19
The sun had been up for hours by the time Jon and Carlie returned home from the emergency room. Carlie looked more like a demented raccoon than the beautiful woman she was. She had huge black and purple circles under both eyes. Thin strips of bright white surgical tape secured a metal brace across the bridge of her nose, and nasal tampons protruded from each nostril.
Resetting her broken bones had caused moderate swelling around both eyes and in her cheeks. The most distinguishing feature of her new face, however, was the blue-black bruise on the tip of her nose.
Jon had fed the cardinal its breakfast and was fixing a pot of tea when the telephone rang. Carlie sat at the kitchen table wondering if she should even attempt to answer it. Jon, almost as if it were second nature, picked up the receiver and stretched the phone cord back to the stove, where the kettle had just started whistling.
“Hello? … Yeah, she’s here, Dexter, but I don’t think she’ll be able to talk. … Huh? Oh yeah, she’s all right, but she had a small accident last night. She fell down and broke her nose. … Of course I didn’t hit her! Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon looked over at Carlie, rolled his eyes, and shook his head slowly. Carlie tried to smile but winced, and tears filled her eyes from the effort.
“Jon,” Dexter said, “I think the best way to approach this would be for Carlie to meet with this man in person. He wants to buy the house, and this is a very lucrative offer. I feel you should consider it—we may never get another offer as good as this. If you’re interested, I’ll set up a meeting.”
“How about next weekend? Right now she looks like a raccoon. … That’ll be fine then. You have a nice weekend too. I’ll touch base with you next week. … Okay, thank you. Goodbye.”
Carlie’s eyes were alive with curiosity. Jon wordlessly fixed another cup of tea and sat down at the table before he began. “Dexter has an interesting proposal. It seems someone has made him a very substantial offer on the house. He wants to discuss selling it with you.”
Carlie was the first to notice the appreciable change in the temperature in the kitchen. She shuddered as a blast of frigid air blew across the room. Jon watched as the gentle plume of steam rising from Carlie’s cup began to swirl and blow sideways across the table.
The cabinet door next to the sink suddenly flung open, and the dishes inside began flying across the kitchen. Some seemed directed at Carlie, and others at Jon, while still others slammed aimlessly into the walls of the room.
Diving to the floor, Jon scrambled around the table on his knees to his wife’s side. Standing, he wrapped his arms and body around her, blocking the onslaught of flying china with his back and shoulders. Carlie remained huddled inside the safety of Jon’s embrace until the last dish had flown across the room and smashed against the far wall.
When the maelstrom finally subsided, Jon slowly moved away from Carlie. Standing in the center of the room, he surveyed the mess on the kitchen floor.
Carlie scrunched her eyes shut. She appeared to be saying a silent prayer.
Taking her arm, Jon gently raised her to her feet and guided her carefully across the floor, avoiding the shards of broken china.
Once out of the kitchen and safely on the carpeted runner going up the stairs, Carlie shook her arm loose and ran to the bedroom. Jon couldn’t catch her, but he followed close on her heels. Once they were both inside the bedroom, Carlie slammed the door shut and locked it. The two of them sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed for what seemed like hours.
Standing, Jon moved in front of his wife. “Are you all right? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
Carlie didn’t answer; she only shook her head. Jon’s biggest fear was that Carlie was going into shock. Standing in front of her, he examined her carefully, looking for any sign that she had been hurt and didn’t realize it.
Earlier, the doctor had given Carlie a prescription for painkillers and one for the swelling. Jon placed one of each of the pills in her hand. She put them in her mouth, and he handed her a cup of water. When she was finished, she rolled over, pulled the comforter up to her chin, and shifted herself into a fetal position.
Jon waited by the side of the bed until she fell asleep.
It took Jon close to an hour to clean up the mess on the kitchen floor. He was pleased to find that nowhere as many dishes were actually broken as he had first imagined. After picking up the ones that were still intact, he swept and then vacuumed up the shards.
Jon washed and dried the survivors by hand, then put them back into the cupboard. He was putting the last coffee cup back on the hook when he thought he heard a rustling sound coming from the living room. He draped the hand towel over the handle of the oven door, then turned and walked toward the sound.
At first glance, the living room was empty. Jon walked into the room and looked around to see if anything had been disturbed. That was when he saw what looked to be a body lying covered up on the couch.
Jon’s pulse began to race as he watched the inanimate form. When it didn’t move, he slowly approached it. Tentatively he reached down and touched the edge of the blanket. Pulling it back one inch at a time, he watched and waited anxiously for his biggest fear to come to life. Would this—could this—be the young girl or, God forbid, the man he had seen in the hallway the night before?
As he moved the blanket to uncover the unidentified shape, the first thing he noticed was the head full of auburn hair. Pulling it back a little further, he could clearly see the white tape across the bridge of Carlie’s nose. Relief washed over him. He hated the idea of being spooked at every shadow or shape. He felt like such a wimp.
While tucking the blanket under her chin, Jon’s toe touched the stack of journals in front of the couch. Intrigued, he picked the second one in the pile and opened it. He read the first couple lines, then carried the book across the room and sat down in his chair.
He had been reading most of the day when Carlie finally stirred.
Throwing back the blanket, she sat up and blinked at Jon. “What are you doing?”
“I’m reading one of Edith’s journals.”
“Did you discover anything exciting?”
“Not really. She and her mother are busy planning her wedding.”