Chapter 78

Katherine opened her eyes.  I took longer than she wanted to orient herself to where she was.  Everything, the lamp, the clock, the door jamb, everything looked familiar, but familiar from a distant memory.  Then, as if a wave reached the shore of her mind and crashed the memories loose, she knew where she was.  Katherine was home.  In her house.  In her bed.  Katherine sat up.

Other memories came flooding in.  She was home, but she had been to Merlain.  Had she been to Merlain?  Was Merlain a dream? She turned to find Evan lying next to her, still asleep.  Her hand instinctively went to her chest, where her fetterseal tattoo was.  Was it gone?  She swung her feet to the floor and walked to the bathroom.  Katherine flipped on the light and pulled down the collar of her gown.  Her skin was perfect, as if it had never been marred.

Evan began to stir.  Katherine needed more assurance.  She went to where Evan lay and grabbed his hand.  The mark was missing there, too.  She sat at the edge of the bed trying to remember how they had arrived at home, how she had ended up in these clothes, in this room.  Nothing.  Katherine turned to look at Evan’s face and found his eyes open and searching.

“We’re home,” she said.

Evan grunted.

“It feels like a truck hit me,” he said, sitting up.

“Look at your hand.”

“Look at my hand?”

“It’s gone.”

“My hand?”

Katherine rolled her eyes.  She needed him to get up to speed with her faster than this.  Grabbing Evan’s right hand, she showed him his palm.  Evan’s face scrunched as if trying to see something hidden in it.  Then, he ran and rubbed his hands together.  Slowly.  Evan’s eyes jumped up to meet Katherine’s.

“We’re home.”

She nodded, smiled, and then tears rushed to her eyes.

An hour later, the Golds stepped out of their house for the first time since leaving for Merlain.  Neither wanted to face their old reality, but the food in the fridge had turned, and their stomachs ground at their spines.

Rolled newspapers littered the porch, and the mailbox looked like it had gone feral.  They would deal with that later, they told each other with a look.  Evan reached down to grab a newspaper.  He snapped the rubber band off the roll and found the date on the front page.

“We’ve been gone at least a month,” he said, handing her the paper.”

She took it from him.  “Seems like a lifetime.”

The sound of a lawn mower broke the stillness of the morning.  Katherine looked down the street to see her neighbor starting up his weekend chore.  She looked back at Evan.  “Saturday?”

“If I had to guess,” he said.

“I wonder if this is what coming out of a coma is like?”

“Let’s get some food,” Evan said, taking his wife by the hand and leading her down the front steps.

On the walk to Mulready’s the Golds passed the Harvey’s house.  Beth was sweeping the porch.

“You’re back,” she said with a smile.  “Starting to think you might be snatched by aliens.  Did you all have a vacation?”

Katherine looked at Evan, who looked at Katherine.  “More of a trip than a vacation,” Katherine managed.  Beth looked confused.

“Uh huh.  Did you have a good time?”

“You know what Dorothy said,” Evan smiled easily.  “There’s no place like home.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

Katherine noticed Beth was about to get geared up for a longer investigation on where they had been off to, so she jumped in with, “We’re headed to breakfast so…”

“Oh, yes,” Beth said.  “I don’t mean to keep you.  You’ll have to come by some time and tell us all about it.  FRANK’s getting on so much better.  He’d love to see you.”

Evan nodded and waved.  “We’ll do that.”

“How many of those conversations will we need to have?” Katherine asked.  “We can’t say anything but lies or almost lies.  We tell the truth, they’ll throw us in the asylum.”

“It won’t last too long.  Maybe a couple of weeks.  Most people are too wrapped up in themselves to be that inquisitive.  We need to be as normal as we can.  Get back into our old ruts.  At least that’s how I survived coming home from the war.”

They walked in silence for another block.

“I don’t want to get back into my old rut,” Katherine admitted.

“Yeah.  Me either.”

Evan pushed the door to Mulready’s, which jangled the bell.  He waved to MISTER MULREADY and guided Katherine to a booth.

