Stepping Into Sunlight (7 page)

Desperate for distraction, I finally turned on the television. Late-night talk shows were a poor substitute for Tom’s voice. I tossed on the couch for hours, finally drifting off to a conversation about the new fashion line designed by a singer I’d never heard of.

The next morning, Bryan hit the ground running as usual, and chattered through breakfast, while I longed for toothpicks to prop open my bleary eyes. Dozing with the TV on all night was probably a dumb idea, because now I had a strange compulsion to start juicing everything in the fridge, use a steam nozzle to clean my household surfaces, and order Ginsu knives. Ah the joys of middle-of-the-night infomercials.

“So, Mom, are we going to the beach after school today? Huh? Know what? Dad said I’m the man of the house. Does that mean I’m the boss?” Bryan helped himself to the remnants of my toast.

“Honey, I need to explain the whole women’s movement thing to you someday. And no, I’m not up to driving all the way to the shore. I’m still not feeling great.”

He glowered into his orange juice.

Guilt propelled me away from the table, and I started scrubbing dishes in the sink.

While Bryan got dressed for school, I tidied the living room and straightened the collection of video games and movies. I needed to choose a safe place for Tom’s unmarked DVD. I checked the shelf where I’d set it last night.

The disc was gone.

My throat tightened. My lungs pumped faster but still couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen.

I couldn’t have lost it. It had to be somewhere. Unless I’d dreamed the whole thing. Could I be that confused? Could weeks of insomnia, flashbacks, and isolation blur the boundary of reality?

I shuffled through some of the movies we owned, opening and shutting cases. Bryan found me shaking an empty Netflix envelope, peering inside as if it were a magician’s hat. I struggled to keep my voice calm. “Hey, buddy-boy. I need your help. There’s a blank disc around here somewhere, and I need to find it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Where did you have it last?” Dead-on impression of me, but I couldn’t appreciate the humor.

“Right next to the player.”

He joined in the search, poking behind and under the shelves, and finally gleefully pulling all our CDs to the floor in a clatter. “Is this it?”

He held up a disc.

“Careful. Hold it by the edges.”

He handed it to me. No label. Silver with a bluish tinge. This was the one. Amazing child. I hugged him until he squeaked.

“Thank you for searching. You’re a great helper.”

He strutted toward the front door, then jumped up and tried to touch the top of the doorjamb. “I know. My teacher says I’m really smart.”

“And humble, too.”

“Yep.” Again, no grasp of sarcasm.

I shook my head, then held the disc up to the window. Chubby thumbprints marked the surface. I polished it gently with the hem of my T-shirt, then rested it on the top shelf next to a photo of the three of us.

Today, as we paused on the top step for his blessing, Jim-Bob edged a few feet up the path toward our door. “Father, thank you for the gift of life. Fill Bryan’s day with the joy of knowing you. And help him with his spelling words this week. Amen.” I adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt. He shouldered his pack and leapt down our front steps.

“What was your mom doin’?” Jim-Bob asked as they jostled toward the sidewalk.

“Blessing me. Doesn’t your mom bless you?”

Their voices faded as they walked away. Bryan had gotten used to going to and from the bus without me. Fostering independence in a child was a good thing, right? My choice to stay in the house had nothing to do with the way my pulse raced whenever I left my front steps. I watched from the doorway until the bus arrived.

After their pickup, I retreated inside, and the emptiness of the house closed in on me again. I could watch Tom’s first message again. Or even the second one. He’d only said to wait until I missed him again. I did. With a bottomless ache I wasn’t sure I could survive. But if there were only a few messages, I needed to stretch them out. I’d save the disc as a reward for getting through another week.

Instead of indulging myself, I pulled out my yellow notebook and leafed through my collected notes. Time to continue my project toward normalcy. Talking to a trusted friend had been mentioned by many of the Web sites I’d visited. Sonja had been my best friend back home, and I had vowed to stay in touch when I moved. But she’d been buried in the flurry of back-to-school season with her three kids. And I’d been busy settling into our new place. She knew about The Incident and had sent a card saying she was praying for me, but we hadn’t talked about it. I’d wanted to spare her.

I turned to the first page and wrote another small goal.
Call
a friend.
With my notebook to give me courage, I grabbed the phone and dialed.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Johanssen family. Sorry we missed your call.”

Drat.
I’d forgotten about the time difference. She was still at the Tuesday before-school Moms in Touch group. Longing washed over me. What I wouldn’t do for a chance to sit on those uncomfortable folding chairs laughing, crying, and praying with other moms.

“Leave a message and we’ll call you right back.”
Beep.

What did I want to say? I quietly hung up the phone. There was no way to pour out my heart in a thirty-second message. Besides, she knew Tom had deployed. She was probably thinking of me, probably planning to call me soon. If I left a message I’d sound as if I were needy. I’d let her call when it worked for her.

The phone rested, implacable, on the kitchen counter. I could call my mom, but her worry about me would lead to more prying questions. Besides, she’d doubted my ability to handle Tom’s career change all along. I still remembered the conversation vividly.

“Honey, it’s wonderful how you and Tom want to serve God. But you’re doing that here in Wisconsin. You’re such an idealist. You don’t realize how difficult it will be leaving everything you know. And the military? Oh, sweetie, can’t you get him to see reason? You have a son to think about.”

How to explain to her our sense of vivid, clear direction? Tom felt a passionate calling toward this new career path, and I was excited to support him. Sure it would be tough, but I had embraced the beautiful irrationality that demanded faith.

Faith had carried me through the planning and the move, but then conveniently evaporated when I needed it most. My entire universe had shifted off its center that afternoon at the Quick Corner, somewhere between the rows of beef jerky and potato chips. And in the days since then, God had done nothing to restore my equilibrium.

