Water's End

by Jessica Deforest

  With a wry grin, her uncle patted her shoulder. "Let's get you on over to your mother's. You'll feel better once all this is behind you. That Joe never was good enough for you anyhow."

  Anne dreaded moving in with her mother. She knew it wouldn't work. They didn't get along. Never had and probably never would. But Anne couldn't find a place of her own on such short notice. It was nearly the end of the month, though, and something ought to be available by the first.

  Meanwhile, she had enough money to put a down payment on an old car and get insurance. Then she had to find a lawyer. After that, she would look for an apartment. She might have to use some of her college money, but she could always replace it.

  Later that afternoon, once she got everything back in her old room, she went to see Willard Rogers, the best lawyer in town. Starting a divorce was amazingly easy. A check, some papers to sign, and in six months or so a marriage was dissolved.

  The big church ceremony the day after Christmas—paid for by her Uncle Ralph—meant nothing, after all. The beautiful white silk peau de soie dress, the altar banked with poinsettias, the bridesmaids in red velvet, all were just part of a pointless charade.

  A lump the size of a boulder formed in Anne's throat, and her chest ached until her attorney said, "Did you tell me over the phone that your husband threatened to kill you?"

  "Yes." The hole in the ceiling flashed in her brain for an instant, and the lump in her throat cleared. The ache in her chest went away, too, and her heart beat faster. "The day I left, he aimed a shotgun at me but shot a hole in the roof instead. Guess I'm lucky the hole wasn't in me."

  "That's grounds for a restraining order. We'll see you get one. That means he can't come within seventy-five feet of you, no matter where you are."

  Once the meeting was over, Anne felt better. As she walked down the hill toward her mother's house, she felt a sense of relief and realized it was because she no longer worried about making a decision. Now that she had made up her mind and taken action, the hardest part was over. That night she slept better than she had in months.

  The next day she found a car. "This is just what you need," the salesman said. "It's been reduced. I can let you have it for only $600." She had spotted the dark-green 1953 Pontiac Chieftain four-door on the lot at the dealership down the street from her mom's house. A trade-in, and clean as a Thanksgiving wishbone. The car wasn't flashy, but it had low mileage. Maybe the mythical little old lady in tennis shoes was real and once owned this car.

  No matter; Anne thought she'd found a good deal. The payments were just fifty dollars a month, and her insurance was eighteen. What a joy it would be not to have to ride the bus to work, as she had for the past week.

  That Friday she took off from work early to pick up the car. When she signed the papers and got the keys, she decided to drive by her old house and pick up a few things. Joe would be at work, and she was glad, because she definitely didn't want to see him.

  Things looked the same when she pulled in the drive, though she noticed the front porch hadn't been swept in a while. But the sight that greeted her when she opened the door almost made her sick at her stomach. The living room looked as if a buffalo herd had trampled through it. Furniture was turned over; potted plants had been smashed on the walls, leaving black stains; and dog excrement littered the floor.

  The bedroom looked the same, and the kitchen sink overflowed with dirty dishes that smelled nearly as bad as the garbage on the floor. Leaves had fallen through the hole in the roof and littered the floor of the moldy-smelling pantry.

  A soft whimper startled her. There, in a corner of the kitchen, cowered a half-grown white German shepherd puppy. It put its ears down and crept on its belly to her, then licked her shoe. "Good baby," she said, scratching its ear. The pup rolled over, tongue lolling out, as she scratched its pink belly.

  She wanted to find her dogs before Joe got home. "Droopy? Beauty?" she called, but her two prize Basset Hounds weren't in the house. Her uncle wanted the dogs. They were registered in Anne's name, because she paid for them, just as she paid for all the furniture in the house. Joe knew she planned to pick them up that weekend. Where were they?

  Trying to calm her fears, she walked out the back door to the dog pen but found it empty, the gate closed and locked. She walked all round the pen, but could find no place they might have gotten out. "Come on, Droopy, come on, Beauty," she called, but they didn't come. What had Joe done with them?

