  "Oh, he works in my office. I thought you two might hit it off."

  Of all the stupid things Anne had ever done in her whole life, arranging a date for her friend and David was probably the worst. Seeing him with someone else tortured her. Watching him with Jackie, and pretending everything was fine, meant pain beyond endurance. By the time the evening was over, Anne was emotionally drawn and quartered. Never again.

  There wasn't much chance of a repeat performance anyway; she knew she would have to leave Joe soon. Over the last couple of months they had become worse than strangers. They were totally indifferent to one another. Perhaps she was lucky they didn't fight, but it would have let her know he was alive. As it was, it was hard to tell if he was even conscious half the time.

  Betty's voice interrupted Anne's thoughts. "What are you doing this weekend?"

  "No plans. Maybe I'll see a movie."

  "Hope you enjoy it. See you Monday." Betty said, as she picked up her purse and locked her desk drawer.

  Looking up, Anne realized it was finally quitting time. She quickly cleaned off her desk. As she walked to the parking lot, a cool breeze whipped at her heels and shook the fiery maples that lined the street. The wind scattered once-neat piles of leaves and made her pull her trench coat closer. She loved the crisp feel of the day and took a deep breath, savoring the musky smell of burning leaves as she walked to her car.

  She drove down Grant Avenue, turned at the end, and skirted the polo field, driving along a dirt service road between two hills that separated the golf course from the polo field. Back in the twenties and thirties, before World War II, officers kept polo ponies in the post stables and actually played the game on the wide expanse of green.

  Now the field, used only for special events and parades, was usually deserted. The golf course would probably be empty, too, because no one played it except on the weekends, and then only a few desperate souls. One of the students said it was sub-par, and he didn't mean it as a pun.

  She parked near the little bridge over the stream, which ran through a tunnel under the street to feed a smaller lake to the east. David was already there, his back to her, looking out over the water.

  When he heard her car door, he turned and walked up the hill toward her. Her heart bounced about madly, ready to burst free any moment and wing off into the treetops.

  David looked around at the surrounding hills, glowing in autumn colors. “I thought Kansas was flat, but there are lots of hills here,” he said.

  “You're right. It was the bottom of a prehistoric ocean. But this part was the shore, so we have hills."

  The wind died down, and the lake surface mirrored the maples rimming its banks in fire. David picked up a Winesap-red leaf and handed it to her. "I've never seen anything like this," he said. “It's fantastic. What kind of tree is this from?"

  She smiled and took a step away from him. "Sugar maple."

  "Like the syrup?"

  A gust of wind pushed the water into ripples and made her pull her coat closer. "Yes, but we don't make it here."

  He dropped his leaf in the water. Then Anne dropped hers, and they watched the bright leaves float away, side by side.

  "There's something about water that I just love," he said. "It has a kind of power, and a kind of peace, for me."

  "Me, too," she said. "I used to come here when I was a little girl and just sit and look at the lake when I wasn't fishing or catching tadpoles."

  "You? Catch tadpoles and fish? I didn't think girls did that stuff. Can you bait your own hook?"

  "Sure. I was a tomboy," she said. "Guess I still am, sort of. I'd much rather catch tadpoles than fish, though. It's amazing, watching them turn into frogs as their tails get shorter and their legs get longer. I had a regular little nature museum in my room when I was a kid: fossils, bird's nests, cocoons, pretty rocks, tadpoles in various stages of development. I'm not much at fishing, though. I don't like killing anything."

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Me either. I used to fish, but I got so I couldn't do it anymore. Guess I like animals too much."

  Anne looked up at him, but making eye contact was too powerful, and she had to turn away. "Yeah," she said. Sometimes I feel as if animals understand me when I look at them."

  "Maybe they do. I had a baby seal look at me like that one time; you know, one of those soul-deep looks. When I got up close I could see he'd been shot in the neck. I put the little guy in the back seat of my dad's convertible, but on the way to the vet the wound broke open and he bled all over the place.

  "Poor little guy, he just looked at me with those big brown eyes of his and died. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn't." He paused. "It went all over the car, and seal blood smells like fish. Dad was pretty upset."

  She could just imagine what it must have been like for him. "Oh, how awful for you. And how sad."

  "And you've been sad for a long time. Want to talk about it?"

  She ignored his question, answering with one of her own, an evasive tactic that always worked with her mom. "Do you have a dog or cat? I've never heard you say."

  "Just a dog. A collie named Laddie. We got him at the pound. Gorgeous, but not too bright. Last time I was home, he tangled with a skunk. It took five gallons of tomato juice to de-stink him."

  She laughed briefly and looked away.

  David picked up a flat rock and skipped it across the water, where it left three separate spreading rings before it sank. "Don't feel like talking about whatever is bothering you?"

  "Nothing is bothering me." Anne picked up a stone, found just the right angle to toss it, and watched it skim the water, touching down four times. "Gotcha. Can you do five?"

  David took a step closer and looked into her eyes.

  She could feel her knees turn to jelly.

  "Let's see if I can guess," he said. "It probably has something to do with Joe being so quiet. From what I've seen of him, he's usually withdrawn. Is he always like that or does he ever loosen up?"

