His Other Life

Chapter 7

SEVEN

ISLA

Present day

Isla let the mouse hover over the SEND button without clicking it. In front of her on the screen was the email she’d worked on for the past two hours—the email to Dean Abbot letting him know she was planning on returning to work this coming fall.

In the days since her mom had made her announcement, Isla had been treading water, resisting the currents wanting to drag her down. She wasn’t ready for this—for living on her own, supporting herself, working—and yet, this was the new hand she’d been dealt. If only she could figure out what her next play would be.

Other than letting Isla know that workers would soon be descending on the house to repaint all the walls, Nancy had been giving her space—Isla wasn’t so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t notice. She wanted to tell her mom it wasn’t necessary, that she wasn’t angry with her, but she hadn’t found the right time yet. In all honesty, Arizona sounded like a great place. The dry heat would be better for Mom’s burgeoning arthritis, and she’d be making the move to the gated retirement community with two of her widowed friends. Even as Isla struggled with her own situation, Mom’s choice made sense.

Isla pressed the button, the swosh signifying the email had been sent making her stomach drop. She had six months, give or take. Six months to somehow get her act together.

It was a gray Saturday, with a damp, forty-four-degree chill seeping through her jeans as she biked across town to the memorial park where they had a family plaque for those who had passed on. In her backpack in the basket was the candle and sleeve of Oreos she always brought with her when she visited. Oreos had been both Jonah’s and her dad’s favorite, and also the reason Isla and Jonah had met in the first place. They’d both reached for the last pack of double-stuffed goodies on the shelf of the local convenience store shortly after she'd moved to Bellingham.

The first thing she’d noticed about him was his hands—broad and tan and alive somehow as they entered the sliver of her vision not preoccupied by her grocery list. Their knuckles had brushed, and they’d both retreated, but her apology had caught in her throat when he’d smiled at her. Such an inordinate display of delight for a Tuesday afternoon in the cracker aisle. He’d let her have the Oreos of course, and at the register, she’d let him have her number. Their wedding cake had been a cookies-and-cream dream.

There were quite a few people milling about the large green space when she arrived, but most of them were on the far side of the pond. Isla veered left past the large stone monument to the grove of cedars that guided her to her spot. Wet footprints trailed her as she crossed the grassy expanse. She should have brought something to sit on.

After lighting the candle, she crouched down and brushed a few leaves off the plaque. Her fingertips touched the inscriptions—her grandma and grandpa’s names, her dad’s, then lingered on her husband’s. When she’d asked to have his urn placed here instead of in Bellingham, his family had deferred to her.

“Hi,” she said, allowing a moment’s stillness before she pulled the cookie package out of her bag. “Brought cookies.”

The wrapping rustled as she opened it and helped herself to a chocolatey bite. She chewed slowly, trying to savor the sweet flavor on Jonah’s behalf, but as usual, the treat went down no easier than if it had been cardboard. She wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth and stood. There was no wind today, no sound coming from the trees, but far away she could hear faint voices from other visitors and beyond that traffic. The everyday backdrop was a comfort as the silence between her and the plaque stretched.

The first time Isla had come here, she’d had so much to say. She’d cried, raged at life’s unfairness, begged Jonah for a sign he was okay and to forgive her. She’d told him about her physical therapy, her progress, her nightmares. But the more time that passed, the harder it was to remember how they’d used to talk to each other.

“Mom’s moving to Arizona,” she said now. “What do you think about that?”

She imagined his response would be something like “Good for her,” or “Nancy will like the heat,” but she could be wrong. There were moments when he’d been so deep in his own thoughts, she’d barely gotten a reaction from him, like that time when she’d had to take his book away to make him hear the news that her tenure application was moving forward to its final step. But that was marriage. You took the good with the bad.

Isla wrapped her arms around herself to protect against the threatening shiver.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. Her gaze drifted from Jonah’s name to her grandmother’s. “I wish you’d tell me what to do.”

