The week pass slowly, but at least with less anxiety. Knowing June is safe as she can be. I'm thankful and let the Lord know it, for the fact she has shelter and food, that she has no fear of being raped.
Rita seems to have taken pity on me, and has made some of my favorite meals this week. I offer to help with the shopping, to drive her, but she declines. Says she apricated the time out of the house, which I can understand. Serena is insufferable and is lashing for no reason. Rita turned up with a handprint on her forearm just yesterday, the bruise on her face still had not faded. I do what I can to help Rita out. Take on some chores, things she often gave June to do like hanging laundry or hauling it upstairs to be put away once ironed or folded. I clean out the fireplaces and even do some dusting. If Serena wasn't so preoccupied, I'm sure she would scoff at me doing "women's work" but things being what they are she barely notices me, but to yell instructions about where she's to be driven to.
I manage a message to the black market for a few things I think could make June's stay at the Globe more tolerable. A coffee pot, something simple like a French press or a pour-over. Pillow, sheets, and a few blankets, some additional clothes, stuff for the weather. Some shelf-stable food and prenatal vitamins.
Thursday night Fred informs me that he plans to return to his Council meeting the next day. Personally, this is great news, gives me a chance to run to Jezebel's while he's indisposed.
Friday morning, I pulled the car out and am running a cloth over the surface to remove invisible dust, really, I'm just filling time. I just ran the shammy down the passenger side of the car when I hear the shrill voice of Serna Joy as she screams at her husband. It's impressive considering the distance I am from the house really.
"You are useless! What is the point of your position if you can't find one woman? You don't seem to even care that your child is missing!"
As I stand here in the driveway, rubbing down a perfectly clean car, two thoughts pop into my head simultaneously: a.) the child in question isn't fucking his, and b.) Hahahahaha. These thoughts are conflicting, to say the least. On one hand, I find their drama over June's missing delightful. I love watching Fred wince every time he hears heels in the hall and I'm literally gleeful at Mrs. Waterford's dejected countenance. I did this, I've made them miserable. Even though it is only a taste of what they do to those around them, it's still satisfying. But on the other hand, I bristle at their claim to June and I's child. As if either of them had anything to do with it. Well to be fair, perhaps Serena was in the room when the fetus was conceived, it's hard to say, but that doesn't make her a parent any more than the neighbor across the street. I reflect for a moment on this flash of possessiveness I feel. I will not see this child grow up or be a part of its life, yet I feel deeply connected to it. I suppose it's a primal reaction; the way nature has worked it so that the human species has a fighting chance.
Fred steps out the back door and runs a hand over his face. I bite back the smile that wants to split my face when I see his red one. If he'd have a heart attack would make my day…my year actually, but this, this is good.
"Good day," I offer as he makes his way down the garden stairs.
He doesn't repay the greeting, instead, he just huffs and lets himself into the back of the car. I close his door and move around to get behind the wheel. As I back out of the driveway, I glance at Fred. He is flushed with a set jaw. He looks angrier than I've ever seen him. It makes me giddy. I say nothing, fearful that I'll burst out in laughter, as we make our way the short distance to the Council meeting.
I pull up outside the building and get out to open the Commander's door. Fred just sits there for a moment before looking at me. "Don't bother coming back for me until five."
"Yes, sir," I state.
"Hand me your travel document."
I reach into my back pocket and hand it to him. He writes on it and hands its back. "Take the day. Avoid the house, for self-preservation avoid the house," he sighs.
This is unexpected. I was going to request approval to go to Jezebel's, that wouldn't be suspicious, but he's just given me the freedom to travel anywhere I want to in Boston, and more time that I could hope for.
"Thank you, sir," I return.
He just nods and gets out of the car, his shoulders slumped. I watch his dejected form until he disappears inside before jumping back in the car. I fly across town, mid-morning traffic is always light, and straight to Jezebels. The quicker I meet up about the items I requested the sooner I can head for the Globe.
I park the car behind the dumpsters and go inside. The kitchen is buzzing with lunch prep. I spot Beth at the stove and sneak up behind her. I poke her in the ribs, and she jumps nearly hitting me with a sauce spoon. I jump back just in time.
She blows out an exasperated breath and wags the spoon at me. "I should hit you with it anyway," she threatens playfully.
I just smile back.
Her empty hand goes to her hip. "Well, well, look who's in a better mood," she teases.
I shrug, but a pleased grin pulls at my mouth.
"How is she?" she asks a bit more sincerely.
"Okay. She thought we were leaving for good when I showed up, but we worked that out."
Beth raises an eyebrow at me, "I bet you did. I know how…persuasive you can be," she chuckles turning back to her pot. "I got you the stuff you asked for, it's in the broom closet," she says over her shoulder.
"Thanks! Is Marcus in his office?" I ask.
"I think so, why?" she asks.
"Well, the Commander just gave me the afternoon off. Thought I'd make a trip to the Globe," I offer.
"Wow the day off, that's generous of him."