  Why did he have to ask? Now she'd have to answer. Half of her hesitated to talk about Joe, and the other half wanted to pour it all out, scream—no, bellow—at the injustice of it all.

  "Actually, he was pretty talkative the day you and Jackie came for dinner," she said. "But when there's nobody around, he doesn't say much. Nine months we've been married, and he's probably spent less than five or six hours with me in all that time." She pushed the hair out of her face.

  "How long did you date Joe before you got married?"

  "A year. And I thought I knew him. He was quiet, but he was fun to be with. Now it's as if he's dead and just doesn't know it yet."

  It took an effort not to say Joe was a sort of growth that attached itself to a chair in front of the television, a lump that took up space in her bed and merely got in the way. And he never touched her. Not since her birthday in March when he planted a little kiss on her cheek.

  She didn't get married to be ignored, and she was hurting. Now that she'd lost so much weight, heads turned when she walked down the street or through the hall at work, especially after she changed her hair to a deep copper. It was humiliating that her own husband never looked at her.

  "Does he ever talk to you?"

  Holding onto the railing, she looked down at the water below her feet. "No. Mos
t of the time he just sits around and doesn't say anything or do anything. And he certainly doesn't want to be with me. If I walk into the living room, he goes in the bedroom. Unless he's watching TV. Then he just stares at the set until he falls asleep or goes to bed."

  He turned toward her and looked into her face. "You're so sad and lonely, and hurt, and I'm sorry. What are you going to do?"

  Anne looked down and scuffed her foot on the bridge, trying to work off some of her tension. "I've got to leave him. I can't keep this up. It's going to be hard because we got married in the Church, and I don't make very much money. But the loneliness is too much. This is not what I wanted marriage to be. I'd rather be alone than feel like some sort of a leper he doesn't want to make love to."

  My God, she thought. I've done it again. Blurted out more than I meant to. Talking about such private things wasn't her nature.

  "You mean you two . . ."

  "Two or three times since we got married." Just saying the words helped, and the tension began to flow out of her. She didn't add that Joe's lovemaking was less than enjoyable and left her wondering why there was so much fuss about sex. She couldn't understand at all. Her cheeks burned and she looked away.

  David took a step toward her. "That man's got to be sick if he doesn't want you."

  The expression on his face was all she needed. The sweetness, the compassion, the understanding were all there, as easy to read as a child's picture book. He was her friend, and he cared about her. How long had it been since anyone had cared? She couldn't remember.

  Her mom thought only of herself, always telling Anne what to do, how to act, with never a thought about how she felt. Agnes Mills never gave her daughter advice, never guided her through her problems. All she ever did was react to whatever was going on with anger and sarcasm.

  Anne had only her Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ralph to trust and believe in, but there were some things she couldn't tell them. She couldn't choose her mother or sister; she was stuck with what she got, and all she could do was cope with them.

  She wondered why she was so bad at picking men. Every guy she cared about hurt her. Yet for some reason, she didn't know why, she was sure David wouldn't.

  As if hearing her thoughts, he said, "It's okay, you can trust me. What you say to me will never go any further."

  Choking up, she turned away. "Thanks. It means a lot. And I feel so much better letting some of it out. You're a good friend."

  With a start, she felt his hand on her back, rubbing little circles around her shoulder blade. She knew he only meant to comfort her. He would be so shocked to know what she was thinking, what she had been thinking all along, from the time she first met him.

  Was smoke pouring off her back? From the burning she felt where he touched her, she wouldn't be surprised. He had started a fire within her, leaving her faint, short of breath, and feeling things she never felt before, powerful and frightening.

  It took all her willpower not to turn and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to cling to him and never let go. Instead, pulling her trench coat closer, she bit her lip and went farther out onto the little bridge, where she threw rocks as far as she could out into the lake.

  David followed her. Standing next to her at the rail, he took her hand and turned her toward him. "Hey, Anne, you deserve a whole lot better. It'll be all right, you'll see. You're a beautiful girl, you're smart, and you work hard. That'll take you anyplace you want to go, as long as you believe in yourself."

  It was just too much for her to take in. He thought she was beautiful, and she wasn't used to kindness. She had to get away. Wordlessly, she ran to her car, where she sat with her head on the wheel and let some of her bottled-up tears spill over. Then he was beside her with his arms around her, holding her as sobs shook her body.

  Putting her head on his chest, she clung to him until at last the tears stopped. As her breathing quieted, she grew aware of his warmth, the hardness of his muscles, and the lemony smell of his skin. They sat quietly, holding one another, as the dusk began to fade.

  "I've got to go. It's getting dark," she said.

  "Umm-hmm," he said, drawing back to look at her.

  But he made no move to go. Instead, with the back of his hand he stroked her cheek, and then tilted her chin up, kissing her sweetly, deeply, until she could no longer breathe and thought she would die on the spot. His kiss filled her with a sense of rightness. She knew she belonged there in his arms. This was why she had been born.

  She responded with all the passion that had been growing in her for so long, then pulled away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you back," she stammered. "It's not right, because I'm not free."