Just then, a couple of crows took flight from the nearby tree, startling her. She looked up and there, twenty feet away on the northbound path, a figure in a dark coat and hat was walking toward her. She blinked. Was that…?

“I thought it was you,” a dapper Maverick said as he got within speaking range. “But I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no. You’re fine.” Isla paused on the bouquet of flowers the old man was carrying. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew, that’s all. How are you doing today?”

“Not too bad, not too bad.” Maverick patted the flowers. “Visiting an old friend. You?”

Isla was about to give him the usual trite response—that she was fine—but something in his expression stopped her. Maybe it was because of where they were, but the curious lilt of his question reminded Isla of her dad, and she’d never lied to her dad.

“I’ve been better actually,” she said, returning her attention to the plaque.

“Oh?” Maverick stepped closer so that he, too, could read the inscription. “‘ Neil and Embeth Smith, Delwyn Smith, Jonah Gallagher ,’” he read. “‘ Loved. Missed .’” A tremulous sigh trailed the words. “Yes, I see.”

“Cookie?” Isla held out the package.

“No thank you, dear.”

Isla helped herself to one more then allowed the silence to engulf them for several minutes.

“I told my boss I’ll go back to work this fall,” she said finally.

Mav burrowed his neck deeper in the collar of his coat against the chill. “At the university?”

Isla nodded.

“And now you’re wondering if you’ve promised too much.”

Isla’s gaze flew to his. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been there,” Mav said, joining his hands behind his back. “I was injured in Korea and sent home. It haunted me that I was here, safe, and my friends were still there. Gave me no rest. I enlisted with my best friend, Tommy, full of youthful bravado and naivety, and in an instance, everything we’d envisioned went to dirt when the vehicle I was in took a direct hit. He was in the one behind me and saw me die.”

“Die?”

Mav put up a hand and smiled. “That’s how he described it. Though he wasn’t entirely wrong. I was definitely somewhere else for a while.”

Isla’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

“The surgeon thought I was a hopeless case, but one of the nurses begged him to try to save me. When I woke up days later, I knew of their conversation even though it had taken place outside the MASH unit—that’s a field hospital—I was in. No explanation.” He shrugged. “It took me years to let that go and live my life.”

His profile was impassive, the inked lines at rest across the soft, creased skin. Isla held her breath. Had he just told her what she thought he’d told her?

“My grandma,” she said, gesturing to the plaque. “Right after the accident, when they were working on reviving me, I saw her, and she spoke to me.”

“I’m not surprised.” Mav’s blue eyes settled on hers. “What did she say?”

Isla gave a sad little chuckle. “‘Look around,’” she said. “She told me to ‘look around.’ But I have no idea what that means. Look around where? In the afterlife? Was I supposed to remember something about it to bring back here? Was there something I was supposed to find to save Jonah? I don’t even remember what happened the night of the crash.” The words spilled out of her, her spoken questions and those she still kept to herself stacking on top of each other into an insurmountable tower she couldn’t get around.

Mav’s hooded eyes closed, and he inhaled deeply through his nose. “Yes, that is a lot to think about,” he said. “And one would much rather a whale that breaches the surface than an unknown shadow circling in the depths.” He frowned. “I wonder…”

Before he could finish the question, Isla’s phone chimed with a message. He gestured that it was okay for her to check it.

As soon as the screen lit up, Isla’s stomach tightened. “Oh shit,” she mumbled.

“Trouble?”

“He already told the department,” she said. “I literally sent the email an hour ago.” She opened the message and scanned the few sentences therein. “Katelyn says she’s happy to hear I’ll be back and could we meet for coffee sometime soon.”

“Jonah’s sister?”

Isla swallowed hard and put her phone away. “Yup.” Why had she told Dean Abbot she’d be back? She wasn’t ready. Not when the mere thought of facing her sister-in-law made her want to run away. Katelyn had her own questions, her own grief—but everything was tied to Isla.

She bent down and blew out the candle. It was time to go.