I snort, "Yeah, I think he's trying to keep me in one piece. Serena's is on the warpath against anyone with a penis these days. It's funny, she's not mad because she suspects me, she mad because I didn't do more to stop it. It's a lose, lose situation. I really feel bad for Rita, she's stuck there with the teal dragon," I say, shaking my head. "If she slaps her again…" I ramble.
Beth glances back at me and grimaces. "Take her some grama masala, I got a ton last week, tell her I'm thinking about her," she says.
"Thanks, Beth, I'm sure she'll love that."
"Go, see Marcus. I bottled up some of the spice," she says, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.
It takes 20 minutes and the only pack of cigarettes I have on me, but I'm set for the Globe.
I exit Marcus's dungeon of an office and spot Beth coming toward me. She has a large bag in one hand and a jar in the other. "Grama masala," she says handing me the jar," and lunch on me," she smiles handing me the other larger bag.
"You don't have to do that Beth," I argue, hefting the bag in my hand.
"You don't want to take your girl her first hot meal in days, I can keep it," she says reaching for the bag.
I pull out of her reach. "I didn't say I wouldn't take it; I just said you didn't have to," I snort.
"I put a couple of quarts of that blueberry lemonade you like in the box of items you request too," she smiles.
In this moment something inside me shifts. I've always appreciated Beth, but like everyone I kept her at arm's length, emotionally speaking. She's never demanded more from me than I was willing to give, and her generosity is just a part of who she is, so I don't know if she's finally worn me down or if in opening myself up to June that now it's started a chain reaction, but what I can say without question, is that Beth is my friend. Someone I will protect if it's within my power to do so. Another attachment. The acknowledgment of this is heavy, a responsibility I've avoided for years, but at the same time it feels wonderful. Without another thought, I reach down and place a kiss on her cheek. Her face glows at the gesture.
"Thank you, Beth," I say sincerely.
She smirks and tilts her head, "Bring me some thyme, if you can, the next time you come," she says dismissively.
I laugh, tossing my head back at this. "Always hustling," I tease.
Beth scoffs, "Like you aren't," she says with a wave of her hand. "Now go, get out of here before you ruin my lunch by letting it get too cold," she grumbles, but winks.
"I'll see ya soon," I offer and turn to head for the broom closet for the other items I need.
The building is quiet, June likely hiding since she wasn't expecting me. "June," I call out to announce my arrival as I head for the stairs that lead to the office area. As I turn the corner, I spot her on the stairs, a surprised smile on her face. "I wasn't expecting you until Saturday," she says, jogging down the stairs and taking the box from where I have it balanced on one arm. She kisses my cheek and I follow her back upstairs.
Since I left yesterday, she seems to have made a few changes. She's pushed a few desks against the wall, rearranged the couch, and has pulled up a low table where she has an ancient laptop plugged in. To the right of the laptop is a handful of DVDs. I set the bag of food on a desk she appears to have set up as a counter/dining table. "I brought you lunch," I announce.
She sets the box on the couch and comes back to join me, "Oh, what is it?" she asks, eyeing the bag.
I shrug, "Not sure, Beth, a Martha at Jezebel's handed it me on my way out the door," I say, untying the handles of the reusable bag the food is in. "But whatever it is, it's going to be amazing, she was a James Beard nominee, like a bunch of times," I say removing covered bowls from the bag and setting them on the desktop.
June starts working the knotted twine that holds brown paper over the top of the bowls, "Beth, you've not mentioned her before," she says, trying to sound casual.
I smoother a smile. "Oh? Well, she's a good friend," I return, setting a large napkin filled with bread rolls next to the other food.
June glances over at me out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her focus on her chore of unwrapping food. "Just a friend?" she asks innocently.
I can't hold back a chuckle that escapes.
June just shrugs. "This is a huge amount of food; she could get in trouble for sending it with you. People don't do that for just anyone these days," she counters.
The last thing in the bag is a handful of flatware, I grab it and put the bag on the floor. "She sent it for you, thought you'd like to have a warm meal."
Hands-on hips, she turns and looks at me fully. "She sent it because of you. I'm not stupid," she smiles.
I sigh and set the flatware down with a clank. My hands rest on her shoulders. "She's a friend. Was she more before I knew you, yes, but it wasn't romantic," I tell her, knowing she won't stop digging otherwise?
June looks justified and smug. I roll my eyes. "I knew it. I mean, you're not hard to look at Nick," she says, slipping her hands around my waist.
I pull her closer, "So you're saying you like me?" I tease.
She rolls her eyes, but her hands slide up my back, "You're okay," she grins.
I lean down and give her a peck. "We should eat while it's warm," I suggest.
She nods and we turn to unwrap the containers of food. It's a hardy beef stew, a green salad with avocados, and cornbread muffins. "Wow, this is amazing," June says as tucks into our meals. I make a point to take small potions, so I can leave her some for later.
June leans back and rubs her belly, "That was amazing!" she sighs. "You sure about not making a go with this woman, cuz if you're not going too, I might," she teases.