  "Annie, Annie, it's all right. You really never had a marriage."

  "That's true. Joe and I have just been shadow dancing." She cleared her throat. "But it's dark. I'd better get home now. I'll drop you off at the barracks. Thanks for listening."

  "It's okay. It's easy when you care about somebody."

  Anne knew what he had said. He cared about her. But her brain had trouble believing it. When he drew her back into his arms and kissed her again, gently, peacefully, she knew her heart was home.

  And she was sure she had to leave Joe. Soon.

  Chapter 3

  "You'll never leave me," Joe said, waving the shotgun in her face. "Except to go to hell, and it'll be because I put you there." Clicking off the safety, he tightened his finger on the trigger.

  Anne backed up farther and farther, into the kitchen and finally into the pantry, but he kept coming. When the gun went off, she knew she was dead.

  But miraculously, she wasn't.

  The noise was so loud, she couldn't believe she wasn't hit. But she was okay except for a ringing in her ears and burning eyes. Above her, a light poured in through a gaping hole in the roof. Plaster dust frosted her from head to toe.

  Joe had pulled the gun up at the last minute. Should she be happy, scared, shocked, or what? With a start, she watched him slide down the kitchen wall and slump on the floor, where he stared at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open, the gun across his lap.

  In an adrenalin rush, Anne grabbed the shotgun and ran out the back door, down to the creek bank, using all her strength to heave the gun out into the middle of Choctaw Creek. Sweat dripped off her, even though she could see her breath in the cold November air. She threw her wedding ring after the gun.

  Then, when she realized how close Joe had come to killing her, she got angry. The ire rose in her until she thought her head would explode. How dare he treat her this way? What had she ever done except try to be a good wife?

  Running back up to the house, she saw him standing in his skivvies on the back porch, a surprised look on his face.

  "Why'd ya do that to my gun?" he said, hands on his hips.

  If she had been angry before, now she was twice as mad. Didn't he know what he had done? In two steps she was on the porch, and before she knew it, Anne had pushed her husband off onto the ground.

  Her Uncle Ralph drove up and parked out back by the garage just as Joe landed in the middle of a mud puddle by the stairs.

  "You've got some weird idea of love," she shouted at her husband, whose behind was now anchored in several inches of mud and yellow clay. "You ignore me, refuse to touch me, treat me like a leper for eleven months, then try to shoot me for leaving you."

  "No, I just meant to scare you. I love you," he said, tears running down his face. "I've never loved anyone but you."

  "You sure have a funny way of showing it."

  Uncle Ralph got out of his truck and ran over to her. "What's going on here?" he said, putting a big arm around her shoulders. "You all right, Anne?"

  Shoving a long strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes, she said, "Yeah. I just decided not to let him get away with his stuff anymore."

  If she hadn't been so angry, she might have laughed at Joe, there in the mud, wearing only his underwear, shivering like anything. Too bad it wasn't cold enough to freeze his tai
l to the ground.

  Uncle Ralph, without cracking a smile or missing a beat, drew himself up to his full six feet four inches, looked at Joe and said, "Been making mud pies again?"

  Joe grunted and struggled up, then followed them into the kitchen, shivering and tracking mud and clay across the floor.

  "Do I smell gunpowder?" Uncle Ralph asked, looking up at the hole in the pantry ceiling. Ralph shoved his baseball cap back on his head and looked at Joe. "Either you been eating beans again, Joe," he said, his face clouding over, "or cleaning your gun and had a misfire." His eyes narrowed. "Sure hope it wasn't nothin' else."

  Anne put her hand on her uncle's arm. "He won't be firing that gun again anytime soon. It's in the bottom of Choctaw Creek, along with my wedding ring."

  "Sorry to hear that. That was a right nice gun." He squinted at Joe. "Don't think you'll find it again, considering all the mud in the bottom of the creek. But it's a good thing for you, 'cause it means I don't have to hurt you."

  Her uncle hitched up his overall straps. "Of course, you realize that if messing with my Annie ever so much as crosses your mind, you won't have to worry about finding your gun . . . because you'll be right down there next to it. Yessir, you'll be under the mud at the bottom of Choctaw Creek instead of sitting in some puddle in your back yard. "

  Joe didn't say anything. He padded off to the bathroom, and Anne heard the shower running as she packed her things. After what seemed a long time, her husband came out of the bathroom in clean jeans and watched silently as they loaded her belongings into her uncle's truck. She didn't think he would cause any more trouble.

  But when they finally pulled out of the driveway, he ran along behind the truck, screaming after them, "No, don't leave me, Annie. You'll be sorry. I'll kill myself."

  Seeing her worried look, her uncle said, "He doesn't mean it. Just wants you to feel sorry for him. If you stay, he's liable to kill you. Before you go worrying about his feelings, stop and think about how much he cared about your feelings when he shot that hole in the ceiling."

  Anne knew he was right, but she never could stand to hurt anyone. Funny how she was so surprised that Joe didn't want her to leave. Maybe it was because he never gave any sign before that he wanted her to stay.