The Journey Home: The Ark (4)

Chapter 4

Standing with my back to the bed, my filled duffel bags dangling from my hands by their straps, I glanced around the bedroom, our bedroom, for the last time.

I’d bought this house, a quiet suburban ranch, shortly before we were married. I’d seen several others that interested me, but Louise had brought me a brochure folded open to the listing for this one, and her eyes had shone with hope as she handed it to me. She even clasped her hands together right after I took it, as if subliminally praying I’d agree. And I had—whatever would make her happy—but I pretended not to. I wanted it to be a surprise, and it was. How happy she was that day!

But all of that was just a wistful memory of the past. It was gone.

I looked at the door again, which is to say I looked at the absence of Louise.

How many times had I passed through that door in eleven years, two months and fourteen days? At least twice each day, and probably a lot more times than that. But this would be the last time.

The first time I walked through it, I was carrying Louise and we both were laughing. This time I would walk through it alone, after she’d turned away, her arms still crossed over her chest, and left it a void. A portal to the rest of my life.

Ah well. What is life if not a series of last times?

When I stepped through the opening into the hallway, she was almost to the living room. I said, “Get the front door for me please?” I turned sideways so my bags wouldn’t mar the walls and started side-stepping my way along the hall.

She stopped a few steps into the living room and turned around, a slight frown on her face. She looked a little pale, but at least she’d uncrossed her arms. “I thought I’d make a sandwich or two to take with you.”

“Thanks, but food’s not allowed. And they should be waiting for me. They were due at 7.”

Really, Jack hadn’t said anything about food, but I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t want her to bother with it. Besides, I was still stinging a little. I wasn’t a child going away for a day of school. I was a discarded husband, someone she decided she no longer wanted.

“Oh.” She glanced down at the carpet. “Okay,” she said and turned away.

The carpet. The ugly blue carpet. I’d planned to replace it soon. It was ugly and old and finally worn enough to replace. Louise liked the color, but I never had. Still, it was her house and it always had been. If we weren’t getting divorced and I was going to be here and was still going to replace it though—

No. I’d let her choose what she wanted, and I’d bet even money she’d want the same thing.

When I finally entered the living room, she was at the front door and reaching for the doorknob. She turned it and pulled the door open, then stepped through and held open the screen with her backside. Her arms were crossed over her chest again. But then, it was cold outside and she wasn’t dressed for it.

I stopped just inside the door and peered through the final threshold between my old and new life. When I stepped through that door, it would be another last time.

Beyond the double row of rose bushes I’d planted along the natural stone walk a small black van was waiting at the curb. It was on the other side of a low ridge of snow left by a friendly neighbor with a snowplow. The engine was idling, a small, steady puff of steam exiting the tailpipe and quickly disappearing.

The maple tree on the right side of the front lawn had finally lost all its leaves. A few of those on the ground were red or yellow, but most had lost their color and were brown and limp. They formed random patterns on top of the snow.

To the left was the blue spruce I’d planted next to the driveway for Louise just over ten years ago. When I planted it, it was only a few feet tall and a couple of feet across the breadth of the branches. Now it was a good twelve feet tall and at least six feet across.

Beyond the spruce the hood and bed of my pickup protruded to either side. It was a two year old fire-engine red Ford F-250. It looked cold and abandoned. The engine was still ticking as it cooled. I’d miss that pickup.

I glanced at Louise. “You want me to move the truck before I go?” If not, she would have to drive it one more time if she wanted to get her car out of the garage.

She shook her head. “No, it’s all right.”

It dawned on me that she might have already sold it and was just waiting for me to disappear around the corner before calling to tell the new owner he could come take it away. After all, she’d known for awhile that I was leaving.

I looked down, but gestured toward the pickup with my chin. “I left the keys in the seat, so....” I let the sentence die.

Then I turned sideways and moved through the door, left bag first, my back to Louise. Emotion welled up inside me a little and I kept my head canted slightly down, careful to avoid looking at her. I didn’t want to look at my pickup again either. Or the blue spruce for that matter. The maple looked as dejected as I felt.

When I faced forward again, there was no avoiding the rose bushes. More memories. I’d planted them along both sides of the walk I’d installed from the porch to the sidewalk. That was something else Louise had asked for. The walk, not the roses. The roses had been a surprise. Somehow it felt appropriate that there were no blooms or leaves now, in the middle of winter. Just prickly little stems.

I felt a little bloomless and prickly myself at the moment. And as cold inside and out as the ice-crystal flecked lawn. I released a silent sigh and started toward the steps, my running shoes sounding like heavy boots on the broad wooden porch.

