by Jenni Moen
Jonathan, who was still ahead of me, crawled back to me. He handed me his phone and I stared at it blankly before looking back at him. Shielding his mouth with his hand, he coughed out, “Grace, I’ll get the kids. You go outside and call for help. Meet me outside Isabelle’s window.”
Despite everything, he remained calm. He looked at me with steely determination, a look with which I was very familiar. The set of his brow and clarity in his warm amber eyes convinced me with one glance that our kids would be safe and sound in his capable hands.
I didn’t doubt him. Jonathan had never given up on anything or anyone in his entire life. He would succeed. He would get us all out of the house and keep us safe, which was exactly why I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to help him and knew he would rescue us all if it came down to it.
“I think we should stay together,” I sputtered, crawling after him. We both eyed the flames that were now moving across the bottom of the stairs, effectively separating us. The smoke stung my watering eyes.
My handsome hero crouched, in his boxers and bare feet, four steps up and shook his head deliberately. “No,” he insisted. “I’ll get Trey and then Isabelle and then lower them to you from her window. You need to be there to catch them.”
I nodded wordlessly, letting his instructions sink in. Even in a panic situation, he had a plan. My head spun as I debated all the places I needed to be simultaneously.
I needed to call for help.
I needed to be with my kids.
I needed to be outside to catch them.
Jonathan nodded at me one more time and headed up the stairs. I turned to the front door and threw it open. A gust of air blew in, and smoke whooshed around me in response. Turning back to the stairs one last time, I was horrified to see the flames already dancing their way up to the second step. They were following Jonathan. In a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, they would engulf the entire staircase. Smoke gathered on the upper landing, and I could no longer see him.
‘Call for help,’ he’d said.
The urge to follow his instructions waged a war against my more primal, maternal instinct to follow him and protect my children.
My whole life was at the top of the stairs. Everything I cared about. They were my whole world. I was a mother. I was a wife. Without them, I had nothing. I would be nothing.
I stared at the flames now spreading to the third step. Soon it would be impassable. My home was a lost cause, but my family didn’t have to be. If I went upstairs, Jonathan could jump first, and I could drop the kids to him. He was stronger and taller. He should be the one catching them.
I stared into the fire. I could still jump over it, but I had to go now.
But, ‘Go get help,’ he’d said.
Should I go upstairs or go outside? I frantically looked around for any sign that would help me decide what to do.
I weighed my options for only a few seconds more, but it was as if time stood still.
AUTOPILOT
Grace
The ground was hard and dry. The brittle grass crunched beneath my shoes as I navigated my way through the stones.
It hadn’t rained during the past sixty-two days. That’s what they’d said on the news this morning. We were officially in a drought. However, I hadn’t even noticed. As far as I was concerned, the sun hadn’t made an appearance at all during the last five months. Of course, a tsunami could have come through southern Texas and I wouldn’t have noticed that either.
I turned left at the praying Madonna and right at St. Vincent de Paul. Like most things around me, I didn’t notice these markers. I’d made the trip so many times that thinking was no longer required. I could get there on autopilot.
My entire life was on autopilot.
It wasn’t until my feet hit the familiar patch of green that I could breathe without it hurting. The heavy weight that usually pressed upon my chest lifted, and I gulped in the air. Even as tears began to sting my eyes, I felt better.
I dropped my bag and settled down beside it. The soft blades tickled the palm of my hand when I ran it across the grass. I’d never asked myself why this one spot – this one 12’ by 6’ square of grass – was maintained and manicured while every other plot remained ignored, and today was no different.
I didn’t ask because details meant nothing to me any more. Besides, it just seemed right. After all, this patch of earth should be as beautiful as the perfect family who now laid beneath it.
_________________________
It was dusk before I got to my feet again. After nearly four hours of constant chatter, my voice was gravelly and my throat scratchy. It didn’t matter though because I didn’t plan on speaking again for the rest of today.
Four tiny steps put me within reach of the single headstone. Running my hands over the marble, I traced the letters of each of their names.
“Good night, Trey.”
“Isabelle.”
“Jonathan.”
Finally, I forced myself to turn away. When I reached the wrought iron gate, it was still open even though the sun was low in the sky. My car, which was parked just outside, glowed in the orange hue.
Like everything else in my new life, it was an uninteresting car. Something on the smallish side that my dad picked up for me to try and coax me out of the house. If you asked me, and I wasn’t standing in front of it, I probably couldn’t even tell you what color it was.
Everything I owned was new. Bright and shiny and new. And none of it felt like it was mine. I was living someone else’s life with someone else’s things.
“Grace.”
“Kate.” I continued to rummage through my bag for my keys and didn’t look up. Though I hadn’t expected her to come looking for me, I knew why she was here.
She’d mentioned something this morning about going out for dinner tonight. As usual, I’d brushed her off. I didn’t want to go out for dinner. Generally, I didn’t want to go anywhere, and she knew that. She knew me better than anyone.
