Overcome

by Melanie Rachel

  Feels like an Inkspots night, she mused, scrolling through and selecting an album from her playlist. “Someone’s Rocking My Dreamboat” began to play. Humming, she took out a duster and began to clear away the dirt. When she finished that, she grabbed her vacuum and cleaned the carpets. She emptied out the bag meticulously and carried the garbage outside to the dumpster. When she returned, she turned on the hot water in the sink and took out all her plates, bowls, cups, silverware, washing each by hand, setting each piece in the dishrack until it was full, then drying and putting the clean things away before beginning the next round.

  When she’d finished wiping down the counters and sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor, Elizabeth pulled on a set of gloves and moved into her small bathroom, scrubbing the faucet and counter with a new toothbrush before grabbing a scrub brush for the tub and the tile floor. The toilet was last, and she cleaned and scrubbed it until the room gleamed with her efforts.

  She washed and removed the gloves, returning them to their place under the sink. She smelled like bleach, so she stripped and a long, hot shower. She shampooed her hair and soaped her skin for the second time that day, the hot water rinsing her clean, easing the muscles in her lower back, making her feel almost human again. When she stepped out, she dried off, tossed on her pajamas, and trotted back into the kitchen for a glass of water.

  The envelope Mary had handed her was still sitting on the dining table, and Elizabeth stopped when she saw it. She walked into the kitchen for her drink, then wandered back. Finally, she sat on one of the chairs, pulling her legs up to the seat and crossing them before sliding a piece of heavy, cream-colored paper out of the envelope Mary had handed her. A flash drive tumbled out onto the tabletop and she retrieved it, rolling it between her fingers.

  Kit had written a short poem out in a flowing script like calligraphy but more modern. At the bottom was Mary’s name. Elizabeth girded herself for something dreadful. It’s Mary, she mused, so it’s likely a sonnet. She considered that. It could be worse. If it were Lydia it would’ve been a limerick. “Never mind,” she said aloud, “they made it for me, and I’ll love it.” She was pleased that they’d thought to take the time to make something for her rather than just buying something online.

  The title was simply “For Elizabeth” and the date of Mary’s sixteenth birthday. Where was I then? she wondered. With a deep breath, Elizabeth plunged in.

  I’m sixteen today.

  And now I think I understand

  A little better than I had

  The life that you had planned.

  If this is what sixteen looks like

  I wonder how you knew

  What, and how, and when to do

  All the things you did.

  Now I think I understand

  What it took from you

  But you never said.

  You never have.

  When I was young, I only knew

  That it was you,

  It was you,

  You stayed the course,

  You kept us strong

  You held us tight

  When things went wrong

  You never said, “It’s not my job.”

  You saved

  My sixteen

  For me.

  I know what love looks like because

  You saved my sixteen

  For me.

  As Elizabeth read, the words began to swirl, banging against one another in her head, wrapping themselves around her heart. Her chest felt cold, constricted. Numbly, she stood too fast, the chair falling to the floor behind her, and walked to her office. Her laptop was still open, and she quickly uploaded the file on the flash drive to her desktop. She was expecting an audio message from her sisters. Her finger shook slightly as she tapped the play icon. There was a moment of dead air and then Lydia began to sing.

  Elizabeth listened to Mary’s poem made into a song, thinking vaguely that Lydia had a good voice. When the short song ended, she played it again. And again. And again.

  And then she put her head down on her desk and did something she hadn’t done since before Tom Bennet disappeared from her life. She wept.

  Richard opened the door to the apartment and called for Will. There was no answer, and he thought perhaps he was holed up in his room with Bennet. He frowned. Like bunnies, he thought. Wonder if he saw the popcorn? Of course he did, probably five seconds after he got home. He glanced at his phone. It was late. He made himself a sandwich, finishing it in record time, and headed downstairs. I’ll just brush my teeth and hit the sack.

  He peeled his suit off, hanging everything up neatly and tossing on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. He padded into his bathroom on bare feet and reached for his toothbrush. Then he opened the medicine cabinet for his toothpaste. Showers of popcorn came flying out at him, a few pieces bouncing off his chest before landing in the sink with the rest of it.

  “Cute,” he growled. He bent to pick up the small trash can and happened to glance up. The entire stall shower, from top to bottom, was filled with popcorn. He sighed. He knew that Will would be annoyed by the mess upstairs, but he hadn’t been prepared for Elizabeth to take on the response. Didn’t they just get back? Ah well, he thought philosophically, reaching over the top of the shower stall to grab a handful. Maybe I should get a beer.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Lizzy?” Jane called, knocking on the apartment door. “Are you up?”

  When there was no response, Jane slipped her key in the door and let herself in. She put down two bags of groceries on the dining table and took a breath. Her nose crinkled. “Whoa. Have you been cleaning?” She glanced around the small apartment, peaking into the kitchen. No coffee. Despite the frigid temperature outside, she lifted one of the old, heavy windows a crack to air the place out. Then she turned her steps to the bedroom, where she knocked lightly. “Lizzy?”

