Returned
“Habla conmigo.”
Kestrin squinted confusedly as he woke. One of his legs was twisted in the sheets and a few of his toes were cold because someone had decided to pull three-quarters of the blanket onto her side of the bed. This same someone had already pushed the curtains open so watery morning light was trickling into the room and onto his face.
“What did you just say?” he croaked.
Lorona was grinning. “Sorry, that was Spanish. Talk with me.” She peered down at him with bright eyes.
I've married a morning person, Kestrin told himself. He rubbed his eyes.
“You know, I think I like you like this.”
“Groggy and tired?”
Lorona cocked her head. “I'd call it ‘relaxed.’ The façade disappears when you're not performing.”
“You think I'm a fake?” He feigned a look of deep hurt.
“I think you're worried about how you look, and right now you're not trying to impress anyone.”
“Well, I do need to maintain my charm and charisma…”
She rolled her eyes.
He faked a snore, mumbling, “But I really am still half asleep.”
She pressed her nose to his cheek and he couldn't help imagining a young puppy. “I was just thinking about the suddenness of our marriage,” she whispered.
Kestrin's brain zapped into a new level of acuity. He looked sidelong at her, but her eyes were still hazy and thoughtful. She turned her face into the swath of morning light and for a moment she looked like a softly illuminated angel. She rolled onto her stomach beside him. “Do you really believe it was fate that brought us together?” she said, “Because faith in things like destiny was never my strong suit. Not for people, either. I mean, I trust you, but I couldn't tell you I've got a great track record with it.” Her eyes said she was somewhere else now, somewhere sad.
He squeezed her hand. “Don't worry. Faith in fate is my strong suit.” He tugged on his necklace and showed her the pendant. “Look, this is the Celtic shield of destiny, for good luck. I've worn it since I was eighteen.”
She smiled, still only half seeing him. “Do you think the orange craving is connected, too?”
He laughed. “Well, I used to think it was just stars and dreams and all that hard-to-understand stuff, but I don't see why oranges can't be part of the big picture. We don't have to be snobby and exclusive. My favorite part is the surprises. Sometimes destiny reaches right out and hands you things. Like you.”
She leaned close until her nose touched his. “Ever since we've been married, I still like oranges, but I'm not quite as crazy about them.”
“Silly,” he brushed her cheek. “That's because you can kiss me now.”
A few hours later at the restaurant, Kestrin had chopped enough lettuce to fill five huge bowls and was trying not to think of how much he missed Lorona and how he'd rather be back in their bed. She was timid and beautiful and mysterious and she wasn't going anywhere. They had the rest of their lives to understand each other more deeply…for the umpteenth time, his eyes wandered to the wall clock.
He kept thinking of things he wanted to buy her: silver earrings, house slippers to keep her feet warm, lingerie, etc. He was underlining ‘lingerie’ on his list for the third time and was well on his way to finishing the Caesar dressing for the day when Brandon, who had been subdued all morning, casually muttered, “Dude, are you actually wearing a ring, or am I seeing things?”
Kestrin dropped the pen, stuffed his shopping list into his pocket, and wiggled the fingers of his left hand as he lifted the whisk for the dressing with the other.
“Are you engaged or something?”
“Married, actually. Women wear the rings beforehand. Men wear it after the big day.”
Brandon stopped and started several sentences and settled on, “Who?”
“The beautiful redhead who was here two days ago.”
Brandon was arranging a row of salt and pepper shakers, forming words without sound. Finally, in a forced-deadpan tone he said, “You want to explain what happened, Casanova?”
Kestrin grinned. “You wouldn't believe it if I told you.”
Brandon crossed his arms. “I still want to hear.”
“Brace yourself.”
“Should I get into the brandy?”
“Yeah. The good stuff we use for the chocolate torte.” Kestrin plunked two shot glasses onto the counter. “This deserves a celebratory toast. Is Marlene here?” He checked, making sure their manager had not yet arrived.
Brandon shook his head and flashed a wicked grin. “You're about to ask me to swallow a large pill, right?”
Thirty minutes later, the salad wasn't ready, the tortilla chips had yet to be fried, and the tables at the front were still devoid of settings. It would have been a very bad day for Mouth of the Border if Brandon hadn't recruited their server for kitchen help and posted Kestrin as server instead.
There was something particularly special about Kestrin when he waited on the tables that day, and Brandon had noticed it. His warm smile, attentive listening, and expressive eyes were enough to get him huge quantities of patience on the delayed service. As the lunch traffic lulled, Kestrin ambled back inside the kitchen, whistling a Frank Sinatra song and feeling nowhere near subhuman.
“So what made you rush to get married?” Brandon finally asked in their moment of respite. He had listened to the story without comment and then they'd both bolted like madmen when the first customer appeared.
“I've told you about my dreams and all that. I knew it was her. It was all the convincing I needed.”
“And she felt the same way?” Brandon whistled. “That's a lot of faith she's putting in your REM cycle.”
“It's well placed. My wife is a gem.”
“Well placed, huh? I think that still stands to be proven.”
Kestrin checked the clock for the nineteenth time and felt a rush of relief. “Okay, I'm done here. On to the next job.”
“Remember, no more flirting with the singles and giving them free drinks, Mr. Charming Bartender.” Brandon punched him lightly in the arm. “The rooster has had his wings clipped! No more strutting with the hens.”
Kestrin sighed. In spite of the story, Brandon still didn't get it. The rooster wasn't trapped. The rooster had finally found the sunrise.
