Missing Pieces (5 page)

Obviously, she wasn't going to be able to ask Jack about the photo. At least not tonight. There was no way that she'd be able to sleep anytime soon. She looked around the room. She didn't want to turn on the television and disturb Hal or Jack, and she had forgotten to pack a book to read. She realized it had been over a day since she'd last checked her work email, so she grabbed her laptop and made her way to the kitchen.

Sarah's job as an advice columnist for the
Midwest Messenger
,
a prominent newspaper in Montana, was an opportunity that had come to her unexpectedly seven years ago when a former colleague and the paper's editor, Gabe Downing, contacted her out of the blue. Sarah had once been a hard-news reporter, the kind that traveled all over the world to places like Bangkok and Eastern Turkey, covering major international news stories. But she'd made the difficult decision to leave after the girls were born, and she adapted to her new life as a stay-at-home mother.

When the offer to write for the
Messenger
's popular Dear Astrid advice column arose, it felt like a step down. She'd once covered wars and political upheavals, and now she'd be telling people how to confront a difficult neighbor or ask a girl on a date. But by then the girls were much more independent and, with college tuition looming, Sarah decided to swallow her pride and take the job. She'd be helping people, she convinced herself. And now, seven years later, here she was.

Only a handful of people knew Astrid's true identity: Sarah's editor, Gabe; Jack, of course; and her mother and sister. Not even Emma and Elizabeth knew. Not that it was some big secret, but it never came up. They knew their mother wrote for a newspaper but were too immersed in their own lives to pay much attention.

Sarah preferred the anonymity. Most of the letters were from regular everyday people looking for an unbiased opinion, a fresh perspective. They were often amusing, sometimes sad. Heartfelt. But some of the letters were odd. Downright disturbing. Dark, needy letters describing base desires either contemplated or completed. Some were overtly violent. So graphic that she'd have to alert the police in whatever city the letter was postmarked from.

As Sarah set up the laptop on the kitchen table, she sensed Julia's presence. Small touches that reminded Sarah of her own mother. A vase filled with cut flowers on the table, small ceramic birds resting on the windowsill, a half-eaten chocolate cake beneath a glass cover. The kitchen was dated but clean. The linoleum floor was swept and scrubbed, and the faint scent of cinnamon and anise hung in the air, as if ingrained in the fabric of the yellow gingham curtains hanging over the window. The only thing that seemed out of place was the stack of dirty dishes soaking in the sink. Julia must have fallen before she had the chance to wash them.

A ceramic container with hand-painted roosters rested on a brown laminate countertop, and Sarah imagined Jack as a teenager, reaching into the canister for freshly baked cookies, still warm from Julia's oven, doing his homework at the kitchen table. Sarah lifted the lid of the canister and, sure enough, it was brimming with peanut-butter cookies. Sarah's stomach growled, and she helped herself to a cookie.

Sarah turned on the computer and waited for the system to boot up. She pulled up her email and began going through letters. There was one from a man struggling with the decision of whether to place his aging father in a nursing home and one from a teenage girl fed up with her parents' incessant arguing. It was funny, she thought, how she managed to come up with just the right words to help complete strangers, but when it came to her own husband, sometimes nothing she said seemed to come out right.

She finished up the last of the new letters and shut her laptop when Hal shuffled into the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed.

Sarah stood. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Did the hospital call?”

“No, everything's fine.” Hal waved his hand dismissively and Sarah lowered herself back into her chair as he sat down next to her. “I couldn't sleep so I decided to get up. You can't sleep, either?”

“Just catching up on a little work.” Sarah nodded toward her laptop. “Jack was showing me the pictures in the living room earlier. It was nice seeing him as a kid. I'd love a copy of the one of him with Dean.”

Hal smiled. “I know exactly which one you're talking about. Jack, Dean and Celia would walk beans all day and then come back to the house with sunburns. Celia's hands would be full of blisters.” Hal shook his head. “I don't know how many times I told her to wear gloves.”

“Celia worked on the farm with Jack and Dean?” Sarah asked. Celia didn't seem like the farmhand sort.

“She held her own. Lasted two summers longer than Dean did.”

“I would have thought Dean working on the farm was just a given,” Sarah said.

Hal laughed. “Well, now he does. I knew he'd come back to it. It's in our blood. But at the time, Dean thought farmwork was beneath him. He worked at some restaurant in Cedar City. The rest of the time he was with that girlfriend of his. What was her name?” Hal looked up at the ceiling as if he'd find the answer there. “Kelly? Cassie? I don't remember.”