  She saw the bed was made and her forehead wrinkled. “Where is she?” She checked the bathroom and frowned when she saw a bottle of acetaminophen open on the counter. She popped her head into the office, but her sister wasn’t there, either. If she was here, she’d have heard me come in. “She must be on a run,” Jane said to the empty apartment, moving to start some coffee. She checked her phone for the time. Usually she’s not up so early.

  She opened the cabinet and blessed her aunt and sister. There was a new bag of coffee there. She filled the carafe with filtered water and scooped the ground beans into the filter. “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” she quipped, tapping the spoon on the inside edge of the bag before placing it next to the sink. She started the machine and began to put away the items she’d picked up on her way over as the coffee began to percolate.

  The pot had finished brewing and Jane was filling her mug when Elizabeth’s voice came from the doorway. “Jane? Is that your car out front?”

  “It’s me!” Jane called.

  “It’s just my sister, Mr. Pizanski!” Elizabeth called into the hallway.

  Lizzy stepped into the apartment. She locked the door behind her before slipping off her trainers and dropping them on a plastic tray next to the wall. She walked directly to the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” she said appreciatively, first drinking deeply from her water bottle and then reaching into the cupboard for a mug. “I told Aunt Maddy I’d come to Montclair later.”

  “I got held over, and on the way home, figured you wouldn’t have anything to eat here,” Jane replied with a shrug. “So I brought you some staples just until you can get to the store.”

  “You brought me staples?” Elizabeth asked with a grin. “Okay, grandma.” She checked the refrigerator. Milk, eggs, bread, some apples, a few bananas, vegetables for a salad. She smiled. “I’d hug you, but I’m all sweaty. I can make you some eggs after my shower.”

  “I’ll be here,” Jane said sweetly, and sipped her coffee while Elizabeth swallowed hers hurriedly and dashed away. Jane walked slowly to the table and sat down. She crossed her legs and tap
ped her fingers on the mug.

  When Elizabeth emerged fifteen minutes later, her hair combed but still damp, dressed in khaki slacks and a green sweater, she poured a second cup of coffee and sat in a chair next to her sister.

  Jane gazed at her momentarily, thinking how the sweater picked up the color of her sister’s eyes, then noting that they were a little bloodshot. She rolled her own eyes and stood. “Get up, Lizzy. I need a proper hug after not seeing you for weeks. You got me all used to having you around and then you take off.”

  Elizabeth stood and gave her a bear hug. “Please don’t start with that,” she said, though her tone was abashed rather than accusing. “Uncle Ed already took me through it.”

  “He didn’t waste any time, did he?” Jane asked mildly.

  “It’s Uncle Ed,” was the reply. Elizabeth sipped her coffee, but her thoughts seemed far away.

  Jane smiled. “True.” Elizabeth just put her mug down and was silent. “Didn’t you offer me eggs?”

  Her younger sister started and returned her attention to Jane. She stood and nodded. “I sure did. Did you bring mushrooms and cheese?”

  Jane tipped her head and answered, “I think you know the answer to that.”

  Elizabeth opened the door to the fridge. “Ah, and an onion. And salsa. I see you planned on an omelet all along.”

  “I can’t hide anything from you,” Jane told her. She watched as her sister prepared, chopping and then sautéing the mushrooms and onion, beating the eggs, sprinkling grated cheese, finally flipping her meal out onto a plate and handing it over as she began to cook her own. Jane opened the jar of salsa and spooned some out onto her plate. Then she dug in. Elizabeth joined her soon after, and they ate in silence.

  When they finished, Jane stood to take the plates. Then she returned and sat next to her sister. “I would wait all day if I could, Lizzy,” she said calmly, “but I really do need to get some sleep before I go back to work. So you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on, Jane,” Elizabeth told her, shaking her head.

  Jane sighed. “You know you’re a terrible liar.” Elizabeth shifted in her chair. “So why do you insist on trying to do it?”

  Elizabeth slumped in her seat. “I’m just tired, Jane, that’s all.”

  Jane’s smile was disbelieving. “Now you progress to a lie wrapped in a truth. Bravo. You’re tired, but that’s not what’s wrong.”

  ‘You really are uncanny,” Elizabeth griped. “I have to remember to never enter a courtroom with you.”

  “It’s a pain, I know,” Jane admonished. “When we’re in a room together, I can’t keep anything from you. But you can’t keep anything from me, either.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Spill.”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms and placed them on the table, laying her head on top of them. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it.” She took a breath and, without looking up, began. “I’ll start with Longbourn.”

  Richard held out his hand.

  “I’m not so sure about this,” Jane said warily, eyeing the keys in her hand. Richard lifted an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “She just gave these to me when she got back last week.” He just stood there, hand out. She sighed. “Here.” She dropped them in his palm.

  Richard pocketed the keys and smiled. “Trust me, you’re doing the right thing. We’re a team, right?”

  Jane snorted. “You are your own team. I just don’t want you messing with her truck. She’s probably going to sell it, so I don’t want her to have to put money into repairing it.”