I laugh, "Her food does make going to Jezebel's a bit less disgusting."
"This meal reminds me of cold fall days. Holly wasn't much of a cook, a genetic trait she passed down to me," she laughs, "But she knew where all the good takeout was and, in the fall, she would buy all kinds of stews from this Eastern European hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I remember curling up on the couch with her listening to records and slurping down the soup of the day."
A small version of June snuggled into her mother's side plays in my head.
"Isn't it strange how foods can invoke memories," June asks. "You have foods that bring back childhood memories?" she asks.
I consider the question for a second. "Pancakes," I finally decide.
She smiles, "Why?"
"My mom," I state, looking away from her.
Her hand rests on my knee. "You don't talk about your family."
"Not much to talk about. They're all gone now," I say, dismissively.
"All of them? Oh, Nick!" she asks, her voice full of compassion. "Before or after?"
"Before."
She shifts next to me, scooting so that our knees are touching. She stays silent, allowing me the mental space I need. If I say nothing more, she will accept that, but how would I feel? She's shared so much of her life with me. I flashback to that day in the kitchen when I tried to call out this affair.
"I don't know anything about you, you know. Nick, you won't tell me anything. So, I don't know anything. I don't know who you are."
"My mom died of cancer when I was seventeen." I manage through a tight throat.
Her head bob's up and down in understanding. She threads her fingers through mine. "My mom was…she was a force. I didn't appreciate her like I should have in the before. I do now, here, it's the tenacity she taught me that's keeping me alive," she shares. "I wish I could tell her that I get it now," she says wistfully.
"I wish my mom could meet you," I say.
She raises an eyebrow. "So, you would want to introduce me to your folks?" she smiles.
I run my free hand down her cheek. "Yes."
"Same here," she sighs.
"My mom, she was always on me for who I dated, and how often I changed girlfriends," I admit.
She lifts an eyebrow. "Oh, a lady's man hu? Can't say I'm surprised," she teases.
"I was young and stupid, and reckless with other's hearts. I'm not proud of it," I tell her.
Her chin goes into her hand. "Would she be excited about a grandchild?" she asks.
A smile spreads on my face. "Yeah. She would be pissed that we aren't married and having a baby, but she'd get over it."
"She was traditional?" she asks.
"Yeah, I guess so. She was a Christian. Not like how people in Gilead are Christians, she really believed in God. She wasn't hateful, ya know. She had that whole "what would Jesus do" thing down, and put it into practice. You know, when I think about it, I'm kind of glad she was gone before all of this. She wouldn't have made it here."
"Did you grow up going to church?" she asks.
I drop my head in a nod. "Grew up Lutheran. Sunday school, vacation bible school, confirmation, the whole nine yards. You?"
"Uh, well sort of. My mom was more spiritual than religious, but my best friend throughout middle school and high school was Baptist, and she belonged to a super active youth group, and I spent a ton of time going to that."
"Do you know what became of your friend?" I ask.
"No. We lost contact in college. I always hope she made it out to Mexico or Canada, but I hope that for all the people I lost track in the before."
We lapse into silence for a while. I pick up all the dishes and put the remaining food in the mini-fridge Junes seems to have scrounged up somewhere.
June puts the box I brought on the floor and starts sorting through it. She holds up a toothbrush and toothpowder and cheers. "Water and my index finger were not cutting it!"
I sit down beside her and grab the two jars of lemonade from the bottom of the box. I twist off the top of one and take a long drink before handing to her. She takes a long swallow, then pulls it away from her mouth with an "ahhh,". "That is amazing," she says, taking another long sip.
"It's my favorite," I offer up.
She looks suspiciously at me, "You like this more than coffee?" she asks, unbelieving.
"What?! But coffee isn't a drink, it's actual life force," I say dismiss.
She crakes up.
"Speaking of which," I say and reach into my coat pocket and hand her an ancient ziplock bag of ground coffee.
She pulls the seam of the bag apart and sniffs. "This is real!" she states, eyes sparkling.
"Don't tell Rita," I say holding a finger to my lips.
"Oh, she's gonna be mad!" she chuckles, carefully resealing the bag.
"You're worth it," I say, leaning in to kiss her.
She carefully put the pilfered coffee back in the box and returns my attention.
We spend the next hour wrapped up in each other.
We lay stretched out on the couch, the new blanket I brought draped over us. "You weren't joking about the hormone thing, were you?"
I feel her shake her head, the hair of her long bob brushing my bare chest. "It was the same with Hannah," she confesses. She turns her head and pops her chin on my chest so she can look up at me. "It's too much?" she asks, batting her eyelashes innocently at me.
I laugh aloud. "No. Definitely, No."
"Good, because I only get you twice a week, so there will be a lot of pent-up energy you're going to have to deal with."
"Oh, poor me," I say, wigging my eyebrows at her.
She's kissing her way up my chest when my watch alarm goes off. "Fuck!" she growls.