“He wasn't dating Celia back then?”

“No, Jack was,” Hal replied, and raised an eyebrow. “You didn't know that? I swear, after Jack came to live with us, Celia spent more time at our house than her own.”

Sarah's stomach flipped. How could Jack have never told her that he dated Celia? She searched her memory and was certain he'd never mentioned even a high school girlfriend, let alone that his former girlfriend was now married to his cousin. Of course she had asked him about former girlfriends, but he had shrugged it off.
There was no one special until I met you
, he'd say, and she believed him. She had no reason not to.

Hal seemed to sense her disquiet and quickly changed the subject. “I know that Julia has a box of pictures of Jack when he was a baby. I'll dig them out and you can take some back with you.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said, her mind still on Jack and Celia. How long had they dated? Why had they parted ways? Was it a bad breakup, and who had broken up with whom? Why hadn't Jack told her? Sarah caught Hal looking at her with concern and she tried to shake the thoughts from her head.

“All you Quinlan men look alike,” Sarah observed, returning to the photographs. “You and Jack's dad have the same eyes. It's uncanny.”

Hal picked up the saltshaker from the center of the table and held it in his thick fingers. “It's funny. People always said that John and I looked like brothers, even though there was no relation. But you're right. Jack's the spitting image of his dad.”

Sarah was confused. “You and Jack's dad weren't brothers? But Jack's last name is Quinlan and so is yours...”

“John was my brother-in-law. He was Julia's brother, not mine. After Jack and Amy came to live with us, they took our last name. Their family name is Tierney,” he said, and again Sarah was stunned. Why would Jack go to the trouble of changing his name? And Amy, too? She could understand it if Jack and Amy were very young, but Jack was fifteen years old when his parents died. Nearly an adult. Did he really hate his father so much? She tried to put herself in his place. What if her father had been drinking and caused an accident that resulted in her parents' deaths? Would she change her last name and pretend they never existed? And would she keep it a secret from her husband? She didn't think so. In fact, no matter how painful, she would want to share this part of herself with her husband.

In a matter of minutes, it felt as if her whole life had been upended. Between the revelation about Jack and Celia, and now this lie about his last name, Sarah wondered what else Jack might be keeping. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

“I wouldn't worry, Sarah,” Hal said, sensing her concern, and suddenly Sarah felt guilty. Hal's wife was in the hospital with critical injuries and
he
was the one comforting
her
. “Jack has always kept things pretty close to the vest. He's always found it really hard to talk about his mom and dad.”

“I know, but I guess I just don't understand why he wouldn't tell me something like that.”

“Be patient with him. It was a painful time,” Hal said, and patted her hand. Sarah noticed his nails were thick with cracks streaked with black from years of working the land. “I think I'm going to try and get some sleep, and so should you. You've had a long day.”

“I'll go up in a few minutes,” Sarah promised. “And, Hal, doctors can do so much these days. Jack says that Julia is one of the strongest women he's ever known. If anyone can get through this she will.”

Hal gave her a halfhearted smile as if he wanted to believe her. “Good night,” he said wearily, getting to his feet and squeezing her shoulder as he moved past her and left the kitchen.

Sarah glanced at the clock on the wall. Twelve thirty. Her eyes burned from fatigue and her shoulders ached. She should go up to bed, be with her husband. But her mind was buzzing with questions and she knew that sleep wasn't going to come anytime soon. Why hadn't he ever told her that he'd changed his name? Sarah felt as if she had unearthed a relic from Jack's past, a broken shard of who he once was. It's just a name, she reminded herself. It doesn't mean anything. But it wasn't so much about the name. It was the fact that he had lied to her about it.

And why hadn't he ever told her that he and Celia had dated? Did he think she would judge him? Did he think she would be jealous of Celia, a woman he hadn't seen in twenty years? And why had he been dodging her questions all day?

Through the window a sliver of moon appeared and a thin light spilled into the kitchen. The thrum of rain on the roof ceased and the only sounds were the creaks and groans of an old house at night. The unfamiliar settling and sighing of a house she did not know. Sarah suddenly felt cold and exposed, and despite her irritation with Jack she didn't want to be alone. The questions could wait until morning.

She picked up her laptop, moved to the living room and paused at the wall filled with family pictures, her eyes landing once again on the photo of Jack's father in his military uniform and then on the picture of the two women. Though Jack looked so much like his father, upon a second look Sarah was sure that the woman in the photo with Julia was Jack's mother.

