August 16, 2010
The phone rings four-and-a-half times before Jeannie Lux decides to pick it up. At the time of the phone call, she was neck-deep sorting through socks and could not decide if she should take the call or allow the answering machine to pick it up. Jeannie had just pulled a load of clothes from the dryer and came up with three odd socks, immediately realizing the dryer had eaten the matches again. As usual, she was about to have a complete meltdown and the ringing was not helping matters.
Jeannie had no qualms swearing on a stack of bibles that she matched the socks before putting them into the wash. It never occurred to her that the mind often plays tricks and maybe, just maybe, she had never actually seen the matches in the first place. They were still hiding somewhere in plain sight.
Impulsively, after the third ring, Jeannie closes her eyes and bites down on her bottom lip. She puffs and groans, all in the same moment. She decides to take the call after all—to pick up the phone on an even ring and not an odd. It rings again for the fourth time. If she didn’t pick up now, it would go to six before Jeannie dared answer. By that time, the answering machine will have picked it up. Jeannie mumbles under her breath, snatching up the receiver halfway through the fourth ring.
She wasn’t as neurotic as her daughter, Abigail, might think. Jeannie saw herself as a perfectionist, although her little idiosyncrasies constantly drove Abigail crazy. She could remember that before reaching preteen status, Abigail used to giggle wholeheartedly at the gaiety of her nonsensical chaos. Most of the time, they would make a playful afternoon of it, like a game. It has taken Jeannie a long time to realize Abigail is now a teenager, and teenagers always seem bothered by something. Everything offends them and parents always seem to have the wrong advice. Sometimes, Jeannie confesses she misses that little girl of hers.
Most recently, Abigail and Jeannie have been fighting back and forth a lot. Jeannie loves her daughter but cannot help it if her whole life revolves around being stuck in a house while her husband, Walter, is out in the real world, mixing it up. Therefore, if she feels compelled to answer the phone on an even ring and not an odd, Jeannie feels it is her God-given right to do so. All of this leads to her annoyed tone and brash greeting after picking up the phone after four-and-a-half rings.
“Hello?”
“I… I’m sorry.” The familiar voice on the other end of the phone seems surprised by her impatient greeting. “Is this Jeannie Lux with whom I’m speaking?”
“You got her. Who is this?” Jeannie nestles the phone between her ear and shoulder and stomps over to the couch. She then lifts the empty clothesbasket, searching for missing socks.
“This is Ted, Ted Colden. Bill’s father.”
“Oh. Oh hello, Mr. Colden. I’m sorry. Housework, you know,” she says, immediately dropping the basket and erecting herself as if Bill’s father was standing in front of her. “Anyway, how are you, Mr. Colden? What can I do for you?”
It appears that everyone in Derrylin, including Walter and Jeannie Lux, polishes their posture, becoming slightly well-mannered whenever Ted or Maggie Colden makes an appearance. Although the Coldens are down-to-earth socialites, the townsfolk still seem estranged toward the founding family. Not that Ted is a hated man; this is not the case at all. It is simply a matter of station and a whole hell of a lot of money that distanced the townsfolk.
The Coldens’ climb to wealth began with Eli and continued with the discovery of natural gas in Derrylin around 1920. In 1951, a large deposit of oil was discovered, and in 1963, with the help of Bill’s grandfather, Derrylin opened the largest helium plant in the Midwest—Global Helium. The economy skyrocketed from there. It is safe to say that the Coldens were wealthy like Bruce Wayne, and the well wasn’t about to dry up anytime soon.
Ted was truly inspiring the way he managed and maintained local taxes at an all-time low while still asserting the majority of the town’s economic growth through local endeavors. There always seemed to be a project of interest, an investment, or an angle that allowed Ted to further Derrylin’s lucrative employment opportunities. Of course, it was more than just business, according Ted. Love and care drove Eli to instill upon Derrylin all those years ago. Subsequently, each generation after Eli now fiercely protected those same core ideals.
“I don’t rightly know how to say this… hmm.” The quiescent melancholy in Ted’s tone betrays him; something is troubling Ted. “Is that darling girl of yours around?”
“No, not at the moment,” Jeannie says and glances across the living room into the kitchen, to the round wall clock hanging directly behind the kitchen table—3:43. “Although, she should be walking in the door any moment now. Ted? Is everything okay? Bill is still coming home, isn’t he? I sure hope so. That girl of mine is driving me batty.”
* * *
After dinner the previous evening, Ted and Maggie were sitting in the back by the pool. Their housekeeper, Alley May Crabtree, tidied up the kitchen and set the dishwasher to pot scrubber mode. The doorbell chimed around six fifteen while Ted was browsing The Wall Street Journal. He had the Journal delivered to the house six days a week. While Ted read, Maggie enjoyed a hot cup of tea.