“How did you come back from war?” Katherine asked after they got their coffee.  “I mean, how do you go from death hunting you around every corner to lazily sipping coffee in a diner?”

Evan picked up his mug, blew away the steam, and sipped.  “Like that.  The first few times are awkward, like feeling your arm after it’s been in a cast.  Then, before you know it, it’s as normal as it’s ever been.

“But, what about Amon, Keetha?”

Evan reached out and took Katherine’s hand.  “It’ll be okay.  Eventually.”

A waitress arrived at the table.  Evan ordered a Denver omelette, and Katherine ordered French toast.

“I’ve been thinking,” Katherine said, spreading her napkin in her lap and arranging the utinsils, “I think you should be a detective.”  She wanted to see the look on his face, but couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his.  Whether he was surprised, overjoyed, or confused, she was certain she would fall to pieces.  The space created by his silent reaction helped her to dive in before he said anything.  “As a living, I mean.  You are a detective even without the job. Part of me hates the idea still, but, and I know I was a mess and an anchor-dragger and a problem while we were away, but you… I saw you in your element – so brave, so decisive —”

“I almost got myself and us killed a few times, too.  I did get Keetha killed.  I should have —”

“No,” Katherine grabbed his hands, “that’s not true.  There’re many things we would do differently if we had the chance, but you did not get Keetha killed.  She more than anyone else knew what the costs were.”  She sat back.  “I wish I were that intentional.”  

“I just get so focused on a thing.  It blinds me sometimes.  I forget what’s important and people around me, Gabe, Amnon, Keetha, you, people I’m supposed to protect, get hurt.

Katherine’s gaze travelled far away as she continued.  “It would be wrong to ask you to abandon something you so, I would feel like a, like a, like an I-don’t-know-what if, knowing what I know now, if you kept being a handyman or or or something else.”

Evan chuckled at the thought.  “Not that I was very good at being something else.”

Katherine smiled.  Evan played with his coffee spoon.

“I’m not going to lie,” she said, “it scares me, you being a detective.  I want,” she looked at the ceiling for help, “I want,” maybe her hands would give her the words, “I want predictable.” Her face winced at the sound of her deepest desire.  “Don’t I sound like a fuddy-duddy?  But it’s true.  I want the white picket fence, the plate of warm cookies, the ‘Hey, honey, I’m home’ after a day of work.  No excitement.  Very boring.  The problem is, I’m in love with a detective.  I’m married to a detective.  Till death parts us.  And I think, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I’ve tried leaving you many times, I think if something other than death parted us, something else would die.  Something within me.  Something would harden like a tombstone and never awaken again.”

Katherine stopped as the waitress approached with several plates of glistening home-cooked food.

“Need anything?” the waitress smiled.  Evan shook his head.  “Let me know if you do.”  The waitress turned on her white saddle shoes and headed back to the counter.

Evan reached for his wife’s hand.  She enjoyed the calloused warmth against her skin.  “If we’re in the business of laying our cards on the table here,” he said, “I’m as scared as you.  For different reasons, but scared all the same.  I mean something like what we went through, it shows you what is deep inside.  It surprises you.  You like parts and want to run away from others.  But the real question, the question that I didn’t do so good with when I got home from Europe, is now that the pressure is off, now that you’re not running for your life, who are you going to be?  I like being a detective.  I like being a person who gets you out of a jam.  I don’t like being a solo act.  I like the home you’re creating – all the frills and trinkets – its nice.  I’ve never said so, but it’s nice.  I don’t like feeling bad that I’m not as cut-and-dried as you prefer.  But like you said, I love you, and I don’t want to be without you.”

Katherine played like she would spread the scoop of butter on her toast, “So, what do we do?”

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?”  Evan cut into his omelet and put a forkful in his mouth.

“Well,” Katherine started as she poured her syrup, “I guess we need to work on figuring that out.  I’m in if you are.”

Evan picked up his coffee mug and held it out to Katherine.  She followed suit, and they clinked mugs to sign the agreement.