Christian woke the next morning in the guest room of his sister’s house. The house was silent. The mid-morning sun baked through the partially opened blinds. It already looked about a hundred degrees outside. There was a note on the bedside table from Gabrielle wishing him good morning and saying that she'd gone to the office for the day already.

He had promised his sister he would try and return to his old life today so he dragged into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He found a brand new toothbrush, razors and shaving cream under the counter.

At the mirror, he took stock of the bloodiness of his eyes and the pallor of his jowls. He thought about what he would do that day, summoning the motivation to move.

He knew that the lethargy he was battling was a learned habit. Until recently, he would have handled a dozen pressing tasks by this time of the morning.

He spit out the toothpaste, adjusted the tap for hot water and lathered his face with shaving cream. He wiped the steam from the mirror and slowly stroked the razor down his face, peeling back the overgrowth.

* * * * *

Christian answered on the first ring..

“Are you up?”

“Yes mother.”

Gabrielle laughed. “You need a mother.”

“Touché.”

“You sound better.”

“I just got out of the shower. I feel better.”

“Good.” He heard his sister sigh. “I had your car picked up – it’s in the garage. There’s mail of yours on the table by the front door.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s some cereal and other stuff in the kitchen. Will you eat?”

“If I do, will you stop babying me?”

“Maybe,” she said, more seriously than he had expected.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“So what’s your plan for today? You have more wallowing to do?”

“I thought I might come in.”

“That would be the best thing you could possibly do. Especially for all the freaks at the office that seem to have nothing better to do than obsess over you.”

“It’s nice to be wanted.”

“Worshipped, you mean?”

“That to.”

“You must be feeling better – the old modesty is back.”

“Even the pope has an ego.”

“All right. Enough already. Manager’s meeting at eleven if you can make it.”

“See you then.”

'And Christian…”

He cut her off. He could tell she was about to get sentimental “I’ll see you later, mother.”

He heard her laughing as he hung up.

*****

Christian grabbed the stack of mail Gabrielle had left for him; a flood of envelopes and a large box.

He sorted the letters - junk, junk, junk, bill, bill, junk. Important stuff went in his back pocket. The junk he tossed into a trash can under the hallway table.

Soon, all that was left was the box. It was addressed to Noel. He opened the front door and sat on the stoop, the box at his side. He touched it gingerly at first, his fingers tracing the contours and textures of the package as if by touching it he was touching her. For a moment, he let his eyes close and breathed deeply, trying to find her among the smell of cardboard and tape and the flowering Oleanders bordering the walk.

The label was handwritten and post-marked Seattle, Washington, the return name and address unfamiliar to him.

He used his ignition key to rip the tape sealing the top of the box.

Inside, he found a suitcase; airline carry-on size. A note on yellow legal pad paper had been taped to the front cover of the suitcase. He carefully unfolded it. The paper was dry to the touch, crisp. A shipping receipt was stapled to the back of it, dated two months prior.

The handwritten note read:

“Dear Ms. Jones:

“My name is Reverend Tucker Huard. I run a small homeless shelter in the Fremont district in downtown Seattle. The people we help are mostly good but sometimes the desperation of their situation brings them to the wrong side of the law. Unfortunately, I fear that you may have fallen victim to such desperation; your suitcase was taken from one of the men in our mission. It appears that it has been rifled and I am sorry if anything is missing.

“The man denies taking the bag himself, saying he found it abandoned at a nearby park. He has repented and accepted Jesus Christ as his savior so, and I hope this is all right with you, I would rather not disclose his name.

“I apologize also because the sending of this package was delayed as we are unfortunately lean on resources. But I felt it important to return the item directly to you and would rather not involve the police.

“I hope that you can find it in your heart to extend the Christian gesture of forgiveness and that you were not severely inconvenienced by this loss.

“Sincerely,

“Rvd. Tucker Huard.