She crept up the steep stairs and tentatively opened a door to make sure that it was the correct room and was relieved to see their suitcases lined up against one wall. Too tired to change into her pajamas, she peeled off her pants and climbed into bed next to Jack. He didn't even stir.

Coming here Sarah realized just how little she knew about her husband's life before they met. She didn't know the name of his first-grade teacher, what his birthday parties were like, if he went to church. She hadn't even known his real last name.

In the dark, she shivered beneath the blankets and listened to the slow, even breaths of her husband, felt the rise and fall of his chest. Sarah thought back to when Jack had asked her to marry him. How thoroughly certain she was that they belonged together, that every minute of her life, every experience, had led her to him. She thought they were soul mates, fated for each other. Now, she couldn't help but question their life together. Had it all been based on lies?

Hurt prickled behind her eyes and she pressed her face into Jack's slumbering form.
Who are you really?
she wanted to ask him. He knew the best and the worst of her, and she thought she knew the same about him.

4

BEFORE SHE EVEN
opened her eyes, Sarah felt warm sunshine on her face. The sheets still had the crispness of laundry hung on a line, and for a moment she basked in the tranquillity of morning, allowing herself to forget for a moment the chaos and uncertainty of the day before.

She wanted to talk to Jack privately before they left for the hospital, about what she had learned from Hal last night, about why he had lied to her for all these years and about why he now seemed to be evading her. She lifted her head and turned to the side, but the space next to her was empty.

Stiff jointed and achy, she climbed out of bed and looked around the bedroom that Jack slept in as a teenager. She was hoping to find some clues, some insights into his childhood, into the life he led before he met her. There were no athletic trophies on the bookshelf and no bulletin board plastered with photos and mementos. She picked up a few random books from the bookshelf and riffled through the pages. There were no carnation corsages pressed between the pages, no concert stubs or baseball tickets. Of course, it had been over twenty-five years since Jack had lived here. Julia and Hal had most likely redecorated years ago and used this as a room for guests.

A small oak desk sat in the corner of the room and she pulled out the drawers, each empty except for a few stray paper clips and ballpoint pens. Instead of clothing, the tall dresser held neatly folded tablecloths and bed linens. She opened the closet door to find it empty except for two heavy winter coats hanging from the metal bar and a shoe box with Jack's name on it on the top shelf. Jack pushed open the door. “How'd you sleep?” he asked.

Startled, she closed the closet door and turned to face him. “Okay,” she answered. But she hadn't slept well at all. For what felt like hours she had lain next to him in the dark, tossing and turning, her mind racing with questions, restless about how to confront Jack. Where would she even start, and how would Jack react?

She searched for the words, knowing she had to be careful or Jack would shut her down in an instant. “Last night, Hal told me your real last name is Tierney,” she blurted, unable to mask the accusation in her voice. “Is that true?”

Jack looked at her blankly. “You knew that,” he said. “I told you that after we started dating.”

Sarah shook her head. She would remember if Jack had told her. “No, you didn't.”

“Of course I did. You must have forgotten.”

“Jack,” she said more firmly, and he sighed in frustration.

“You already know this, Sarah. After Amy and I went to live with Hal and Julia, we had our name legally changed to Quinlan. I was fifteen, Amy was eleven. Hal and Julia became our legal guardians and they were all the family we had left in the world. It just seemed easier.”

Maybe she was overreacting about the name change, but that still didn't explain why he had kept it from her.

“Hal also told me that you and Celia dated in high school. Why didn't you tell me these things? Why the secrecy?”

“Sarah, there are no secrets!” Jack exclaimed, his face reddening. “Celia and I hung out when we were young. Hell, I hung out with a lot of people. It's a small town.” Jack grabbed his watch from the dresser. “I really can't deal with this right now. Why can't you just drop it?”

“I'm not trying to fight with you,” Sarah said quietly. “I'm just trying to understand.”

Jack sat down on the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I don't want to fight, either. I'm sorry if I didn't tell you. I really thought I had. And me and Celia, it was nothing, just kid stuff.” He reached for her hand and she reluctantly took it. His skin felt warm, reassuring. “Hal's downstairs waiting to go to the hospital. Are you ready?”

They drove to the hospital separately, with Hal and Jack in the truck and Sarah following behind, alone, in the rental car. The rain-washed fields glittered with moisture and puffy white clouds moved leisurely across the blue sky. It was a beautiful morning, but still Sarah felt uneasy, off balance. The highway was lined with wooden telephone poles that reminded Sarah of crucifixes where sharp-eyed hawks and hook-beaked shrikes perched in wait.

