In This Together

by Patti Berg

  She stirred the applesauce, then turned off the heat. “We’re having peanut-crusted pork chops too, and roasted-garlic mashed potatoes.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  Fern shook her head. “No, the boys went to my folks’. Nelson wanted to talk with my dad about his science fair project, and my mom made fresh peach pie, so Gideon went too.”

  “They’re still leaving after dinner, aren’t they? So it’s just the two of us this evening?”

  She smiled. “Yes, it’s just the two of us.”

  “It seems forever since we were totally alone.”

  “It won’t be long before both kids are off at college, though.”

  “Think we’ll be able to handle an empty house?”

  Fern shrugged. “It’ll be different, and I’ll definitely miss the boys; but I’m willing to give it a shot—when the time comes.”

  James grabbed one of the Fuji apples sitting in a bowl on the counter, ran it under water, even though he knew Fern would have already washed it, and took a bite. He watched Fern moving about, under her own power. Boy, she was a sight to behold.

  “So,” he asked, “what’s for dessert?”

  “That chocolate and cherry pie–filling cake you and the boys like so much.”

  He could easily get used to Fern’s home-cooked meals again. She was a much better cook than he was; even though the boys had done a decent job, frozen lasagna and ramen noodles had gotten old.

  Fern pulled on a pair of oven mitts. “By the way, Elena called today and asked if I’d like to help with the Walk for a Cure.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “And you told her?”

  “Yes, of course. I should have told her I’d help when I saw her at the ball game last week, but I did tell her I’d be at the meeting she’s having on Monday.”

  “Don’t overdo it, honey.”

  Fern rolled her eyes as James tugged the mitts from her hands. “Here, let me help you,” he said, sliding his hands into the mitts. “Do you want the pork chops put into the oven?”

  It seemed as if Fern had suddenly started to grit her teeth, but she managed to mutter, “The garlic, please. The pork chops will go in later.”

  James opened the oven door, grabbed the roasting pan off the counter, and shoved it onto the rack. After closing the door, he couldn’t help but ask, “Did you find time to take a nap today?”

  Fern shook her head, her raised brow and half smile letting him see that she was trying to take his silly question in stride. “Did you take one?”

  “No, but I was working.”

  “And so was I.” She grinned. “I took my easel and watercolors out back and painted the amber and burgundy chrysanthemums that are overflowing the pots on the patio. It’s the next best thing to painting the leaves falling off the trees at our old house.”

  She hadn’t mentioned their old place in months. “Do you miss it? All the memories?”

  “The memories, yes, but not the stairs, not the mold, not the repairs that could have eaten us out of house and home if our friends hadn’t come to our rescue. Now”—she said, grabbing a dish towel, winding it up, and swatting his thigh—“go get cleaned up for dinner. When you’re done you can set the table, and I’ll sit down and relax so you can stop worrying about me.”

  “I haven’t been worrying about you.”

  “Nonsense. You’re afraid of every move I make—and I want you to stop being so scared.” Fern put down the towel and cradled his face in her hands. “We’ve got a good, long life ahead of us, with emphasis on good. Now go, and get rid of that hangdog face before the boys get home. It’s enough to scare off the devil.”

  “O Lord who clothes the lilies and feeds the birds of the sky, watch over this family,” James said, his head bent in prayer as his family gathered around the dinner table. “O Lord, who leads the lambs to pasture and the deer to the waterside, who has multiplied loaves and fishes and converted water to wine. O Lord, come to our table, dine with us, as guest and giver. Amen.”

  Before he could open his eyes, James heard his sons grabbing platters and bowls, loading up their plates with the food Fern had prepared, the delicious scents of peanuts and garlic, apples and cinnamon, wafting around the dining room. When he did open them, Fern still had her hands folded, her eyes closed, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was still praying, or if she was tired, keeping her eyes closed for just a few extra moments of rest.

  But he couldn’t ask. He had to stop worrying, for Fern’s sake and his own. The last thing he needed was to go crazy.

  “Any suggestions on my science project?” Nelson asked, as if pulling a discussion topic out of the clear blue sky. “I’ve got a few months to put something together, but I want to come up with something good. I mean, real good, something that’ll make the judges sit up and take notice, and that’ll help me win a blue ribbon.”

  “What did your grandfather suggest?” James asked.

  “Something radio related, but I’ve done that before. I want to do something completely different this time. Something no one else would think about.”

  “I suppose that leaves out anything related to the environment,” Fern said, cutting a small piece of pork chop. “But what about something about insect repellants. You know, are plant-based products more or less effective than chemical products?”

  “Everyone’s thinking green these days, so I want to stay away from an environmental project—and I’m not sure I want to do anything related to insects, especially if I have to spray a different repellant on each arm and then stand outside and see how many mosquitoes still want to eat me alive.”

  “What about thermodynamics?” Fern asked.

  Nelson’s eyes widened. “You know about thermodynamics?”

  “I know a lot about a lot of things.” Fern pushed her food around on her plate. “When I was in high school I did one of my science projects on thermodynamics, an experiment to determine if the type of gas inside a lightbulb has any effect on the brightness of the bulb, and if so, what type of gas produces the brightest bulb. It’s probably a rather simplistic experiment today, but I took second place back in the day.”