“P.S. Sorry to ask, but, since times are tight, could I please be reimbursed for our shipping expenses? I have attached the receipt. The center, of course, also welcomes and appreciates any charitable donation you would see fit to give. Thanks. T.H.”

Christian flipped the case on its end and found a handwritten tag with her name and their address. He then remembered the bag; he'd bought it for Noel to accompany him on a business trip. The tag had been mounted as a courtesy by the store’s clerk.

But what was one of his wife’s suitcases doing in Seattle two months ago? Noel disappeared in May, almost five months ago.

He unzipped the front flap, pulled everything from the bag and spread it across his sister’s front steps. Inside, he found clothes, new, some with store tags still attached - jeans, a sweatshirt, tee shirts, underwear, socks, a pair of Nike tennis shoes; all Noel’s size. None of it was familiar to him.

He rifled the exterior pockets of the case. Deep in one, he found a cache of paper slips; store receipts and a blue printed card with a bank name, account numbers and a handwritten four-digit number all unfamiliar to him.

He scanned the first of three total receipts. It was from Kohl’s department store. The descriptions of some of the items matched clothes and the shoes he had found in the case.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes a moment before reading the date on the receipts. August seventeenth.

Noel disappeared May twelfth.

She was out there.

* * * * *

Posted by Steve Medcroft at 09:42 PM | Permalink

Christian lay on his couch, one arm draped to the floor, the other pinned beneath him. He rolled over to relieve the pressure and found himself staring at the familiar sight of his den.

His eyes followed the unplugged cord to the lifeless telephone on his computer hutch. On the top shelf of the hutch, a cartoon desk calendar reminded him of the day she disappeared -- he hadn’t turned the page since. He hadn’t done much of anything since.

All the curtains were drawn. There was nothing outside he wanted to see. There was nothing inside he wanted to light up. There were too many reminders around the house, trip wires that triggered mines in his memory.

The house smelled like a long neglected basement. A film of dust had settled on any surface that greeted it. There were dishes in the kitchen waiting to be tended to and a smell like death from beneath the sink where a small trash can was overstuffed with half eaten TV dinners and empty beer bottles. The toilet in the upstairs bathroom ran continuously.

He didn’t go upstairs any more.

Christian reached down and brought the bottle back up to his lips. The liquor stung his chapped lips. Tears rose in his eyes.

He had no idea what time it was.

He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep.

* * * * *

Gabrielle swerved the Humvee angrily around a slow driver and shifted the phone to her left ear.

“Mother, I know. For God’s sake, please.” She pulled the phone away long enough to flick a loose curl of her sandy blond hair out of the way of her ear.

“I’m on my way to his house right now.” The streetlight in front of her was suddenly red. She braked hard, the huge tires barked at the asphalt as she jerked to a stop. She sighed. “Hang on, mother.” She dropped the phone to the console between the front seats, signaled, and turned into a convenience store parking lot.

She paused before picking up the phone. “Okay,” she said. “I know it’s been four months. You can’t expect him to just get over it.” She shifted the Humvee into Park. “You and I both know Christian. He’s a fighter. You’ve seen what he’s done with his life. Look at EmCom. He built that company single handed.”

“I am not being modest. I’m only part of it because he gave me a part to play. But that’s not the point. The point is that he’s strong. And I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t need us to ignore his pain. And I know you want to come to Phoenix but babying him is not going to help. You’ll just be frustrated and in the way.”

Gabrielle lowered her head. She was tired. Worn out. These battles of will with her controlling mother always drained her. “He loves you Mother. I love you. He just needs to work through this. Don’t worry, I’m going to give him a nudge and try to get him going again. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

She disconnected the call but didn’t pull out of the parking lot right away. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say when she got to her brother’s house. She had planned a couple of speeches. One had been funny, meant to draw him out, to make him crack a smile and realize that life couldn’t’ be all that bad if he could still laugh with his sister. Another was aggressive, more like her famous sales meetings; a blasting attack on performance followed by a rousing, motivational call to arms. But this wasn’t a sales team. This wasn’t an employee. This was her brother; the person she was closest to in the world.