Jack was confident he had told her about changing his last name, but she racked her memory. No, she would have remembered if he told her, she was sure of it. As for Celia, what had Hal said? That they were inseparable? That certainly sounded like more than just
hanging out
. She was so engrossed in her thoughts she lost sight of Hal's truck and pressed on the accelerator in hopes of catching up.

When Sarah finally pulled into the parking lot, she could see Jack and Hal already entering the hospital. She knew that Hal was anxious to check on Julia and she felt childish for being disappointed that they hadn't waited for her.

Sarah waited for the excruciatingly slow elevator and when she stepped out onto the fifth-floor landing Jack and Hal were nowhere to be seen. Sarah caught sight of Celia, hands full, heading down the hall toward Julia's room, and Sarah hurried to catch up with her.

“Good morning,” Sarah said breathlessly as she pushed Julia's door open for Celia.

“Good morning,” Celia said, looking well rested and refreshed. Sarah saw Celia with new eyes now that she knew she and Jack were once an item. She was beautiful. Slim and fit. Her black curls were pulled back from her face and she was perfectly put together in sharply creased khakis and a neatly pressed blouse. Sarah looked down and was dismayed to see that her long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans were hopelessly rumpled from being stored in her suitcase.

Celia came bearing fresh-cut purple asters from her garden. “The last of the season,” she said as she set the vase on Julia's windowsill. Amy was curled up in a chair next to Julia's bed, looking even more diminished than the day before. She stiffened as Celia leaned over Julia's bed and adjusted her pillow.

“How was Julia's night?” Sarah asked. The room was eerily quiet, and she sensed a palpable tension between Celia and Amy. She hoped Jack and Hal would arrive soon.

Amy rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “She hasn't woken up yet, but the nurse said her vitals are stable.”

“That's good news,” Celia said. “Now maybe you can go home and get some rest.”

“I'm fine,” Amy said shortly. She stood and stretched. “Where are Hal and Jack?”

“They peeked in on Julia for a few minutes and then the doctor wanted to go over a few of Julia's tests with them,” Celia explained. “When's the last time you've eaten? Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get something?”

“Jesus, Celia, I said I'm fine,” Amy answered, crossing her arms in front of her just as a high-pitched beeping erupted from Julia's heart monitor.

“What's happening?” Amy asked fearfully as all eyes swung toward Julia. Julia's body went rigid, her face contorting into a tight grimace. The heavy hospital bed rocked with her spasms and Julia's eyes opened and rolled back into her head so that only the whites showed.

“Go get someone,” Sarah yelled, frantically reaching for the nurse's call button. Celia hurried from the room in search of help.

“Do something!” Amy beseeched, her eyes wide and panicked.

Moments later, Celia raced into the room with two nurses. Jack, Hal and Dean were close behind. “What's happening?” Hal shouted in horror as Julia convulsed in the bed. Jack reached for Sarah's hand and squeezed it tightly.

“She's having a seizure,” one of the nurses said as they expertly rolled Julia onto her side. She produced a syringe and injected it directly into Julia's IV. Her body shuddered violently.

“What is that? What did you do?” Amy cried.

“Lorazepam,” a nurse said, her voice caught in the frenzy of the beeping machines and Julia's moans. “To stop the seizure.”

“Why is she making that noise?” Hal asked helplessly. “Is she in pain?”

“It isn't working,” Amy yelled, pushing her way to Julia's bedside. She bumped the vase of flowers and it cartwheeled and shattered as it struck the floor. Shards of glass flew everywhere and a puddle of water formed on the floor next to Sarah's feet.

Sarah sidled back into a corner, trying to stay out of the way as Jack tried to pull Amy from Julia's bedside where she was grasping for Julia and getting in the way of the nurses. “Let them do their work,” he urged.

“It's not working. The medicine isn't helping,” Amy cried. “Please make it stop,” she begged as Julia continued to writhe in her bed, a foul odor rising from the sheets. Amy clapped a hand over her nose and mouth.

The seconds ticked by like hours. The nurse grabbed another syringe and injected it into the IV. How long could this last? Sarah wondered.

Slowly, Julia's body relaxed, her face smoothed and her hands uncurled, but the heart machine continued to beep rapidly.