My head falls back in irritation as well, and I let out a long sigh. After a second, I look down at her, "You're going to need to get up so I can convince other parts of my body that I need to go," I say brushing hair out of her eyes. She squints at me, "You're mean," she teases, but sits up. As makes her way off the sofa, however, she makes sure to grind against my awakened organ.
I scoff, "Ah…who is mean in this scenario?"
She just raises an eyebrow and stands up. I struggle but manage to sit up and reach for my boxers. She strolls across the room to retrieve the canister of lemonade. She screws off the lid and takes a long swallow. I can't take my eyes off her.
"What?" she asks innocently.
"God, your beautiful," I state, saying exactly what I'm thinking.
She walks slowly back across the room to me and hands me the container for a drink. Once I take it, she runs her hands through my hair, tilting my head back so I'm looking her in the eyes. "You're gorgeous too," she says simply.
I shake my head, "This isn't helping."
She smiles brightly, "Oh, I know," she laughs, but when my alarm goes off for a second time, she sighs, relents, and finally begins to get redressed.
The sound of my belt latching is annoying, but I'm finally fully clothed. She walks me out to the dock, her arm looping through mine. We stand on the landing for a long few minutes, kissing, and just being in each other's presence before I break away.
She straightens my tie, patting it when it's perfect. "I'll see you in a few days," she says confidently.
I dip my head in agreement. "Saturday, be good till then," I direct.
She goes up on her toes and pecks my cheek. "Stay alive Nick," she returns.
Our eyes stay locked together as I pull out of the dock until the door goes down. The second she's out of my site, my low-grade worry for her safety returns.
This scene plays out again and again for weeks. When she's been hidden away for 6 weeks I begin to worry about the next steps. She's more than halfway through her first trimester, and the longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to hide her swelling stomach. At night have a reoccurring nightmare. I watch as a laboring June, runs trying to make it across the Canadian border, dogs, and guardians on her heels. Each time she falls right before reaching safety and every time the Guardian pulls the baby from her womb, leaving her to die on the ground.
I get a message out to Mayday via Beth, asking for a meeting. It's another week before I get the location, date, and time. It's two days from now, and on a Saturday morning. I don't like the idea of missing the little time I have with June each week, but I need to know more.
The remainder of the week drags by as I wait for Saturday to dawn. Thankfully Fred is back to work full-time, and Mrs. Waterford has begun taking some smaller social calls with close friends. This keeps me busy during the day. It's the evenings that suck the most. I string out dinner as long as I can and help Rita with the cleanup, but eventually, I have no choice but to go home. It's too quiet, too empty. Sleep is required but it comes with consequences.
When the sun finally rises on Saturday morning, I'm so jumpy the smallest noise has me startingly.
I'm in the kitchen before the rest of the house is up, even Rita. I pull the old ziplock bag from my back pocket and spoon in several scoops of coffee from the canister hidden in the cabinet over the stove. I seal it and shove it back into my back pocket and start a pot of coffee. This is how I've been hiding my coffee theft, getting up before the rest of the house and starting the first pot of the day. I've also lowered my consumption here at the house, just having a quarter of a cup, to offset what I've been taking.
I'm watching the coffee as it begins dripping into the pot, the smell filling the room when Rita appears. She offers a small smile; she knows Saturdays I leave early to see June. She usually sends me with something fresh for her to eat disguised as meals for my work shift away from home. She pads to the stove and put the cast iron on to heat, while she goes to the pastry for fresh eggs.
The coffee finishes its trip through the filter, and I pour us both a portion from the carafe. She takes the cup in one hand and drops a dollop of butter from a spoon into the hot pan. It sizzles and slowly melts across the surface.
She points the spoon at the bread box. "Cut the bread," she instructs.
We work in silence. She moves eggs around the skillet, me slicing and toasting bread. I grab the ham from the night before from the fridge and slice that too, and she tosses it in the pan when the eggs are done. This is a meal for just us, it is only 5 am, and the Waterfords won't be up for hours yet.
She's filling our plates when she points her chin at the coffee pot. "Pour's a second, to the top please," she says.
I raise an eyebrow. She shrugs. "Fuck 'em. I'm tired this morning. And you, I don't think you've slept in two months," she smiles. I do as she asks and carry the mugs to the table. She brings the plates and sets them in our spots as we both settle into our chairs. Usually, we pray silently at breakfast, but this morning she reaches over and grabs my hand. "Father, today marks the third month of the new life you have planted, please provide health and safety to mother and child," she prays softly. "And bring comfort to the father as he does the hardest of all things, works to let his child go. Amen," she says, squeezing my hand.
Tears form in my eyes as I stare down at my breakfast and hold onto Rita's hand tightly. "Thank you," I manage through my tight throat. She gives my hand another squeeze and lets it go. "Eat, or you'll be late," she says, nodding her head towards my plate.
We eat and enjoy our coffee and Rita fills me in on all the latest gossip from the market and other Martha's. She started doing this when I told her June was Jonesing for any kind of news she could get. I make mental notes of the newly pregnant handmaids and ask several questions about the drama going down between Mr. and Mrs. Keener regarding Mrs. Keener's mother moving in with them recently. It's a funny story and I want to get its right for June.