  Maybe he hadn't bothered to put them in the pen at all, in which case they'd be down by the creek. It was their favorite place. In the summer, they liked to lie on the spillway and let the water run over them. This time of year, they were content to lie on the retaining wall in the sun, where they could watch for an occasional muskrat to bark at.

  Wishing she'd worn tennis shoes instead of high heels, Anne picked her way across the cornfield to Choctaw Creek. But instead of finding the dogs, she came on a scene that was to haunt her the rest of her life.

  Her two beloved cats, Butter and Ollie, lay sprawled on the creek bank, their necks broken.

  Chapter 4

  Joe pulled into the driveway next to Anne's car just as she slid blindly behind the wheel. He sat there, saying nothing, as he glared at her.

  "Why?" she screamed. "Why? Butter and Ollie were innocent little animals."

  Still he said nothing.

  Her nails dug into her palms, and she wasn't sure she could move. She knew she had to get out of there, but a kind of numbness crawled from the top of her scalp down her spine. "Where are the dogs?"

  "Gave 'em away."

  "Don't lie to me. If they're dead, let me know. It's not fair to make me hope."

  "What do I care if it's fair or not? What's fair about you leaving me?"

  She threw the car in reverse and shot out of the driveway, narrowly missing a big Buick creeping along with old half-blind Mrs. Mayfield at the wheel. The woman hadn't seen her and would have hit her had Anne pulled out a few seconds later.

  Anne cried all the way home, wondering where the tears came from; these days she never seemed to run out of them. Fortunately, her mother wasn't back from work yet, so she didn't have to explain her puffy eyes and red nose. There'd be no sympathy from Agnes Mills, and Anne's problems would only upset the woman, giving her something else to worry about and chew on.

  With a sigh, Anne put a cold cloth on her eyes, lay down on the sofa, and turned on the radio. "But Not for Me" was playing again. It could be her own personal theme song. She turned it off when she heard her mother come in the front door.

  Agnes Mills stuck her head in Anne's door. "You're home early."

  "Just resting a little. Either I'm catching cold or my allergies are at it again."

  "Your eyes look awful. Have you talked to Joe? Poor boy, he called here yesterday when you were at the library. I don't understand how you could just up and run away from your husband like you did. Say what you will, he's a good provider, and you had a nice car and a beautiful home."

  The words rained down like clubs on Anne's head. She hadn't told her mother much about the breakup with Joe, and she threatened her Uncle Ralph with death, destruction, or worse if he did. Agnes couldn't handle such things. So it was no wonder she thought her daughter was crazy for leaving such a terrific guy.

  Material things were important to her mother, who never recovered financially after Anne's father, Nathan Mills, lost his grocery store and everything else in the Great Depression. They might have starved to death, because her father was in poor health, but he inherited a little farm from his folks, and Agnes was a farmer’s daughter who knew how to work the land.

  German pioneer’s child that she was, Agnes could raise chickens and fruit and vegetables, can food, make quilts and clothes, and perform the many tasks that had made it possible for her homesteading parents to survive.

  Nathan’s health, broken in World War I and made worse by his drinking, deteriorated with each passing year. He died when Anne was ten months ol
d, leaving Agnes to raise five-year-old Joan and a baby on her own. By then, the economy had started to turn around because of World War II, so she sold the farm and bought a small house in town on the bus line. During the war, she worked at the Post Exchange altering uniforms, but there was no need for her services when the war was over, so she started cleaning houses at the fort.

  It embarrassed Anne that her mother worked as a maid. Though she knew life had been hard for her, and she felt sorry for her, she thought her mom could have a better job if she tried. Even working in the dime store paid more. Agnes Mills was a bright woman, but she acted as if she didn't deserve anything, even a decent job. Anne thought her mother’s low opinion of herself had something to do with her fluctuating moods and short temper.

  "Leave it alone, Mom. Joe and I just don't get along."