  “Did Grandpa help you with your projects?” Nelson asked, stabbing a second pork chop and immediately cutting out a piece to eat.

  “Actually,” Fern said proudly, “it was your grandmother.”

  Nelson’s and Gideon’s eyes widened, but James had heard all about it long ago. Fern was a dynamo. She put her heart and soul into everything she did—or she had, until the MS hit. He was going to enjoy watching her rise and shine once more.

  Long minutes passed by, everyone laughing about nothing in particular, talking about the not-so-great reviews both Nelson and Gideon had read about the Oscar-winning movie James and Fern were going to watch later, and even Paint the Town Purple and the Walk for a Cure.

  “Anyone interested in hearing my news?” Gideon asked, a fork loaded with potatoes on its way to his mouth.

  “We’re all ears,” James said, helping himself to another pork chop.

  “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what college I want to go to, and I’ve decided to apply to Annapolis.”

  The word nearly knocked the air out of James. He could see Gideon going to West Point, after all, that would have been James’s choice if he’d wanted to go to a military academy. But why the Naval Academy, when James had been an army man through and through?

  “Why the navy?” James asked.

  “Jenni probably likes the uniforms,” Nelson teased.

  “Yeah, she does, but I like them too,” Gideon stated. “I also like the idea of working onboard a ship.”

  “You want to be on a nuclear submarine too?” Nelson asked. “Way down at the bottom of the ocean for weeks at a time, never seeing the light of day and sleeping in hammocks or cots that are so small you can’t sprawl out?”

  “I don’t think it’s as bad as Nelson’s painting it,” Fern said, resting her forearms on the table, looking as if s
he might drop off to sleep within the first ten minutes of their movie, if she even lasted that long. “And there’s nothing that says you’d be assigned to a sub. You could be on a battleship, although that thought leaves me a little weak in the knees.”

  “I have until April of my senior year to apply, but I wanted to start looking into it now.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go to West Point and join the army?”

  Gideon laughed. “That’s not completely off the radar, Dad. I want to explore all my options.” James couldn’t miss the spark of excitement in Gideon’s eyes. “I could become a pilot, or go into special ops, like the SEALs. But the bottom line is, I want to serve my country. I want to be the best officer possible.”

  James smiled, those last words resonating strongly with his own beliefs. A son in Annapolis. Or—hopefully—West Point. Wouldn’t that be something!

  “You know,” Fern said, “if you’re serious about applying to Annapolis, you might want to think about going to Boys State next summer. It’s a good stepping-stone and it would look good on your application—for any college you decide to apply to.”

  “That’s one of the suggestions I read online.”

  “I went to Girls State between my junior and senior year of high school.” Fern smiled, as if remembering those long-ago days. “It was one of the best experiences of my life.”

  Gideon and Nelson asked one question after another about Boys State and Girls State, and Fern was ready with answers. She took a sip from her glass of water, suddenly looking more vibrant than she’d looked in years. James sat back in his chair, sipping his water, listening to Fern rhapsodize about Girls State, talking with Gideon about the history of Annapolis—although James told them all about West Point—encouraging both their sons in their future endeavors.

  James soaked it all in, but started to think about the expense of Boys State and the dent all of this college talk could make in their pocketbook. And when Nelson brought up Harvard and Yale, James couldn’t help but wonder how much overtime he was going to have to work to pay for it all.

  But he put thoughts of overtime on the back burner. Truth be told, right now he’d rather think about time alone with his wife.

  “Dance with me?”

  James was all smiles as he held out a hand to Fern, with the Carpenters singing “Close to You” in the background. She was curled up on the couch, covered with an afghan, as she’d been throughout most all of the movie they’d watched. Even though it had been a lot better than what Nelson and Gideon had heard, it was Fern who had held his interest all evening, not the movie. He’d wanted nothing more than to sit by her, to hold her hands, to feel her gentle touch and hear her tender sighs as she rested her head against him.

  The evening had been perfect. But it wasn’t over.

  Fern’s brown eyes sparkled in the light from the fireplace as she looked up at him. “I haven’t danced in a month of Sundays. I don’t even know if I remember how.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just want to hold you close, to feel you in my arms.”

  She agreed far more quickly than he’d imagined, her smile radiating her love for him as he pulled her up and against him. They danced slowly, barely moving around the floor. Captured in his embrace, he inhaled the sweet, strawberry scent of her hair. He felt her heart beat in time with his. Her body was warm against his, and he could feel her rising on her tiptoes. Anxiously anticipating what he knew was coming, he bent his head so her sweet lips could kiss his…and linger awhile.

  “Have I ever told you how happy I was the day you asked me to marry you?”

  “You might have once or twice,” James answered, “but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  “You were so handsome in your uniform, and I kept thinking I had to be the luckiest girl in the world to be your girlfriend. I hadn’t expected anything more than that, especially with you going off to war.”

  “I thought it would be selfish to ask you to marry me, when neither one of us had any way of knowing if I’d come home.”

  “And I was thinking just the opposite, that I wanted to marry you before you left. I wanted your name to be mine.”