When we're done, I clean up while Rita starts on her morning chores, opening curtains, airing out the main floor, and starting fires. Dishes done and put away, I grab the sacked "lunch" Rita put together last night, then head home to get the bag of other items I've got for my visit.
I check my watch, if I leave now, I should be at the meet-up spot before the Mayday operative. I drive across town, to the docks I sometimes meet Commander Pryce at. I hide the Mercedes under lean-to, and silently make my way toward the abandoned fishery we're to meet. I find a spot to settle where I can see the doors and have a smoke. Shortly after arriving, I see a truck approach, then pull into the building. The garage doors for this building have been missing for a long time but going inside does provide some cover. I take one last pull from my cigarette before dropping it and crushing it under my toe. I reach into my coat and grab my gun. I flip off the safety and stealthily make my way over the building. I sneak into the building via a side door and down the hall towards where the truck pulled in. I peer around the corner into the main warehouse a spot an elderly black man sitting on a 5-gallon bucket chewing on the end of a toothpick. He is not threatening, but one can't be too careful. I ease into the room, "You like pizza with pineapples?" I say, my gun up and trained on him. It's a stupid sentence but is the code I was given.
The man's brown eyes widen at the gun, but he stays sitting, just lifts his hands up to show me they are empty.
"No, I don't eat fruit that can eat me," he says, returning the second half of the coded statement.
I lower my gun, putting the safety on. "Sorry, can't be too careful, ya know?" I say, holstering the weapon.
The older man nods. He puts his hands on his knees and pushes up to a standing position with a groan. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he grumbles under his breath, chuckling.
I raise an eyebrow at him. "You're too young to remember the movie Lethal Weapon," he grumbles shaking his head. "That's a crime. Damn Gilead for that."
I can't help but smile. He's a truly grumpy old man.
"So, down to brass tacks," the man says. "The move will be soon, probably tomorrow or the day after."
My eyes widen, and my guts twist. So soon? "That quickly?" I ask.
He nods. Transportation across the board takes time, but when we lock it down, then it goes fast. The window for these things can literally be hours. "
"How is she traveling? Where are they taking her?" I demand.
He blows out a breath and removes the toothpick from the corner of his mouth. He steps up closer to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I understand that you have a stake in this evac, right?" he asks.
I just nod.
"I get it, I'd want to know if I were you too, but I can't tell you anything, because I don't know anything. Even if I did, I still wouldn't tell ya. It's safer for you, for her…you want her alive right?"
I close my eyes. "Of course."
"Then trust the process." He says giving me a pat, then dropping his arm. "And say your goodbyes."
"Okay," I finally agree.
He turns for her truck, but steps in front of him. "There's a girl, Agnes Mackenzie. Her birth name is Hannah Bankole, she's the child of the woman you're moving. I've been trying to get intel on her location, guardian shifts, and such, but I could really use some help."
The man sucks on his teeth a second, "Mackenzie, she's a Commander's kid?" he asks rhetorically.
I just dip my head.
He shakes his. "We don't kids unless they are with Econo-parents," he says contritely.
"I don't need you to move her, I'll figure that out, but I do need info, do you think Mayday would consider doing that?" I beg.
He takes me in for a second. "This one ain't yours, why are you so worried?"
"I don't want my kid's sister to grow up here, she doesn't deserve that," I counter.
"No one deserves to grow up or old here," he chuckles mirthlessly. "You must really care about this woman to put your neck out twice."
I won't debate the fact, what's the point, he's right. I do care about June, and by extension Hannah.
He finally nods in agreement. "Let me see what we can do. We'll be in touch," he says.
"Thanks. I know that what you're doing is dangerous for you so on behalf of the woman you're helping, my child-to-be, and for one little girl stuck in Gilead; I thank you," I state sincerely.
His lips split into a smile, and I notice for the first time his missing an eye tooth. "I'll say a prayer for you and your family. I'm sorry you got to be apart. I can't imagine." He says earnestly. "Damn Gilead for that too," he adds.
"Yeah, damn Gilead," I agree.
With a handshake, he gets into his truck and drives away, leaving me to grapple with the fact that today and tonight, are my last with June.
Today when I arrive at the Globe I find June waiting for me on the loading dock, arms crossed. As soon as I open the car door she shouts, "What gives? Your two hours late!" I close the door and lean against the car, letting her have her day. "You're never late! You know I depend on these visits Nick!" she shouts, visibly shaken.
I push off the car and hoist myself up onto the dock. "I'm sorry," I offer contritely. I decided in the car that I wouldn't ruin our last day together, that I would tell her about the pick in the morning. "I get held up at the residents," I fib, placing my hands on her upper arms.
She looks up at me, and her irritation melts a little. "I was worried," she confesses. "I was sure the Eye caught you."
My chest tightens. I've had similar worries; I know the feeling. I gather her in my arms and kiss the top of her head. "I got here as quickly as I could. I'm fine," I reassure her.
