The children were already at breakfast when Lucien entered the kitchen. Jean turned to greet him, a smile blooming on her face as it usually did at the sight of him. She could hardly wait until they could spend their nights together and wake up beside each other. Would June and their wedding day ever come, she wondered.
"Good morning. Eggs and toast?" she asked.
"Lovely, thank you," he said returning her smile.
She plated the eggs and handed him the plate and the rack of toast. "What are you up to today?"
"No police cases that need my immediate attention," he said. "I thought we might escort the children to school and then go car shopping. It's past time I stopped borrowing Dad's car and we got one of our own. For that I need your help."
"You want my input? On buying a car?" asked Jean. She actually knew quite a bit about the mechanical side of vehicles, having assisted her father when he worked on the farm equipment and automobile, but in her experience men tended to be overly superior about their expertise on the subject of cars.
"Jean, I value your input on every matter, and since I know very little about cars myself, I can use all the help I can get," he admitted.
"Are we getting a new car?" asked Jack, his eyes lighting up.
"Indeed we are," said Lucien. "Do you have any recommendations?"
Jack nodded. "Can we get one like the one you made for us?"
Jean responded. "A sports car would be fine if we only needed it for two people, but since we need room for at least the five of us, six with Doctor Blake, I think we'll need something a little larger, don't you?"
"I suppose so," said Jack. "Can I ride in it today after school?"
"I don't see why not," said Lucien. "We can pick you up in it when school lets out."
"By the way, Lucien," said Jean as she took her own seat at the table, "you're in the newspaper this morning." She paused to open the paper and point out the article on the front page.
"Yes, well, I thought it important to publicise that we're facing a crisis with veterans and suicide. We need mental health experts who are available when these people approach the breaking point."
"And you think that will happen?" asked Jean
Lucien shook his head. "I'm fairly certain it won't, unfortunately, not until too many more have died."
At her suggestion, the first stop on their car-shopping expedition was the dealership owned by a former schoolmate of Jean's, Charles Tucker. She introduced Lucien to him, then the two of them split up to look over the vehicles on offer. Jean knew they needed something large enough for at least six people so that the two of them, the three children and Doctor Blake could all fit into it if they wanted to take a road trip together, or even just for going to church.
She admired the flashy roadsters as she passed them, thinking it was a good thing Jack wasn't with her. He would be begging for a ride in one of them. She couldn't help but smile at the thought.
She continued on to where the larger vehicles stood. She and Lucien had discussed how much they'd be willing to pay, so she kept that in mind as she looked them over. She thought perhaps a Hudson or a Studebaker might fit their needs. A dark red Hudson Terraplane caught her eye. She knew it was flashy, entirely inappropriate for a housekeeper to be driving, but soon enough she would be a doctor's wife, and then a shiny red car would hardly be that remarkable.
She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. The interior was all she could hope for, luxurious, comfortable, and well-appointed. It was certainly large enough for the six of them. What's more, she had no difficulty seeing through the windscreen without needing any kind of boost. She remembered as a teenager having to sit on a thick cushion to be able to drive her father's car.
Satisfied with both the outside and inside, she popped open the bonnet to take a look at the engine. Neither her father nor Christopher had ever bought new vehicles, so she'd never seen a sparkling clean motor before. She was quite impressed at the sight. It seemed very solidly made, and she saw nothing to cause her any concern.
She wondered if Lucien had found anything promising. Jean made her way back toward the office, looking around to see if she could spot him, but didn't see him until she neared the building, where she saw him out front, in conversation with Charles. She wasn't really surprised that he was more interested in a person than any car. She could hardly be annoyed with him for that.
"Lucien?" she greeted him.
"Ah, hello, Jean," he said. "I was just speaking with Charles here about Andrew Harrison. Charles knew him quite well, it seems."
Charles nodded grimly. "We enlisted at the same time. Served together in Italy. We saw some disturbing sights. I'm afraid Harrison never got over it. I've been worried about him ever since we got home. I tried to stay in touch with him when I could, but...". He shrugged sadly.
"I'm so sorry, Charles," Jean told him, touching his arm in sympathy.
He accepted her condolences, then tried to shake it off. "Now, have any luck?" he asked, indicating the cars spread out in front of them.
"As a matter of fact, I have," said Jean. "Lucien, let me show you, see what you think."
After Lucien handed Charles a check and Charles gave him the keys, Lucien held them out to Jean.
"It's your brand new car, Lucien," she pointed out. "Don't you want to be the first to drive it?"
"It's our brand new car," he corrected her. "You did all the work so you should have the honour of driving it first."
She wondered if it were possible to love this man even more. He made her feel seen, important, valued as a person in a way she had never been before. She accepted the keys and slid behind the wheel proudly.
Feeling strangely important, she steered them toward the centre of town, in the direction of the school to pick up the children. Jack would be so excited with the new car, she thought.
As they got closer to town, there seemed to be some kind of commotion, and it was near the fire station. She hoped it wasn't a serious fire.
"What's going on?" she murmured, craning her neck to see. Everyone on the footpath seemed to be looking up toward the station's bell tower, but she couldn't hear the alarm bell itself ringing.