The flip side was that I knew her just as well and knew exactly what she was thinking. Meeting me here was her attempt at cutting me off at the pass. She didn’t want to give me the chance to make it home where I would inevitably crawl back into bed for the next twelve to fifteen hours.
When I wasn’t here, that was where I spent most of my time. Months ago, they’d given me pills to help me sleep. In the beginning, I’d needed them. They’d tempered the nightmares and deadened my memories. But I didn’t take them any more. I was an expert sleeper now and attempted daily to sleep my life away.
That was exactly what I wanted to do right now. I wanted to go home and sleep what was left of the day away. I certainly didn’t want to go out to dinner and sit in a restaurant where I’d no doubt run into people I knew.
Our town was small. Too small. Everyone knew my story, and I couldn’t stand all of the pitying glances and curious stares. People whispered about me because I was the one who’d lived. Everyone wanted to talk about me, but no one wanted to talk to me.
I didn’t blame them. If I were in their shoes, I’d whisper about me, too. Everyone loves a tragedy and I was the biggest tragedy in town.
“Load up. We’re going out.”
“I’m not,” I said, still looking for my keys.
“Are so.”
“Are not.”
“Get in.”
“Fuck off,” I said, finally giving up on my keys and looking up. I threw a hand over my eyes to shield them from the setting sun. It was only then that I realized that Kate wasn’t alone.
“Ohhh, Father Paul. I didn’t realize.” He was leaning against his equally uninteresting car. However, the smallish, darkish box on four wheels sharply contrasted with the sparkling silver convertible double-parked behind it. Kate’s car was as flashy as she was.
“It’s good to see you, Grace,” he said softly, nodding ever so slightly in greeting. A cautious smile played at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I said in an equa
lly soft voice before turning back to Kate. “You blocked the wrong car.”
Kate smirked at me. “They look alike. I didn’t realize that this one wasn’t yours until Father Sullivan got out of it.”
“You’ve been talking?” I asked warily. “Is this going to turn into an intervention?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” She turned toward him as if to propose the idea. “Would you like to have dinner with us?” she asked instead.
I groaned. “I’m not going out to dinner.” I stomped my foot like a petulant child. The faint smile on Father Paul’s face grew wider, but he remained silent. He seemed content to watch the drama unfold between us.
“Get in the damn car, Grace. A burger is not going to kill you.”
“Don’t cuss in front of the priest,” I hissed, squinting and glaring at her through one blinded eye.
He chuckled. “I’ve certainly heard worse.”
“From you, apparently,” she said, bowing dramatically. “This is not up for debate, Grace. Let’s go.”
I shook my head.
“Father, are you coming?” she asked.
I knew what she was trying to do. If she could get Father Paul to agree to come, then I’d have a harder time telling her no.
“I haven’t had dinner yet. Just let me lock up, and I’ll follow you,” he said.
Oh, good Lord. They were ganging up on me. “I’ll follow you, too,” I huffed and turned again toward my car.
“No way,” she said. “I don’t trust you. We’ll get halfway there, and you’ll turn off and go home and crawl into bed.”
No one knew me better. “Fine,” I said. “Are we just going to leave my car here?”
“It’ll be okay here,” Father Paul said, returning from locking the gate. “No one will mess with it.”
I shrugged. I didn’t care if they did.
I trudged through the gravel to the passenger side of Kate’s car and slid into the plush leather seat that fit her personality to a ‘T’. Even though she didn’t plan on staying in Merriville, she’d spared no expense on her car.
My sister lived a totally different lifestyle than I did. I’d gotten married young and had kids. She’d spent the last ten years traveling the world with nothing tethering her. She’d done well as a travel writer, and now she had her pick of assignments. She could go pretty much wherever she wanted. Presently that meant moving back to our hometown and hovering over me.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” she asked, sliding behind the wheel. “I can’t believe his Holy Hotness is coming with us. Does he eat meat?”
“Geez, Kate, he’s Catholic. Not a vegetarian.”
“Well, yeah, but I wondered about the whole animal cruelty thing. Saint Sexy looks like he likes animals.”
“Again. Affiliated with the Catholic Church. Not PETA. You’re a moron.”
“Do you see what’s happening here?” she asked as she stopped at a light.
“What?” I asked, looking out the passenger window so I didn’t have to look at her.
“We’re having a normal conversation.”
I remained silent. Nothing really felt normal. No matter what I was doing, no matter who I was doing it with, it was all varying degrees of abnormal. Going for a burger like I was anyone else felt highly abnormal.
“We’re here.” She pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car. “Are you going to be okay?”
I stared blankly at her.
“Seriously. I know I’m yanking you out of your comfort zone, but I just …” She grabbed the hand that was resting in my lap. “I just don’t want you to forget.”
“Forget what? Trust me. I haven’t forgotten anything.” I looked away again because I didn’t want to cry before I had a burger with my crazy ass sister and the town priest.
“Forget how to live,” she said, squeezing my hand again. “I know you’re not ready, but every now and then, I feel like I need to remind you how to live. Jonathan wouldn’t want you to be sad forever.”