“What's wrong?” Amy asked the nurses who were standing over Julia, watching her carefully. “Why is it still making that sound? Don't just stand there, do something!”

“She has a do-not-resuscitate order,” Dean said under his breath, so softly that Sarah was sure she was the only one who heard him.

“
Do
something,” Amy pressed, her voice rising as she spiraled into hysteria. She clutched onto the nurse's sleeve violently, begging her not to let her aunt die.

“She's DNR,” Dean repeated, this time more loudly.

“What does that mean?” Amy cried as she leaned into Jack, tears streaming down her face. “Why aren't they helping her? Make them help her.”

“They can't. She doesn't want any heroic measures keeping her alive,” Dean explained.

The heart monitor blipped frenetically and Amy pressed her hands to her ears as if trying to block out the sound. Gradually, Julia's chest stopped moving and the beeps stretched into one continuous, mournful cry.

“No!” Amy cried as she pulled away from Jack and lunged toward the bed. “Please don't leave me,” she begged, pressing her lips against Julia's warm cheek. Amy lowered her head and her brokenhearted keening became entangled with the mechanical scream of the heart monitor until they became one. A nurse reached over and turned off the machine. The only sound in the room was Amy's weeping.

Hal approached his wife's side on unsteady legs and reached for her hand. A dry sob came from deep within his chest; he leaned over the bedside rail and murmured into Julia's ear.

Sarah watched as Hal went slack with helplessness. She went to his side and reached for his hand. His fingers were ice-cold.

Dean tried to stifle a cry and Celia buried herself in his chest. Hal slowly lowered himself into a chair, his face a map of disbelief.

A nurse carefully removed the oxygen mask from Julia's face and began to unhook the monitors from her chest. “Stop,” Amy yelled, clawing at the nurse's arm again, trying to pull her away from the machines. Her eyes were filled with fury.

“Amy!” Celia exclaimed in horror as the nurse, wide-eyed, tried to shake her off. Celia grabbed Amy's hands and she released the nurse, whose arm was lined with angry red scratches that bloomed with blood.

Sarah watched in disbelief as Amy squirmed from Celia's grasp and shoved past them, out of the room.

“Are you okay?” Celia asked.

“I'm fine,” the nurse said, clearly shaken, blotting her bloody arm with a tissue.

“Shouldn't someone go after her?” Sarah asked, heart pounding.

“No, just let her go,” Jack said. “Let her cool off.”

“Jesus Christ, she's fucking crazy,” Dean hissed, his voice tense with anger.

“Please!” Hal interjected. “For God's sake, have some respect for your mother.” Everyone froze and a mix of shame and grief washed over them. Hal's head fell heavy in his hands and the room filled with the soft sobs of a man who just lost his wife. “Fifty years,” he said mournfully. “We were married fifty years.” He looked up from his hands, his eyes wet and bloodshot. “Fifty years and she had to leave me this way?”

The nurse watched from the doorway as Jack's family seemed to collapse under the weight of their own grief. “I'll have to ask you to step out for a few minutes, Mr. Quinlan,” she said kindly. “We'll take care of your wife and get the room cleaned up, then you can come back in and take as much time as you need.”

The room looked like a war zone. The floor was slick with water and flower petals. Shards of glass from the broken vase crunched beneath their feet. Hal remained by Julia's side until Dean gently took his arm and guided him from the room. Sarah bent down and picked up the handmade quilt that had fallen to the floor. She folded it neatly and draped it over the back of a chair.

Jack paused at Julia's bedside and looked down at the woman who had welcomed him into her home after his parents had died. He whispered into her ear and lightly brushed her cheek with his fingers.

“I'm sorry, sir,” the nurse said. “We have to ask you all to step out, please.”

Sarah held her hand out to Jack. Together they stepped into the hallway and Sarah pulled him into her arms. “It's going to be okay,” she murmured. She felt Jack's heart thrumming against his chest.

Jack released Sarah and went to his uncle. “She loved you,” Hal said, taking Jack's hands in his own. “You and Amy, just like you were her own. You know that, don't you?”

“I know,” Jack replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. “She always believed in me. No matter what.”

Sarah embraced Hal. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“I know who to call,” Celia interjected in a way that struck Sarah as oddly aggressive.

“What about Amy?” Sarah asked. “Do you think someone should go check on her?”

“I think it's probably best to just let her be for a while,” Celia answered. “Let her catch her breath.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around Jack's waist, and he rested his chin on top of her head. “Did you know Julia had a do-not-resuscitate order?” she asked.