She finally fully relents and her arms encircle my waist, her head rests on my chest. "You better have good stories for me today, you owe me," she mumbles against my shirt.
I chuckle. "Let me grab the supplies then I'll regale you with Mother Keener's antics and how it's unraveling the Keener marriage," I offer, giving her a squeeze.
"Oh, the Keeners who live down the block?" she asks saucily.
I wiggle my eyebrows and she chuckles.
I grab the bag of items I have for her from the car and we head up to her "apartment" as she's started calling it. Over the past weeks, she has made it feel a bit homier. She removed all of the personal items of the past and dead employees, choosing to create a memorial for them in the basement. She scrounged up a tv and some adaptive cables and I procured a few more DVDs, which is good, Friends reruns were getting old.
I put the sack on the counter and start unpacking it, handing her the non-food items. She was particularly happy with the stick of Secret I was able to smuggle for her. I'm putting the small amount of milk I've brought in the fridge when a deep yawn escapes from me.
I feel her hand on my back. "You still having the nightmare?" she asks softly. I nod and stretch as I close the fridge door. "Every time I fall asleep it's there unless I'm here that is."
"Why don't you sit down? I'll make us lunch," she offers.
"I don't mind cooking for you," I smile.
She rolls her eyes, "I'm no Beth, but I can heat tinned soup," she scoffs, shoving me towards the sofa.
I relent and go over to the couch and sink down. The TV is on, playing an old Meg Ryan romantic comedy. Just being here, seeing her alive and healthy, relaxes me. I feel my muscles slowly melt into the sofa. The drone of the television lures me into sleep.
When my eyes open again, I find myself stretched out on the sofa, June snuggled securely against me. She faces away from me, so I can't see her face, but based on her stead breaths I know she's asleep as well.
I gently raise my arm and look at my watch. I've been out for three hours. I curse myself. That's three hours wasted not soaking her in. Before the weekend ends, she'll be gone. No longer will I be able to hold her. I ease my body up a little so that I can fully take her in.
At rest, she looks younger than her 34 years. I trace the splay of light freckles and moles that decorate the plains of her face. They are small and delicate, like the rest of her. Her blonde hair has grown a bit since she chopped it back at the garage, it just lays on her shoulders now in soft waves. My eyes drift down to the open collar of one of my old button-ups I gave her. I'm looking for the two moles that decorate her collarbone. I've secretly named them Betty and Dot, and Iove how they feel under my tongue. I gaze travels down her small body until it finally lands on the spot that astonishes me every time I see her, the small swell just under her belly button. Here our baby lives, warm and snug. In the past month, every time I see her, the small rise on her otherwise flat stomach has grown. She tells me that it's because she already had a baby that I can even see anything this early on as her muscles aren't as knitted together as they were with Hannah. I'm actually thrilled by this. I've always known my time with her here was on a countdown clock, and I really did want to see her body look pregnant. I can't hold back anymore, my right-hand slides between the loose folds of my old shirt and come to rest on top of the small bump.
"It will still be a couple of months before I can feel it move, and at least 5 months before you'll be able to feel it on the outside," she says.
"Sorry to wake you," I offer.
She shakes her head. "That's okay. I'd rather be awake with you," she smiles.
"What does it feel like, when it moves?" I ask, rubbing my thumb over her soft skin.
"At first, like gas," she laughs, "But then kind like butterfly wings. By five months it turns to little jabs though. The coolest part is when it's like month 8 and 9 and you can literally make out what body part it is."
"Really?" I ask, amazed by this.
"Oh yeah. A foot and elbow can be a little hard to distinguish sometimes, but a head vs a booty, super easy," she says, her hand coming down to join mine. "With Hannah, I used to love lying on my bed on my back and just watching my whole stomach stretch a move. It felt…kinda alien," she laughs.
I chuckle at the imagery, but it quickly peters out when I have acknowledged that I won't be around to see that.
She turns and pulls me close to her. "I'm sorry," she says, her eyes tearing up.
I pull her close to me and shake my head, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "Either way I was going to be on the outside looking in, at least this way I know you'll both be safe," I mutter into her hair.
"This baby will know about you, I promise," she says against my chest.
My arms tighten around her as my heart breaks silently. Once the tear that formed on my bottom lashes recede, I sit, taking her with me. "You hungry?" I ask, getting up and going over to the bag of provisions I brought with me today. "Pot Roast, potatoes and carrots, and fried apples with cinnamon," I say.
He gets up and joins me as I dig through the bag and take things out. She plates up a dish and shoves it in the microwave. She stands staring at the plate as it makes its lazy circles. "Nick, what was your brother like?" she asks out of nowhere.
My gaze snaps to hers, my eyebrows raised in question. I didn't mention having a sibling.
"The picture in your apartment, you and the other guy by the water. He looked a lot like you, so I figured it was a brother," she clarifies.
I lick my lips and fidget a little.
"You don't have to tell me," she says in a rush. "I was just curious. With Hannah I saw a lot of her dad's sister in her personality, so…it made me wonder is all."