All through life, Christian had been the stronger of the two, always the leader. Gabrielle didn’t resist it. She accepted it. Although he was only two years older and her female friends were quick to call her relationship a characteristic example of male dominance, she preferred it. She saw such strength in him. Strength she wasn’t sure she saw in herself.

But now Gabrielle had been called upon to be the strong one. Christian was broken and she took it as her responsibility to fix him.

She sighed again, shifted the Humvee into reverse, and looked over her shoulder. She would go to his house and just wing it. She hoped she would say just what he needed to hear.

* * * * *

“Christian. Open up you shit. I know you’re in there.” Gabrielle banged on his front door again. It rattled against its frame.

She was a tall woman - five foot eleven - but she still had to stand up on her toes to look through the small, stained-glass window. “Christian. We need to talk.”

She thought she heard a noise inside, a rustle. Or the hollow thud of a drinking glass falling onto carpet-covered wood floor.

“Fuck it. I’m coming in,” she said and back up ten steps down the walkway. She had never broken down a door before but felt like she’d seen enough movies to know the drill. She dropped her backpack that passed for her purse on the ground and set her feet, right shoulder facing the door.

She hit the door square, her shoulder bearing most of the weight, and bounced backward off the door.

“Ow, goddammit,” she said as she sat on the walk.

The door swung open. She saw her brother walking away; a silhouette retreating into the darkness of the cave he had built for himself.

* * * * *

“Do you think this is healthy?” Gabrielle said as she pulled the curtains back to let sunlight stream into the living room. Christian winced at the sudden light and sat back on the couch.

Gabrielle sat in the recliner across from the couch and took stock of her brother. He was dressed in sweats and looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His hair was hidden under an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap. “We haven’t seen you at the office for a while. Everyone’s asking about you. They want to know how you’re holding up.”

Christian lowered his head, deflecting the attention.

“If you’re not going to talk to me that’s fine,” she said. “You can just listen. There are a lot of people who care about you whether you hide from them or not.

“Whatever happened to Noel…”

A sound escaped Christian’s lips, a pained, restrained intake of breath.

“…happened. There isn’t anything you can do to change the past.” She leaned forward and placed her hand gently on his leg. “And hiding in this pit is the last thing that’s going to help you feel any better?”

She could see a thought float across his eyes.

“What?”

“Maybe I don’t want to feel better?”

She cupped his chin. “I know honey. But what good is this? You feel guilty but you did nothing wrong. No one knows what happened to Noel. So how can you possibly be responsible?”

His head came up.

“I know you have pain,” she said. “This pain is not your life. It’s only a part of it. Let’s draw a line between your pain and the rest of your life.” She pulled him up to him, her hands on his shoulders. “I love you Christian. Let me help you.”

She wrapped her arms around him. She felt him give into the embrace, melting everywhere their bodies touched.

Then he spoke, one simple word that said everything she needed to know. He was reaching out.
“Okay.”

She could feel his tears on her cheek. “Besides,” she said “Mother won’t leave me alone until I prove to her you still exist.”

He laughed softly.

She stepped back. “Now, pack your stuff, you’re moving in with me.”

* * * * *

Gabrielle had the car phone to her ear, talking to her personal assistant. “Hi Sandy, this is Gabby. Can you call that handyman service we used at the rental on Campbell and send them to Christian’s house to replace the back door? Be sure they replace it and not just patch it. And ask Shimmel Landscaping to take care of the yards. Christian always did that work himself and they look a little rough right now.” She looked over at her brother who had fallen asleep as soon as they pulled away from his house. It was a good sign.

“I’ll be in first thing in the morning. Call a managers meeting will you, and pull together all the project reports on the latest beta testing.” She pressed a switch clipped to her visor to open her building’s garage door.

“He might be there. If he feels better.”

Posted by Steve Medcroft at 05:46 PM | Permalink