  Dramatically, Richard put a hand over his heart. “You wound me. You don’t think I could break into that truck without damaging it?”

  Jane put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know, Richard,” she said sternly. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  He laughed. “Nope. I definitely don’t want to tell you.”

  She frowned at that. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, it had better not cost Lizzy any money.”

  He winked at her. “Need I say ‘popcorn’?”

  Jane’s lips twitched. “You deserved it. Besides, no damage.”

  Richard laughed throatily. “Only to my pride. I did not see that one coming.”

  “I thought the funnier part was locking the other bathrooms so you couldn’t shower,” Jane teased.

  Richard pocketed the keys and put his arms around her, pulling her close. “Well, you’re the one who had to put up with the stench.”

  “Please,” she demurred, placing her arms around his neck, “you showered at the gym.”

  “Still.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “It was inconvenient.”

  Jane turned her head to whisper back in his ear, “Is this what passes for foreplay with you? Because it doesn’t work.”

  Richard laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Sure it does, Jane. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  Jane smiled. Every day she felt a little more for Richard, and quite remarkably, she wasn’t frightened at all. Excited, nervous, happy—but not frightened. In many ways, he reminded her of Uncle Ed, who was the best man she knew. They both made her feel safe.

  It wasn’t that Richard minded her looks, she knew. His many compliments made her blush, but because they were never just about her beauty, but about the way she’d done her hair differently, or a new shade of eyeshadow, or even a new dress, she realized that he noticed her. Saw her. And she felt she could trust what he told her. It wasn’t empty flattery. He had let her take the lead on making love rather than pushing her before she was even remotely comfortable. He admired her ambition, understood her crazy schedule, respected her intelligence. If, occasionally, he wanted to play a joke on Elizabeth, who was she to object? It wasn’t as though Elizabeth was an innocent in their little back-and-forth pranks. Right?

  Elizabeth heard the beeping from her phone, indicating she needed to leave for her next appointment. She turned it off and sighed. She’d called Garcia’s recommendation, and while the woman was pleasant enough, she didn’t seem too interested in taking on a new client. After the doctor’s reference hadn’t panned out, Jane had spoken with their uncle. Uncle Ed had called a friend, and now she was on her way to do something she dreaded, sit in a group and talk about other people’s problems. I have enough of my own. Still, Uncle Ed insisted she give it a try. Jane had a few recommendations as well, should she need them. Everyone wanted to help, and it was quickly becoming overwhelming.

  Elizabeth grabbed her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder, and bounced down the stairs to the truck. She slid inside, thinking for the third time in the past week that she really needed to sell it. She liked it, but it was just so big. And so very red. It made her feel unnervingly conspicuous driving down the turnpike. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat and turned on the engine. Then she flipped on the defroster and heard only a strained hum. The air was running but wasn’t coming out of the vents. What now? She held her hand over the one closest to her, then leaned over to look inside.

  Just as she maneuvered over the vent, she heard a loud chuff. Instantly, the air was filled with color. Small bits of it shot out into her face and spun wildly around her like a tornado. Within a few seconds, the cab was littered with tiny bits of pink, blue, and yellow paper. It was in her hair, her clothes, her face, her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but finally had to pick a few pieces from her tongue. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her hair looked like a brightly decorated Christmas tree.

  “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, raising one hand to her locks and feeling suddenly a great deal better. “Festive.” She considered how cold it had been the night before and grinned at the thought of the major sneaking into her truck to set this up. How did he even get in? she mused, knowing she’d locked the doors. She briefly thought Will might have let his cousin in, or that he’d used a slim jim, but then she realized that Jane had a key. And a car-related bone to pick. Not that it was my fault.
>
  She was running late now, so she shook the confetti out of her hair as best she could and pulled out into the street. This might all be a waste of time, she grinned. Prank therapy beats it all.

  An hour later, she was listening to introductions and wanting to sink into the floor. There were four men and one other woman in the group, all veterans, and every one of them had seen real combat. Much of her forensics work had been stressful, under unyielding deadlines, but only a few times had she literally been under the gun. When the final group member had spoken, they all turned to her. She felt her face turning red.

  “I’m Elizabeth,” she began, explaining her rank and position. “I don’t have the kind of experience under fire you all have had,” she concluded, almost apologetically.

  A man named Zach who’d introduced himself as the group’s facilitator gave her a smile. “It makes no difference, Elizabeth. We all have different things that bring us here.”

  She rubbed her palms on her jeans and tried to remember the words she’d told Will back when they’d first met, that it made no sense to compare suffering. It was easier to say the words than to feel them, but she didn’t want to be a hypocrite. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Okay.”

  Zach nodded at her, signaling for her to continue. She glanced around, and everyone seemed willing to listen.

  “Well, I had some trouble at home before I joined the Marines, but something that happened when I was stationed in Brussels really set me off recently. I was just snow-tubing when all of a sudden . . .” her voice faltered. Suddenly what? She still wasn’t sure what had happened.

  “Oh, gotcha,” said the woman sitting beside her, picking up the thread of the conversation where Elizabeth had dropped it. She blinked.