The knock came after the doorbell chimed twice. Alley May just put on the quilted-down puffer coat she bought on sale at JCPenney and hugged Ted and Maggie goodbye so that she could hurry off to pick up her grandson from child care; double the fees if she was late. The second knock came as Ted, Maggie, and Alley May stood in the hallway, saying their goodbyes for the night. Alley May answered the door as a young man dressed in his marine issue Charlie uniform was about to ring the doorbell a third time. In that moment, Ted’s Wall Street Journal fell from under his arm and scattered along the hardwood floor, he immediately understood the visit even if Maggie had not. Ted’s eyes were vacant, instantly glassy, and he stared at the young marine sergeant with a thousand yards between them.
The marine sergeant, both solemn and reverent, spoke firmly. “Do you have a son, Corporal William Blake Colden, in the marines?” He begins, “The commandant of the marine corps has entrusted me to express his deepest regret, and it is unfortunate that I now must inform you of your sons passing.”
“Ted?” Maggie looked to her husband, confused.
“Surely, there has been some sort of mistake,” Ted replies, although the lump growing in his throat assured him there was no mistake.
“Unfortunately, no, sir, there hasn’t.” The young marine handed Ted the official documentation explaining how the tactical vehicle Bill operated had been involved in an explosion. Their son, along with three other marines, was killed in action while detaining al-Qaeda insurgents outside Kuwait City.
The marine then expressed his deepest condolences and waited around long after Alley May missed picking up her grandson on time. He answered Ted’s questions regarding Bill’s sudden death and then politely shared a single malt scotch on the rocks with the distressed father. By now, Alley May had given Maggie a sedative and helped her to bed.
At the door, heading back out to his car, the young marine snapped to a rigid position of attention and saluted Bill’s father with all the respect and admiration of the commandant and United States Marine Corps. He then got into his government-plated vehicle and drove away, thinking he had done the best job he could in delivering the news and comforting the bereaved parents.
* * *
“Ted? Is everything all right?” Jeannie asks.
“Perhaps you had better sit down, Jeannie.”
“No…”
As the realization once again sets in, the heavy lump in Ted’s throat returns, and he begins to sob uncontrollably.
“Oh my god—no, no… it can’t be.”
“Yes. He passed away the night before last. My baby boy is gone,” Ted says, quickly becoming too emotional to talk; the last of his sentence clutters with ache and tears.
Jeannie’s eyes immediately erupt in tears. She quickly forgets how annoyed she had become with the phone. She even forgets what she was doing or that the dryer had recently eaten several matching socks, leaving behind three mismatches. Jeannie stares blankly across the living room into the kitchen, watching the clock’s second hand tick away. In a few minutes, she will be telling her daughter that Bill, the sole reason of her young existence, is gone from her life forever. A long pause ensues between Ted and Jeannie. She watches the clock helplessly, listening to Ted and her own muffled sobs.
“Is there anything Walter and I can do?”
“No. Thank you.” Ted manages to collect himself. “You need to be with Abigail right now. Maggie and I will be okay.”
“But… but how? Why?” Both seem to be valid questions.
“I’m unsure of all the details, but it was explained to me that he was somehow involved in an explosion.”
“And they’re positive it was Bill?”
“A young man from the military informed us last night.”
“Oh god, Ted… I’m so sorry.”
I’m so sorry? Jeannie Lux, what is wrong with you? What has that phrase ever done to comfort anyone?
She feels uncomfortable and ridiculous saying such mundane pleasantries; however, it is human nature to say such things like I’m so sorry or our thoughts are with you. There are no words to soothe the feeling one gets after losing a loved one. All they truly want is to have their loved one back at any cost. I’m so sorry just does not cut it. It does nothing other than acknowledge to that person that their loved one is gone forever. It is respectful, and that’s about it.
Jeannie dreadfully watches the clock. Tick tock… tick tock.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles again.
Jesus.
“Oh my god, what am I supposed to tell Abby?”
“I don’t know… that poor sweet angel.”
“Ted, if there is anything Walter and I can do for you or Maggie, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that. Well… I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. If you would, let Abigail know that she is always welcome to come and visit us anytime. You know, she will have questions.”
“Yes, yes, I will. Thank you.”
“All right then. I guess there is nothing more to say. Bye, now.”
“Goodbye, Ted. I’m so sorry.”
Oh dear.
* * *
Walking through the front door, Abigail unloads her backpack against the wall at the foot of the stairs just outside the kitchen. Decidedly, she heads into the kitchen for a glass of juice and maybe an apple, as she did every day after school. After two tests in advanced courses, one in trigonometry and another in Western Civilization, school had left Abigail exhausted. She never worries about grades or school though; for the most part, Abigail is a straight-A student.
The house is strangely quiet. Abigail notices the TV isn’t on as usual, and her mom isn’t going batshit crazy with housework while trying to catch glimpses of her soaps; the perfect environment Abigail needed to study for another grueling test she had in the morning.