I sigh and lean my hip against the makeshift counter. "No…it's okay," I offer.
She looks relieved. "I just want to be able to tell this one who she came from, about her family. Gone or not, they are this baby's history," she says, her hand mindless rubbing her stomach.
The microwave beeps and I move to swap the plates out. "The guy in the picture was my brother. My only sibling actually. His name was Joshua, and he was 18 months older than me," I start, Josh's face flashing through my memory. "Josh and I, we were nothing alike growing up. Josh was outgoing and charismatic. He was the quarterback on our school's football team, the typical high school heartthrob with a colony of followers and dozens of friends."
"And you were sullen and mute?" June teases.
"Ha-ha," I smirk. "But now completely wrong, either," I confess.
She shrugs but urges me to continue with a wave of her fork.
"I've always felt that brevity was better than being that kid who was always verbally vomited on everyone, which is like every kid in high school right? Needless to say, I stuck out. In retrospect, I realized that I should have been more grateful to Josh at the time because as an adult, I'm 100% positive he's the reason I didn't get beat up once a week."
"So, you didn't get along?" June asks.
"We didn't have a ton in common, but we didn't hate each other or anything like that. He tried, ya know to include me in his friend's group and stuff, but at some point, he realized I was okay without all the people and attention and backed off that and started tried understanding what I liked. Even would take me to the used book shop in town on Saturdays sometimes. He mostly went to flirt with the girl who worked there, but he also showed some interest in my picks."
"Did you share any interests?"
He laughs, "Yeah, girls."
"Oh yeah, you were quite the Casanova," she teases, poking me in the thigh with a toe. "I can totally see, quiet, dark, and brooding, always reading some obscure novel in the back of the cafeteria. I can see that being a girl trap for sure!"
I tilt my head at her, "Worked on you," I boast.
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. "Yeah, I guess it did," she admits.
We fall into companionable silence as we finish our dinner. When we're done we go to the janitorial closet to wash our dishes. June clears her throat as she dries the last plate, and finally finds the courage to ask me the questions I know she's been pondering for the last twenty minutes. "What happened to Joshua, Nick?"
I chew on my bottom lip, looking for the nerve to let her into this pain in my life. I take a deep breath and jump in. "My mom got sick the summer between my freshmen and sophomore years, breast cancer," I say around a lump in my throat. June takes my hands and gives me a squeeze. "At the same time, things started to fall apart in the steel industry. My dad was an engineer at the local mill, but when they started cutting shifts he had to transfer to the foundry if he hoped to get the shifts needed to keep our insurance. That summer and fall were chaos. My mom eventually had to stop work when the chemo and radiation got intense. That lead to my brother dropping football and getting a job at the local taco joint. I tried to get a job there too, but he refused to let me. He was halfway through his Senior year and not worried about graduating, he wanted me to focus on school. My dad took a second job loading trucks and was never around, so my brother took on more of the household stuff. Paying bills, getting the groceries, and taking mom back and forth to the doctor. He started drinking around then. At first, it was just to relax after work and school, but once he graduated so did his habit. By the time our mom died, he was a full-time drunk and started dabbling in heroin. He lost his job and started disappearing for days at a time. A month after mom passed my dad couldn't cope and with the plant shutting down one building at a time, they offered him a quarter pension; so, he came home and went to bed, and didn't leave the house again until he died two years later.
"Oh no, Nick!" June laments, tears in the corner of her eyes.
I push forward. This is the last day I have to tell her any of this. "I dropped out my senior year so I could take care of my brother and dad and so I could get a job. Being a high school dropout made it hard to find work, but I finally managed it, got a job with the city cleaning up parks, but it didn't last. Joshua was spiraling so badly, that I was having to take off to either bail him out of jail or dragging him out of flop houses so he wouldn't end up in jail. My dad wasn't doing much better. He would go through spurts where he wouldn't eat, or even get out of bed. I'd have to stay with him to make sure they would at least get up to use the bathroom, if I didn't he would mess the bed," I whisper, running a hand over my mouth at the memory. "I had a string of jobs after that, but they all ended the same. "Nick, you're a good guy, a hard worker…but…" There was about a year of that before I meet Commander Pryce," I say hesitantly.
As I imagined, her eyebrows shoot up at this confession. "Pryce, like in high Commander Pryce, Pryce?" she asks.
I dip my head, "Yeah, that Pryce. He was a counselor at this job center I was going to. After my seventh failed job he offered to buy me a coffee. So, it was over a stale cup of diner coffee he told me about the Son's of Jacob. He didn't call it that at the time. He called it a men's group. Said they were working to help change policies in America, and that they wanted to turn the country around. Offered me a job that allowed me the time I needed for my family," I profess. "I was making amazing money, enough to afford a really nice rehab facility for Josh, and I managed to talk him into it. I'll never forget the day I dropped him off, he was so hopeful," I tell her. "That was the last time I saw him alive. He OD'ed his second week there." I say, tears forming in my eyes and pain shoots through my chest like it happened yesterday not years ago.
