3. Together

Rose preferred to work after hours on weekdays, helping the Flannels close the cafe rather than coming home to a dark, empty apartment and waiting for Jack to arrive. It was Jack who brought life into the cramped, one-bedroom space. It was Jack's smile that lit up every room, Jack's arms that warmed the stagnant, chilly air.

Besides, Rose was perpetually forgetting her key on the bedside table, and it was easier for Jack to simply prop the door open for her once he got home at around eight. Rose hated walking through the begrimed, shadowed hallways of their apartment building, smelling the mildew, rot, grease, spices, and collective body odors wafting through poorly ventilated building. But she loved seeing that small crack of light once she turned the corner. That was THEIR apartment, right there. It was Jack, her Jack, who lit the lamps that made the light spill out into the hall. And it would be her Jack who hugged her close the moment she walked through the door.

Clutching a cloth bag filled with leftovers from the cafe against her stomach, she pushed the door open with her left hip and called out, "Jack? Jack, I'm home."

Nothing.

She dropped the bag and ran to the bedroom.

Empty.

Frantic now, she ran to the bathroom. The door was locked. She pressed against it, "Jack? Jack, are you there?" She listened, her heart pounding in panic. And then she heard the coughing. Jack's cough scared her to death, quite frankly. It made her own throat ache. No cough should rattle like that. No cough should sound so . . . wet.

Pale and shaking, Jack eventually opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom, still holding the pillow he'd grabbed from the bed to muffle the sound of his coughs. Rose pressed against him, cradling his face in her hands, "Please say you're okay."

"I'm alright, really." His voice sounded raspy and brittle, but the smile was reassuring. "I'm sorry I scared you. It's just, I know you don't like the sound . . ."

"Oh God, Jack, who cares if I don't like the sound? I don't like it because I've never heard a cough like that. It's not right. There's something wrong, and that God-forsaken doctor won't do anything." She took the pillow and lay down with it on the bed, burying her face and pouting into the linens. "All he does is prescribe that horrid black liquid. I think it's squid blood, I really do." Jack couldn't help but laugh as he sat down beside her, "Is that so?"

"Yes. What else makes it so thick and black?"

He stroked her hair, "Why are you complaining? You're not the one who swallows a tablespoon of it down every morning. And I think it works, maybe. I haven't been coughing at work as much."

Rose peered through her hair at him, "Really?"

"Yes, really. The foreman threatened to fire me if I did. He says I'll get all the men sick, and production will halt. I tried explaining that it's not contagious, not like a cold or a flu, but I don't think he gets it."

"Quit, Jack."

"You know I can't."

"What if I asked to serve and brought home tips as well?"

"We still couldn't survive. Not if we want to keep this apartment."

"God Jack, why is it so hard? No one ever told me it was so hard to make money. And it's not just low wages-everything is so expensive! I never even realized. I work and work, and they give me my little slip of a paycheck, and then it's all gone. The grocer and the landlord and the doctor and the store clerks and everyone just take it right out of my hand the moment I get it."

"Uh huh," Jack brought his hand to the back of her neck and began massaging the sore muscles. "Did you bring home any food?"

Rose's face lit up, and she sat up beside him. "Yes."

Jack followed her into the front room, where she retrieved her cloth bag and began pulling the items out, one by one. "Just a little bit of milk, because I think we're running low. A cinnamon roll, made just this morning. Some cheese. Deli meat, but I forget what kind. And Henry brought me an apple-it's yellow, just like you like." She tossed him the apple, and they sat down to eat at their rickety kitchen table.

"Let's split the apple."

"No, just take it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, every time you cut something in half, I always get a giant half, and you end up with a little sliver."

"But Henry brought it just for you."

Rose rolled her eyes, "I'm sure he'll bring another tomorrow."

Jack smiled, "Nice kid."

"Yes. He thinks you should stop by the cafe."

"Does he now?"

"He wants to meet you."

"To see his competition?"

They both laughed. "It's no competition, Jack. Not with all the shiny apples Henry brings me anyway."

"So apples are the way to a woman's heart. Who knew?"

"Will you come, though?"

"When?"

"After work? Tomorrow maybe, if you're not tired." She avoided his gaze. She didn't need to say it, that they were both always tired, and tomorrow night would be no exception.

"Sure, I'd love to see where you work. We can walk home together."