  "But you joined the Church and married him in it. How could you stop loving Joe all of a sudden?" Her eyes narrowed. "People are beginning to talk about you. Don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

  "Oh, Mom, of course not." Now that her mother had joined the Catholic Church, she was overzealous, the way she was with everything. No one was more fanatical about religion than a convert.

  "Divorce is a sin. Says so in the Bible somewhere. I wasn't always happy with your father, but I never even dreamed of a divorce. You made your bed, young lady; now it's time to go lie in it," her mother said, slamming the door as she left.

  That weekend Anne spent in her room, reading a couple of novels from the library and writing in her journal. Mostly, she avoided her mother.

  The following Monday at work, David came over to her desk to talk to her, but Anne couldn't look him in the eye. It wasn't that anything had changed. She still felt the same emotions, the same inner stirrings that threatened to carry her off into some sort of craziness she didn't dare imagine. But now a sense of guilt smothered her and turned her hot with shame when she thought of their kisses in her car.

  Although she knew it wasn't her fault, she still believed if she hadn't been unfaithful in her heart, had she not kissed David and longed for him so, then Ollie, Butter, and the dogs would still be alive. She hadn't found the dogs, and she knew she would never see them again. They probably were in the mud at the bottom of Choctaw Creek.

  For the rest of the week she avoided David as much as she could, but on Friday, when everyone else was out and their supervisor was away for a doctor's appointment, he walked over to her desk.

  "What's going on with you?" he asked, leaning over her, hands gripping the edge of her desk. They were hands such as Michelangelo had carved, large and square, with long, tapering fingers.

  Gulping, she refused to look up. Staring at his fingernails, she said, "Nothing. I just don't feel too well."

  "Are you angry with me? You've hardly spoken to me for a week. I know you moved out of Joe's house, and I saw you driving a different car." He paused. "Why won't you tell me anything?" His knuckles were white as his grip on the desk tightened. He leaned toward her. "You've got me scared to death."

  Even more confused, and overwhelmed by a new kind of guilt, Anne looked up at him. Seeing the pain in his eyes, she touched his hand briefly, but the electricity that jumped through her made her recoil. "I didn't mean to scare you. Everything's been such a mess," she said. "Yes, I moved out. And I saw the lawyer. I should be free in six or seven months. It's just been so . . ." Her voice trailed off.

  He slipped his hand over hers, but she pulled it away, feeling hot and shaky.

  David cleared his throat. "Look, I know I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay. But I simply can't handle all this right now. Just be my friend and leave it at that, all right?" She hesitated. "If you want to date other people, it won't bother me," she said, not meaning it. "Here comes Betty."

  David picked up a record from her desk and pretended to ask her a question about something in it.

  "Hey, guys," Betty said, taking off her coat and hanging it on the rack in the corner. "Brrrr. Guess I'll build a fire in the fireplace tonight. Could use one in here, too, couldn't we?" She plunked down behind her desk.

  No, Anne wanted to shout. I'm already on fire, and I'm going to burn up. The blaze within her lit her cheeks and popped sweat out on her forehead. Nothing had changed. If anything, her feelings for David were stronger. Perhaps she'd have been all right if he hadn't touched her.

  Later that day, when Betty went down to the headquarters vault to work on some classified records, David brought a stack of files to her. "These are finished, but I'd feel a lot better if you'd check and make sure I did them right." He paused. "Meet me at the lake tonight? I really need to talk to you."

  "Look, David, I don't want to get you in the middle of anything. You're a good friend, and I'm so grateful you care about me, but I need to do this on my own. I'm still legally married, and I can't feel good about anything until I get the divorce over with." Even as she said the words, she knew she didn't mean them.

  "All I want to know is that you're okay."

  "I'm sorry," she said. "Don't worry; I'm going to be all right. I moved in with my mom and bought a car, a used Pontiac. It runs great and gets me where I need to go."

  He looked puzzled. “What happened to your convertible?"

  "Joe bought it for me, and it was in his name. Besides, I didn't want it. Too many bad memories." Without meaning to, she grimaced.