June's arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in her neck. One of her hands rubs circles on my back and the other slides into my hair. "Nick, oh my darling Nick," she mummers in my ear. I let her comfort me. I whisper the end of the story into her neck. "When Joshua died, I was suddenly completely alone. I guess technically my dad was alive, but it was just his body, he had emotionally checked out years before. When he followed Josh just three years later, I was relieved. I didn't have to take care of an empty shell anymore. I didn't even bother to pick up is ashes from the crematorium. That's cold, isn't it?" I ask. "What kind of person does that? That's why you leaving, it's a good thing. This baby doesn't need that kind of person as a father."
June pulls back from our embrace and pins me with a disbelieving stare. "You're joking, right? Nick, you were clearly in deep morning, and suffering from PTSD. I think maybe you are even now," she says gently, putting a hand on my cheek.
"He was my dad…I…didn't even cry."
She let out a sigh, "Tears aren't the only way to mourn Nick. If you really didn't care about what happened to him, his death wouldn't live so freshly in your thoughts. And as for you being the father of this child, I never want to hear you say that they are better off without you! No child is better off without their dad, I should know, I didn't have one. You Nick, you have so much you could give, so much…" she says, tears falling freely down her cheeks now.
Tears I've been holding back, slip down my face as pull her into me, my mouth claiming hers. We kiss, our lips salty with our tears. Her tongue seeks out mine and deeps our connection. I push her against the wall of the closet hoisting her up so she can wrap her legs around my waist. Her face even with mine, I lay claim to her mouth and then her neck. I don't hold back as I have in the past, I choose to leave her with marks. Something to remind her of me after she's disappearing into the landscape tomorrow. She can't understand my motives, but repays the favor in kind, biting at my neck and chest, leaving her own set of tracks. Her fingers work at the button so of my shirt, and mine slip under hers. She braless and I gasp in pleasure. Shirt undone, she drops her legs from around me and stands. She looks me directly into my eyes as she undoes my pants. My pants lose on my hips she slides the sweats she's wearing down and turns her back to me. Her invitation is clear, and I don't take that for granted.
We make love until we're too exhausted to stay awake, though I do try. I don't want to miss out on looking at her this one last time, but in the end, my body wins and I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I'm aroused from my slumber by the smell of coffee. I take a deep appreciative breath and let my eyes slide open. June is already up, I'm alone on the sofa. I sit up and stretch, looking for her over my shoulder. She is either on a run or in the other conference room, I'm all alone. I wander around the room, picking up pieces of my clothing and pulling them on, then go over to the coffee pot to pour myself and her large cups of joe. I don't need to worry about rationing it today since she won't be here much longer. I take a cautious sip and wander toward the conference room. She stands at a U-shaped table cutting up a newspaper.
"Hey," she greets.
I shake my head, "Don't make yourself crazy with all this stuff," I advise. With all of the time she's had on her hands and access to exactly how our world fell apart all right here in black and white, she's found some kind of satisfaction in putting it all in order of events.
"It's way to late," she admits.
I go over to the wall where she's posted the clippings and look over the timeline. It's frightening looking at it like this, it was so obvious where we were heading, but we just ignored it. I try to focus on an article about the banning of pants for girls in public schools, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I have to tell her this morning. She needs to know this is the last morning here.
"Mmm…thank you," she says, having taken a sip from her mug. "You gotta stop stealing Rita's real coffee though. She's gonna kill you. No joke," she cautions.
"You didn't wake me up," I note.
"Well, 'cause if I wake you then you leave…so… How is that a win for me?" she asks.
I look over my shoulder at her and smile. I don't like leaving her either. Damn, I have to tell her. I take another drink from my cup and head over to where she is. "I should probably get going," I say, taking her into my arms. She snuggles close. My heart hurts, like literally hurts, but I force the words out. "Listen, they've made contact," I say, she pulls back and looks up at me "I don't know for sure, but you should probably get ready to go."
Her eyes dart around a little, "Go where?" she asks.
"I don't know," I admit. She looks blindsided, as she steps back taking in the info. "I'll see what I can find out and try to come back Tuesday for a couple of hours."
"Hannah?" she asks.
Of course, Hannah is on her mind, "I'm trying," is all I can promise.
She shakes her head but doesn't get angry. She's more resigned than she was two months ago. She turns back to her table, and fumbles with her papers. "Fuck," she mutters. "I can't leave," she says sadly.
"Getting out safe is the best thing for everyone," I say, reiterating this mantra I've had with her for months now.
"It's best for me," she says softly.
"For Hannah. For everyone," I say again. And I believe this. Her safe allows me to focus on Hannah, on spying, on paying back the debt I owe to everyone we know.
"Better never means better for everyone," she returns, quoting something Fred said to her once.
I want to argue, but it's not an inaccurate statement. I take her in for a second, then close the distance between us. I stop just behind her and let her come to me. She does. She turns and wraps her arms around my neck. I bury my face in her shoulder and we stay like this until my watch shrills at me that I'm late.