  “Maybe I read your mind.”

  Fern pulled back slightly and looked up into his eyes. “Maybe you did. You were so scared of the future, of going away.”

  “I was afraid of leaving you. Just you.”

  “And your voice cracked.”

  “And I got down on one knee and held your hands.”

  “And said, ‘I love you.’”

  “I still do. More than ever before.”

  “You asked me to marry you, to be your bride, your wife.”

  “Your smile hasn’t changed,” James said, kissing her softly. “When I asked you to marry me and I saw that smile, I knew your answer.”

  “You’ve been the best twenty-two years of my life, James Bell.”

  He dragged in a breath and held his wife ever more closely, as Karen Carpenter sang “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

  And it did seem as if they’d begun again, twenty-two years older, twenty-two years wiser, and with twenty-two years of loving to build on.

  Chapter Eleven

  ELENA MENTALLY RAN THROUGH HER TO-DO LIST AS she walked into the cafeteria at 6:45 Monday morning to get a stiff cup of coffee—coffee she hoped she could drink. She was grateful today’s schedule was on the easy side:

  1. Get to work on time.

  2. Smile—even if you don’t feel like it.

  3. Pray for peace in the world.

  4. Stop by the ATM and take out a hundred bucks.

  5. Get together with Walk for a Cure committee and volunteers to make sure everything is up to snuff.

  6. Go home and collapse in bed.

  That was it, thank heaven.

  She was exhausted. No doubt she had dark circles under her eyes after too many hours of lying in bed unable to sleep. Cesar was in the same boat. He was frightened, worried sick about her health. She knew she should have kept it a secret. She hated to see the hurt in his eyes; hated to watch him toss and turn.

  God willing, when she visited the doctor tomorrow she’d get nothing but good news.

  A few prayers and wishful thinking never hurt.

  “Good morning.”

  Elena nearly jumped out of her shoes. Candace hadn’t really sneaked up behind her. But Elena’d been far away, off in a world of her own; and Candace’s cheerful voice took her completely by surprise. Still, she was thankful to have Candace near. She was the perfect friend and the perfect distraction.

  Of course, Candace was looking at her oddly, staring at the dark circles beneath her eyes as if she were confronting a walking zombie. Thankfully she didn’t comment about her looks. Elena would be mortified, and she might have to explain—something she didn’t want to do.

  Candace put her hand over her mouth and stifled a yawn. “Boy, it’s been a long night.” She filled her thermal coffee cup with the cafeteria’s strong black decaf. “One of the women in my current birthing class called at midnight to say she’d gone into labor, and you know how I like to be here to help out when they give birth.”

  “And face it, Candace, you like to hold the babies too.”

  Candace nodded. “That’s why I work where I do.”

  It was Elena’s turn to yawn, and when she finished she asked, “Is she still in labor?”

  Candace shook her head. “Five hours of labor, most of it fairly easy, and”—she looked at her watch—“an hour and forty-five minutes ago I was holding a seven-pound-three-ounce little girl. She’s cuter than a bug, with the longest, blackest curly hair you ever did see. Now mother and baby are doing fine, dad’s asleep in their room, and if the Birthing Unit stays quiet, I’m heading home early to catch a nap.”

  “I take it you’re not coming to the Walk for a Cure meeting this afternoon?”

  “Anabelle’s got our portion under control. She’s so much better at that volunteer stuff than I am.”

  “Yo
u’ve never let me down or anyone else down. That makes you a perfect volunteer.”

  They chatted for a few minutes more, with Candace telling Elena that she and Heath had gone out on Saturday night and had a blast, even though she’d learned that she was a lousy bowler. Of course, Heath was even worse. She smiled and looked so pretty and happy, and she hadn’t had more than a wink of sleep.

  They walked out of the cafeteria and Candace started to head for the stairwell. “Oh, one more thing, Elena,” Candace said, turning back. “Heath and I want to hit up a few thrift stores next weekend. It’s not like we really need a bunch of new stuff for the house, but everything we have was either his or mine. Now we want something that belongs to us. Does that sound silly?”

  “Not at all.” Elena took a sip of her coffee. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “No. I’ve haunted practically every antique shop between here and Chicago over the years, but I don’t have a good handle on thrift shops. Can you recommend some?”

  “Dozens, but one of my favorites is Salvaged Estates. It can easily be an overload to the senses, and the woman who runs the place is a bit scattered. Then, there’s Reminiscence. Why don’t I send you an e-mail with the names of some others too, plus their locations?”

  “Oh, thank you. I’d hate to waste our time going to places that are duds.”

  “I’ll e-mail you some restaurant recommendations too. Some cheap but good places that are nearby.”

  “You know me so well.” Candace laughed. “Cheap is one of my favorite words.”

  A few minutes later, Elena was riding the elevator to the second floor, hoping no one noticed. She was a jogger. Several times a week was normal for her, and five to ten miles at a stretch wasn’t all that uncommon, so people were bound to wonder what was wrong with her if they saw her getting out of the elevator.

  It was just her luck that James was walking by when the door opened. He frowned when she stepped out. Was he staring at the dark circles under her eyes just as Candace had?