I thought about what he’d said about my dad the night he’d died. She wouldn’t want him to live like this. She would want him to move on. He’s too young to stop living.
I knew he wouldn’t want me to stop living just because he couldn’t be a part of my life any more, but that didn’t make it any easier. I let go of her hand and sighed an audible, exasperated sigh. I got out of the car and walked toward the front door of the restaurant without looking back at her.
I didn’t have to tell her. She already knew. I didn’t want to live.
_________________________
Minutes later, we were seated at a booth in the corner. I was pretty sure that she’d specifically asked the hostess to put us as far away from other people as possible. She might be trying to remind me how to live, but she was doing so with baby steps. I was still angry at her for having forced me into this but at least she was trying to make my reintroduction into the world as bearable as possible.
Father Paul was right behind us and slipped into the other side of the booth looking a little less priestly than he had a few minutes ago. He’d taken both the black shirt and the collar off, and he was wearing a tan V-neck t-shirt with his usual black pants. He didn’t look at all like the Father Paul I knew, and I wondered if it was even allowed.
“So Father Paul,” Kate began, “Grace here says you can eat meat. Is that right?”
He smiled at her, but eyed her warily as if he thought she might be setting him up somehow. “Yes, I eat meat.”
Kate continued on, oblivious to anything other than her curiosity regarding his carnivorous nature. “Good because I wasn’t sure. It’s been a long time since I went to church. And, I’m not sure what the Church’s stance is on meat these days.”
Father Paul chuckled softly. “As of yet, the Vatican hasn’t taken a position on meat. Outside of Lent, of course. But, personally, I have no beef with it.” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes that I’d seen only rarely. Kate had that effect on people.
“Father Paul, are you making a joke?” Kate asked.
He peered down at his menu as a full-on grin took over his face. “There’s no prohibition on jokes either.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, glancing back at her own menu. “I have to be honest. I wasn’t sure what dinner with a man such as yourself would be like.”
“A man such as myself?” he questioned, his laugh slightly more boisterous this time.
“Yes, you know,” she said, waving her hand ceremoniously in his direction. “A man of the cloth.”
I rolled my eyes. “Have you two actually formally met?” Kate and I grew up in Merriville, but Father Paul had only lived here for a couple of years. She’d left town long before he arrived.
They looked at one another guiltily and then looked at me. “We’ve met,” he finally said. That one glance told me everything I needed to know. Neither would want to say it aloud, but I knew. They’d met at the funeral.
“Oh,” I said, nodding dismissively. I didn’t want to hear the words any more than they wanted to say them.
“Are you still staying at home?” The question was directed at Kate so I went back to my menu. Nothing sounded good to me.
“Yes,” Kate answered. “Dad and Grace are all I have. We are family.” She sang the last sentence to the tune of Sister Sledge. Father Paul looked at her curiously but swallowed any question he may have had as the waitress walked up to take our order.
While we waited for our food, I sat quietly, trying to disappear into the tall-backed seat. I studied my silverware. I counted the cars in the darkening parking lot. I did whatever I could think of to keep myself from looking around the restaurant. I didn’t want to know who was there and if they were staring.
“So what inspired you to become a priest,” Kate asked after our food arrived. I poked at my burger while waiting for his answer and flicked some sesame seeds off onto my plate.
For a moment, I wished that Arden was here with me. She would ha
ve loved to hear his answer. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen much of her during the past few months. Maintaining a relationship with her had become too difficult. I knew I could call her if I needed her, but the connection we’d once had was missing. Me, with my inability to talk to anyone on any kind of real level, and her, with her very alive family, it was just too hard. Out of necessity, I’d distanced myself from her.
I finally looked up because an awkward amount of time had passed since Kate asked the question. I was also interested in his answer. Similar to me, Father Paul was staring at his plate like he expected something to move on it. Finally, he looked up and said, “Life. Life happened. Sometimes unexpected obstacles are thrown at us, and we have no other choice but to embrace them. Sometimes our path in life is not of our own choosing.”
It was a trademark Father Paul-ism. The formerly talkative Kate stared at him and blinked.
“I just meant that we don’t always have a choice in things,” he added. “You have to cope the best way you can. Grace knows what I am talking about.” He threw an encouraging and sympathetic smile in my direction.
If he was expecting me to talk about the unchosen path that I was on or the obstacles I was currently hurdling, he had another thing coming. I knew all about life choosing you instead of you choosing it. However, I wasn’t going to talk about it. If the two of them had thrown together an impromptu grief counseling session, they were going to be supremely disappointed. I had nothing to say on the subject of coping. I was fairly certain I was failing miserably at it anyway.
I nibbled on the end of a cold French fry before tossing it back on my plate and looked up to find Father Paul still watching me. He smiled his most reassuring smile. It was a lifeline that he usually reserved for the most hopeless souls coming through the soup kitchen. “You’ll get there. Takes time.”