  David didn't notice. "How's Joe taking all this? He's so devious, I worry about you."

  "Joe's his usual closemouthed self, but I've got a restraining order on him just in case. Don't worry." She didn't tell David about the incident with the shotgun, afraid of what he might do to Joe if he found out.

  Surprisingly, she and her mother were getting along well, and Agnes urged Anne to take her time in finding an apartment, since she couldn’t find anything she liked that she could afford. As Christmas approached, Anne stayed busy with work, shopping, and house hunting.

  But nothing could make her forget her first anniversary was coming up, and there'd be nothing to celebrate. Instead, she'd be spending her anniversary alone.

  When she had tried to explain to Father Dwyer why she wanted a divorce, he said nothing could be done. According to the laws of the Church, there was no reason for divorce. She'd be excommunicated if she went on with it.

  It was a sad time, and Anne felt as lonely as she ever had in her life.

  The week before Christmas was really bad. Helping her mother put up decorations brought back all the memories of the previous year, when she was finishing up with wedding details. Besides buying Christmas presents then, she'd shopped for bridesmaids' gifts, a blue garter, and a white satin negligee and gown.

  With an inner ache she recalled the excitement of getting into her wedding dress the day after Christmas and how her mother's hands shook as she fastened the tiny satin buttons that marched from the neck to six inches below the waist. Next came the long veil, scalloped, hand-rolled and edged in seed pearls, falling from a pearl headpiece.

  How could she ever forget the expression on Joe's face as they knelt at the communion rail? "Until death do us part," they had promised.

  As if they were on the same wavelength, Joe called her on Christmas Eve, the first time since she left him. "You've got to forgive me, Annie," he said. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Let's give it another try. Come on home and I'll do better, I promise."

  "The sound of the shotgun is something I'll never forget. And what about the cats?" Tears slid down her cheeks.

  "Oh, God, I must have been crazy. It's just that I love you so much, and I couldn't stand losing you. Nothing like that will ever happen again. This house is so empty without you."

  Anne could hear the sadness in his voice. "But this whole past year you acted as if I didn't exist."

  "Things will be different, you'll see. Just give it a try. I'll come by and pick you up after Christmas dinner." Excitement filled his voice. "I've got a surprise for you," he said.
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br />   "All right, but only for an hour. Pick me up at my sister's. Mom and I are eating there, like last year."

  Anne didn't sleep well that night.

  Christmas Eve she got off work at noon, after a little office party that wasn't too much fun because David had flown to California for the holidays. He was probably lying on the beach in the sunshine while she slipped and slid about in two feet of snow.

  Christmas Day she and her mother went to mass, but these days church only made her feel worse. Seeing the red poinsettias on the altar brought back her wedding day, and she teared up when she saw the large manger scene with its small forest of evergreens on the side altar.

  She dreaded going to her sister's place because she knew her sister secretly hated her. However, Joan always pretended she adored her little sister, especially when their mother was around, so Anne could count on her best behavior.

  Anne felt better for a while at Flo's house, watching her little nieces Mary and Beth, and her nephew Johnny play with their new Christmas toys. There was so much noise and confusion Anne couldn't think at all.

  The women had all gone into the kitchen to dish up the food when a shout came from the dining room. "Mom, Mom. Goldie's being bad."

  Goldie, her sister's golden retriever, was always into some sort of mischief, like stealing the clothes off the line, or running off with Mary's teddy bear, so they didn't pay much attention until Mary came running into the kitchen. "You won't believe what that dog did."

  In a rush of curiosity, they all trooped into the dining room, where they found Goldie under the table, munching on the twenty-two-pound turkey. No one could move for a minute or two, because they were all paralyzed with laughter at the sight.

  Armed with oven mitts, Anne dived under the table and wrestled the turkey from the dog. The meat was steaming, right out of the oven, so she couldn't understand how Goldie could eat it. She and Joan rushed it into the kitchen, where they ran hot water over it.