Mav didn’t protest but fell into pace with her as she set course for the entrance, back the way she’d come. She scanned the lawn as they walked; nodded to people they met. One man sitting on a bench near the fountain fifty feet away stood out—perhaps because it was a chilly day to sit on a bench—and she lingered briefly on his familiar figure. A friendly smile floated past her mind’s eye.

“See someone you know?” Mav asked.

Isla shook her head. “No, but I think that guy might live in your building.” She tilted her head toward the fountain.

Mav peered around her. “Could be. I haven’t been here long enough to know all my neighbors yet.”

“Do you know any of them?” The tall man was the only other person she’d seen in his building. Then again, most people were at work when she showed up with her meals.

“There’s a very nice family with a little boy living across from me.” Mav nodded then gestured to his tattoos. “Kid’s scared of me though. And I’m not necessarily seeking out new friends these days.”

“Other than me.”

Mav winked at her. “Other than you.”

They continued around the final bend on the path, and when they were almost at the gate, Isla summoned up the courage to ask a more personal question. “And what about the friend you’re visiting here—was he also in the war? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Um…” Mav tilted his head up to the sky. “Yes.”

“Did he make it back home?”

Maverick nodded, less hesitant now. “Married, had a family, and lived a long life. We lost touch, but I’d like to believe it was a happy life. Passed on around the same time my Lorraine did. Such is life at ninety.”

Isla paused, her bike between them. How could he be so cavalier about it? “It doesn’t weigh on you? That you’re here and they’re not?”

“And what purpose would that serve, Isla?” He said her name with great sympathy. “Would it bring them back? Absolve me of any of the many mistakes I’ve made in my long life? No.”

He was right in part; her pain wouldn’t bring Jonah back, but if she’d earned it, wouldn’t healing from it be cheating? Not that she even knew how to attempt something like that.

Maverick placed a hand on Isla’s handlebars. “I think the difference between you and me—other than my advanced age and creaky bones—is that I have very few questions left. Maybe what you need are some answers.”

Answers, Isla thought as she lay in her childhood bed that night, staring at the ceiling.

Answers, she thought again upon waking. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Her phone buzzed with a message from Louise. Someone else is bidding on your bird. Just checked.

What? Isla opened the auction app and sure enough, hers was now only the second-highest bid. Not only that, but the other bidder had upped the price by a hundred dollars.

“The heck?” Isla mumbled before increasing her bid by 105.

Thanks , she texted Louise. What are you up to today?

Sundays were the slowest day of the week. Mondays were for grocery shopping, Tuesdays and Wednesdays for meal delivery, Thursdays recovery time from being social, Fridays she worked on her collection, and Saturdays she visited the memorial park. But Sundays felt like placeholders where nothing could get done.

They used to be reserved for lazy mornings in bed, reading together on the couch with her feet in Jonah’s lap, and dinner with his family in Ferndale, but even though they’d invited Isla many times since the accident, she’d never gone.

Watching my niece. Louise sent a photo of two tiny hands covered in flour. We’re baking cookies.

Isla threw the phone down on her bed. Then she closed her eyes and counted backward from ten, willing the sudden blockage in her throat to resolve. It wasn’t Louise’s fault. She didn’t know that Jonah’s death had robbed Isla not only of her husband but of the one thing she’d wanted more than anything—a child. They’d decided to start trying shortly before the accident, a cruel coincidence if there ever was one. At the time, they’d decided to keep it a secret, and now it would forever stay that way.

Having steadied herself, she reached again for her phone as the auction app chimed. The other person had outbid her again. She upped her bid once more. This wasn’t one she wanted to lose.

How high are you willing to go? Louise asked when Isla told her.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Another reminder that she had no income to speak of.

Mom was right: Isla couldn’t go on like this. Not if she was going to be able to deliver on her promise to Dean Abbot come fall. And maybe Maverick was also right and she needed answers. But that begged yet another question. Where would she start? In the tangled ball of yarn her past had become, which end was the right one to tug at—the one that would make it all unravel?