Turning the corner out of the hallway and passing the stairs that lead up to her bedroom, Abigail strolls into the kitchen. She barely notices her mom sitting at the kitchen table with her hands covering her face. If she is aware of Abigail’s presence, Jeannie has elected to ignore her. That’s fine; she would get her juice and head up to her room. She plans to call Shelly and then study.
After closing the refrigerator and taking a clean glass from the dishwasher, Abigail cannot help but wonder why her mom hasn’t acknowledged her yet. In fact, it seems peculiar. Her mom always probes into her affairs. Abigail takes a drink of the grapefruit juice she has poured herself and stares straight at her mother. The phone lay on the table next to Jeannie, and she still has her face buried in her hands.
Something is not right, and I’m about to find out why.
“Hey,” Abigail says in as neutral a tone as possible, trying to decide what kind of a mood her mother might be in now. Jeannie glances up at her, unable to hide the puffiness of her face.
“Mom—” Abigail immediately set the glass down next to the carton of grapefruit juice. She is slow in her movement taking two steps toward the center island between them. “Have you been crying?”
Jeannie responds with a fresh set of tears and waves her hands in front of her face.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Abigail walks closer, investigating Jeannie’s ordeal. “Wait. Kate didn’t wake up from her coma, did she?” She sighs with a measure of relief knowing this is the obvious answer. Abigail is referring to a soap opera character that had recently come down with an obscure disease while vacationing in Aruba on her honeymoon. It is her mom’s favorite soap, and she always gets completely overemotional with its doomed cast of characters. Jeannie sighs and shakes her head no.
“What then? Wait—Dad’s okay, right?” Abigail holds in her breath.
“Your father is fine, Abby. Come and sit with me.” Jeannie pats the cushion on the chair next to her.
Hesitantly, Abigail sits down, never taking her eyes off her mom’s puffy and tearful eyes. “Mom, you’re scaring me. Would you tell me already?”
“I just got off the phone with Mr. Colden,” Jeannie says.
“Oh no, is it Maggie? Did something happen to Maggie?”
“No, dear.” Jeannie sighs, taking in the frightened and growing anticipation on her daughter’s face.
“Okay then… what?”
“It’s Bill.”
“What’s Bill?” Abigail says this as if nothing she could imagine in her worst nightmares could ever happen to Bill.
“He… he… baby, he’s gone.”
At first, Abigail appears stunned; Jeannie’s words did not immediately register. She shakes her head, and then she shakes her head again, dramatically slower. Then those words echo throughout her, ripping through every fiber of her soul until they settle bitterly on the tip of Abigail’s tongue, and she understands exactly what her mom has just told her. Seconds turn into eternity as she tries to process everything she just heard. Jeannie stares at her hopefully and remorsefully, but she cannot tell what Abigail is thinking from the absent look on her face. She watches her daughter’s eyes, waiting for the first of many reactions to come.
“No.” Abigail shakes her head a third time, dismissing everything her mom told her. “No. That’s not true. You’re lying.”
“No, Abby, I’m not. I’m so sorry, baby, but Bill is gone.”
“No.” Again, she refuses to believe Jeannie. However, this time, she cannot deny the look of pity in Jeannie’s eyes or the sudden quivering heartache showing on her face. “You’re lying. I just got a letter from Bill. He’s coming home anytime now.”
“Abby… baby, no.”
“You’re a damn liar!” Abigail screams. She did not mean to, she just did. Taken aback, Jeannie quickly straightens herself.
“I wish I were,” she says. “I would give anything to not have to tell you that.”
Abigail studies the pain in her mom’s eyes and suddenly feels nauseous. Flashes of Bill flood her mind, detailing his inviting confident smile and his beautifully dark mystical eyes. She pushes the chair away from the table and buckles over, grabbing her shins, placing her head in her lap. You would have thought Abigail was about to vomit in her position. Instead, a low winding groan escapes Abigail’s lips, followed by the first stream of unending tears. She cries out loudly in a way her mom had never heard from her daughter before—the sound of real heartbreak.
In a flash, Jeannie is out of her seat, rushing toward her daughter. Abigail lifts herself up, bringing her arms securely around her mother’s waist. Full streams of tears erupt, rushing down her face as she gasps between moaning sobs. Jeannie holds her tight against her chest, stifling those sobs.
Pulling back, Abigail grows increasingly frantic, pleading for a reprieve from the painful breaking of her heart. “Please tell me you’re lying, please! I can’t lose him! Please, momma! Please!”
In that delicate moment, Abigail is unaware that her mom’s heart had truly broken as she was unable to tell her daughter otherwise. Shattered, Jeannie could do nothing short of hold Abigail tightly in her arms while Abigail helplessly cried out, “Please, momma, please.”