"There," said Lucien, pointing up.
Only then did she notice there was someone standing on the railing of the tower.
"Jean, pull over, please," Lucien requested.
She complied, then turned to face him just as he began to open the car door.
"Lucien?"
"I won't be long," he told her, giving her a quick kiss before he left the car.
Stunned, Jean watched him walk directly to the station and enter the building.
She turned off the engine and focused on the man in the tower, trying to see if she recognized him.
The fire station was unlocked, but Lucien found no one inside. It took him a moment to spot the entrance to the stairwell leading up to the tower. When he found it, he sprinted up the stairs until he was close to the top. His heart was pounding, and not just from the exertion. He prayed he was not too late.
At the top, he saw that the door was open, and thankfully the man he had seen from below was still perched atop the railing, hanging onto a post with one hand. Lucien composed himself and spoke softly so as not to frighten the man.
"Hello?" he said.
The man spun to face him. "Who in hell are you?" he demanded.
"Doctor Lucien Blake. And your name?"
The man studied him for a moment. "Symons. Marvin Symons. Formerly Corporal Symons."
Lucien nodded. "Where did you serve, Corporal?"
"New Guinea campaign. You?"
"Singapore," Lucien told him, taking a step closer.
"So you know then," said Symons, his shoulders slumping. "How hard it is to come back to..."
"To normal life, yes," said Lucien as he took another step forward. "It doesn't seem quite real any more, does it?"
"That's exactly right," Symons insisted. "No one seems to realise what it's like if they weren't there. I mean how do you deal with it after all of that? Just getting out of bed in the morning is so hard, you know?"
"Yes, I know," said Lucien. "But some days are better than others, right?"
"I suppose," Symons conceded. "None of them are all that good, though."
"Not yet. But what's to say they won't get better, the longer you're away from all of it?"
"How do you deal with it? I mean, you seem all right."
"Today's a good day," said Lucien. "There are days though when I have to remind myself that I have reasons to keep going."
"Like what?"
"Like my little girl."
Symons swallowed hard. "I have a little girl and a boy."
"Is that right? My Li is almost eight years old. How about your two?"
"Martin is six, Jane just turned nine."
"Don't you think they need you? I know my daughter would be devastated if anything happened to me."
"They have their mother. They're better off without me."
Lucien shook his head. "I lost my mother when I was ten. I can assure you, it's not something you get over, losing a parent. Not ever."
Symons stared at him. "I'm afraid I'm going to hurt them, or their mother. I have terrible dreams where I'm not in my right mind."
"Marvin, you need some help. I can find someone to help you. Maybe we could talk about it?"
"I don't know. I ..."
"What? Tell me. Surely you'd like to be around to see your children grow up, wouldn't you?"
Symons slumped, slowly moving down until he was off the railing, leaning against it instead. "You really think someone could help me? Make it better so it doesn't hurt so much?"
"Yes, I think someone could help you, Marvin, if you'll let them. What do you say? For your children and your wife?"
"Martin is an amazing footie player for only being six. I would like to see how good he might turn out to be. And Janie likes to dance. She has a recital coming up..."
"Well, there you go," said Lucien. "You have to be there for her recital, don't you? Come with me, Marvin."
Symons paused a moment longer, then slowly nodded. "Yes, all right. For Martin and Janie."
"For Martin and Janie," Lucien agreed.
By the time they picked up the children at school and finally made it home, Lucien was exhausted after the afternoon's events. The children were excited, though, both by the new car and by Jean's tale of what had happened at the fire station.
"So you saved the man?" Christopher asked. "Will you be in the newspaper again tomorrow?"
"There was a reporter covering the whole thing," said Jean. "Lucien is a hero."
Lucien felt his hands shaking, now that the incident was long over. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I'll just go wash up and change my clothes if we're having company for dinner."
The stairs seemed very high as he trudged up them. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed, perhaps with a stiff drink of whiskey first, but with Jean and the children waiting for him, and Doug and his daughter soon to arrive, he needed to be stronger than that.
He reached the top of the stairs and turned toward his bedroom, only to freeze and scan everything around him. He closed his eyes for just a moment recalling exactly how it all had been that morning before he left the house. He was absolutely certain his door had been left wide open while all the others, to Jean's bedroom and those of the children, had been fully closed. Now all the doors were slightly ajar. Someone had been there, presumably in all the bedrooms.
He listened intently, but there was no sound coming from any of them, and his instincts told him that whoever had been there was long gone. Since Jean's room was closest to the stairs, he looked in there first. He couldn't be certain, but it appeared that nothing had been disturbed. He pulled open the top drawer of her vanity and noted that her jewellery was still there. Nothing seemed to have been taken.
Aside from Christopher's flute, which he'd brought to school, the children had little of value. He glanced into each of the three rooms to be certain they were empty, then closed the doors.
More cautiously he pushed the door to his own room fully open. Immediately he saw that two of the bureau drawers were not quite closed, and more importantly the closet door was fully ajar.
With a sinking heart, he looked inside the closet, his eyes going to the top shelf where he stored the locked metal box containing his service revolver. As he feared, the box was gone.