I grabbed the phone. My sister would probably be home. She might not be my first choice, but I wanted to check off a goal from my notebook before I lost momentum.

Cindy answered on the first ring. “Penny, Penny, Penny. I knew you’d be busy settling in for a while, but it’s like you disappeared off the face of the planet.” She’d never fussed about staying in touch when I’d been in Wisconsin. Sometimes we’d gone for weeks without seeing each other. She probably felt trapped at home with the new baby and was desperate for any conversation.

“How’s my little niece treating you?”

“Esther’s fine, even though her brother tried to carry her from her basinet and nearly dropped her headfirst. I just wish she’d sleep a little longer. I was up every two hours last night. I don’t remember it being this bad last time.”

I laughed. “The world’s population would shrivel if women remembered everything about childbirth and the months after.”

“No kidding. Did I tell you how many stitches I had to get this time? I can barely sit.”

Too much information. After seven years, I’d completely blocked any memory of episiotomies, breast infections, and colic.

She was still talking. “Good thing Mom is able to help. Hal’s hardly ever here. He’s so busy at the dealership.” A whine slid into her voice.

I struggled to hold on to sympathy for her. “At least you have him nights and weekends. It’s tough having Tom away for three months like this.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a new baby to worry about.”

When had we started playing this game of one-downsmanship? “Yeah, but you have friends and family around. You don’t have to sit alone all day like a hermit.”

Long pause. “You never sit around like a hermit. What about your new church? The Navy wives? All your new activities?”

My research about mental health said I should choose a few safe people to confide in. Time to put the advice to the test. “It . . . it hasn’t worked out like that. I’ve had trouble since the shooting.” As soon as the words blurted out, I wanted to pull them back.

“You said you were fine.”

“It’s hard to talk about.”

“Is he still on the loose? Does he know who you are?” Her voice turned fast and breathy, eager. For the first time in our conversation, she sounded interested. “Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”

Not until now, thank you very much.
That was one frightening direction my thoughts hadn’t lingered. Vague menacing prowlers maybe, but not the concrete reality of the same boy who—I squeezed the phone. “No, of course not. He’d have no way of knowing who I was, and I wasn’t the only witness.”

“Then what’s the problem? Oh, hold on.”

Mewling in the background built to a louder cry, then cut off abruptly.

I moved the phone to my other ear. “Cindy?”

“I’m back. Esther needed to nurse again. Wait a sec.” More rustling. “Okay. What were you saying?”

This would be a good time for a graceful exit, but some perverse impulse nudged me forward. Or maybe it was my desperation to find help, any help, even from the unlikely source of my sister. “I’ve been sort of . . . depressed. It affected me more than I’d realized. I’ve . . . well, I haven’t gone out much.”

“What? Oh, wait. Hold on.” The phone banged against something and more fumbling sounds filled the pause. “Okay. That’s better. So you’re saying you’ve been moping around all this time?”

Why had I forgotten about the part about confiding in a few
safe
people? Cindy was younger than me but had always badgered me with her superior knowledge. The right way to throw a dodge ball. The best things to tell a boy when dating. The only correct way to fold sheets. True to form, she launched into a lecture.

With uncanny accuracy, she rattled off most of the goals in my notebook. Eat better. Get more exercise. Plug in to the community.

I let her rant.

Then she shifted into spiritual finger-shaking. “Don’t dwell on one unfortunate moment in time. Shake it off. Have some willpower. And if you really trusted God, you wouldn’t be giving in to fear this way. Besides, you’re supposed to find the value in every experience so you can give Him glory. A lady who spoke at our church lost everything in Hurricane Katrina and saw a dead body on the street. She didn’t get all traumatized. She’s speaking about God’s power to women’s groups all over the place.”

Her words blew across the embers of my shame and they flared to life, scorching my sore and tender psyche. I had to make her stop. But how? I was trapped by my lips’ inability to move.

“And that’s not all. I saw a woman on Oprah who forgave the guy who shot her son. She even visited him in prison. Adopted him. Maybe you could do something like that.”

I was choking, drowning. Finally, I drew a gurgling breath. “Well, they haven’t caught him.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. The point is, get over it and make something good out of it.”

“Okay. Look, I’ve gotta run.”

More rustling sounds. “Esther, just a little burp. There you go. There’s my sweetie girl.” She laughed. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I really need to go.” I got off the phone, drew a shaky checkmark in the notebook, and slammed it shut. Okay, that hadn’t helped. So far, this project wasn’t a big hit. Maybe I should stop trying so hard and give in to my recent impulses to become a hermit.

Cookie baking filled the hours until early afternoon. As I stacked the last cooled cookies onto a plate, the glint of my wedding ring caught my eye. What would Tom do if he came home to find his wife trapped in the house by fear, talking to herself, unable to handle even simple phone conversations? He’d be distracted. Worried about me. My weakness could ruin the new vocation he found so fulfilling. What if he ended up resenting me?

I turned to my notebook again and stared at the other action steps.

One of my goals read,
Explore the neighborhood.
Great plan. I could drive around, find the library and nearest parks, maybe stop somewhere and take a walk. In tiny letters, in the palest of gray, I wrote an addendum.
Talk to God about this.

I grabbed my purse, slipped my feet into sandals, and confronted the front door. I couldn’t make myself reach for the knob. Instead, I rested my palm and forehead against the wood, feeling the vibrations of the world of life on the other side: a delivery truck rumbling up the street, a car horn in the distance, the noisy sparrows in the mulberry tree, a dog yipping from down the block. Life. Movement. Energy. So close. So terrifying.