From behind me came the sound of the screen door slapping the door frame lightly. Then, just as I placed my right foot on the top step, she quietly said, “Mark?”

For the first time, I was consciously aware of the weight of the bags tugging down on my shoulders. I shook my head the slightest bit and simultaneously hoped she didn’t notice. No need to get testy. This whole thing was over. I was about to put a major cap on it and move to a place with an unlisted number.

I took a breath and turned around.

In her sandals, she’d moved silently to the edge of the porch.

Me being on the top step and her still being on the porch brought us eye to eye. Another last time.

Beneath her crossed arms, her nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her blouse and I started to ask her why she hadn’t slipped on a jacket. But that really wasn’t my place anymore. Instead I met her gaze and said, “Yeah?” I think it sounded more impatient than I felt. Or maybe it sounded hopeful, I don’t know. I guess one would be as bad as the other.

Many times over the years she’d timed it just right and called to me as I hit that top step. Then I’d turn around and be the same height as her. And she’d laugh and then put her arms around my neck and kiss me and whisper something silly and seductive like, Just remember I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. The implication was delicious.

In response to my “Yeah?” she uncrossed her arms from her chest and reached for me. And in spite of the reality of the situation, for a second I thought maybe things between us were going to change.

But she only put her palms on my shoulders and rubbed them up and down. And frowned. And said, “You’ve thought it through? You’re really sure about this?”

And I almost said, About what? but I didn’t because unfortunately I knew exactly what she meant. It was in her eyes. She was sure about the divorce, so nothing I had to say about that would make any difference. And she was sure about me moving out, so ditto.

She meant was I sure that I wanted to get in that black van waiting at the curb. Was I sure I wanted to board The Ark and never set foot on Earth again. Never see her or any Earthbound human being again.

She wanted me to be sure, but she wanted me to be sure without gloating about it and without reminding her that maybe we could have gone together as two of the repopulation passengers. She wanted me to be sure of all that, but without saying that I expected it to be a wonderful experience. That was what she wanted. And more than anything else, she wanted my assurance that everything would be all right, that it would all work out.

Well, I could give her that. One more thing to add to my list of last times.

I still didn’t trust myself to maintain eye contact though. I smiled as gently as I could, shifted my attention slightly to her luscious, full lips and repeated my earlier response. “Hey, it’ll be fine, Louise. Really.” Then I sliced my gaze away from hers as I turned slightly to glance over my left shoulder at the black van.

To the driver’s credit, he didn’t honk the horn or do anything else to hurry me up. We had plenty of time. The shuttle wouldn’t lift off to rendezvous with The Ark for three days, and the plane waiting at the airport was specifically for me. Well, and maybe some others, but it wouldn’t leave without me.

Finally, maybe because I knew it would be another last time, I turned back and allowed myself to look directly at her beautiful, crystal blue eyes.

I meant to speak in my normal tone of voice, but my words came out in a quiet, fractured whisper. “It’s okay, Baby, really. You just have a good life, okay? You deserve that.” To my credit, I didn’t ask whether she was sure. I just let her have it without her having to say it again.

She reached for my cheek with her right palm, but as is too often the case our timing was off. Just as her hand reached me, I turned away. As her fingertips slipped off the back edge of my left cheek and past my ear, I started toward the van.

The sliding door opened at my approach and I bent to glance inside. The middle seat was empty. Nobody in the back seat either. Maybe I really was the last one.

I tossed one bag into the left floorboard, put the other on the seat and shoved it over, then slipped in beside it and closed the door. That door closing was oddly comforting. It was a solid sound.

As the van pulled away from the curb, I glanced around through the darkly tinted side window and regretted it immediately.

Louise had crossed her arms again, but this time she was holding her own shoulders.

Against the cold. I was certain she was holding her own shoulders as a defense against the cold. But as I watched, she reached up with her left hand and wiped away a tear.

Well, hell. She’s the one who wanted the divorce, wasn’t she?

I straightened in the seat and cleared my throat, then leaned slightly forward. I grinned to put the right tone in my voice, then said to the driver, “Good day for it, isn’t it?”

The driver didn’t respond at all.

The man in the passenger seat was a big, bulky chunk of a man, and he looked like you could strike a match on any part of him. His neck was as wide as his stubbled head. He didn’t look around, but above the collar of his olive-drab shirt, he nodded. “When history’s being made, Mr. Hanson, every day’s a good day.”