Eight days after her wedding, Lorona stopped by the video store on her lunch break. Kestrin would be working late that night at the bar, so she'd have to entertain herself.
Being alone with her thoughts and questions was becoming more stressful. Over the past week, she'd received random emails from women, his past relationships, who had found out Kestrin Feather was married. She'd deleted most of them unread, and then in a fit of curiosity, went back into her trash and read them.
Do you really think he's changed? He's a practiced liar you know.
Or
You must have twisted his arm to get him to go through with this.
Or
Who do you think you are? The new goddess of the bedroom?
Lorona managed to stifle her uncomfortable worries as soon as Kestrin came home from work, but that wouldn't work forever, and she couldn't count on it tonight. As she used her movie rental account that she shared with Yuki, she remembered hazily that she'd still left the majority of her belongings in Yuki's apartment. She'd been wearing some of Kestrin's things when she could get away with it, and he'd taken her on a shopping spree the day after their wedding, so she hadn't noticed the need immediately. But suddenly she wanted her own socks and shirts. As soon as her shift ended, Lorona headed straight for her old home.
Yuki's commute from the office in Bellevue usually got her home twenty minutes after Lorona. Lorona's Tuesday routine had been to brew Yuki green tea with a dash of sugar and bake peanut butter cookies. Yuki loved the contrast of sweet and salty. Lorona secretly wondered if Yuki's fishermen grandparents had anything to do with it. She found some pre-made peanut butter cookie dough that she had frozen several weeks ago. Once the cookies were in the oven and the kettle was on the stove, Lorona went to her room and piled her dresser's contents into her largest suitcase. She jumped on it four times before she could zip it closed, and had just started to unpin the wall art when the front door opened.
“Hello?” Yuki's voice quavered, “Is someone here?”
“It's me.”
“Oh, thank God!” Yuki flung herself at Lorona, almost tripping in her excitement. “You're back! I knew it was just a—” she choked, staring at the pregnant suitcase. “What's that for?”
“I figured it would be good to move the rest of my stuff out.” Lorona smiled, trying to lift the sadness out of Yuki's eyes. “Oh my gosh. Rent! I totally forgot! I'll help cover till you find a new—”
Yuki interrupted her with an exaggerated sigh of distress. Then this really is real?”
“Of course it's real.”
“And you have no secrets? You know everything about him?”
Lorona was rolling up a poster and carefully sliding it into a cloth bag. “Well, I'm getting to know everything about him. I'll know everything soon enough. Last night I got close enough that it was like I touched his soul. Do you think that's humanly possible?”
Yuki stared.
“It was his innermost self. His heart, his life-force, the essence of who he is.”
“Are we talking sex or intimacy here? You know, never mind. Either way,” Yuki breathed with reverence, “I've got goose bumps.”
Lorona sat on the edge of her bed. “It wasn't exactly what I was expecting.”
“It never is,” Yuki assured her.
“But he was very gentle with me and even though I knew I wasn't his first—”
“Yeah, was that weird for you?”
“I got over it, eventually. I actually locked myself in the bathroom for a few minutes so I could freak out, but he was patient and he waited, and he told me he got checked at the doctor and he's healthy. He'd put on some instrumental music to help me relax. He was gentle. That's all that I can say.”
“Well, you're being very discrete. And you're blushing. I'd say that's a good thing.”
“They tell us marriage is a sacred thing in church. I didn't get it till now. It's mystical and practical and perfect and flawed all at the same time. But I've got the feeling that all the problems are only what he and I bring into it, not the essence of marriage itself.”
“I was with you before, but now you're losing me.”
“Sorry. What I mean is, I sensed him for real last night and I knew one thing.”
“What?”
Lorona looked Yuki straight in the face. “His soul was good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that your fear about me falling in love with someone bad—it's not going to happen.”
“And you don't have any burning questions or things you need to know about him? You guys have talked it all out?”
“Well, yeah. And we'll cover whatever we've missed eventually. I'm just enjoying the honeymoon right now.” Lorona grinned. “Oh, and by the way, do you and Kyle and Teri want to come over and play Boggle tonight? Kestrin is working late. He can't rotate off the night shift at the bar for a few more weeks.”
Yuki's dormant smile sprang to life. “Really? You're not suddenly a stodgy married old fogie?”
“Do you think I'd ever answer that in the affirmative?”
“Likely not.” Yuki was already dialing Kyle. “Kyle, cancel all other engagements. We're going over to Lorona's place, yes, that would be Kestrin's apartment. We're going to keep her from getting the lonelies because he has to work late.” Yuki winked at Lorona. “Take Teri to the movie tomorrow. Lorona is much more interesting than the big screen, anyway.” She laughed and hung up. “They'll meet you at your place in half an hour.”
“Did you give them the address?”
“Babe, half the women in this city know where that man's apartment is. Teri will know how to get there.” She added hurriedly, “Not that she's ever been inside.”
Lorona had kettle corn in the microwave and was mixing a quart of lemonade while Yuki, who had come over with her, rummaged in Kestrin's drawers for paper and pencils for the game when a rap on the door announced Kyle and Teri.
Lorona opened it with a flourish. “Bienvenidos a mi casa!”
Kyle and Teri, former classmates and mutual friends of Yuki and Lorona from a college comparative lit class, entered the apartment with awe. Kyle towered over Yuki as he sauntered inside and Teri held firmly onto his hand as if he were leading her inside the tiger cage at a zoo. Kyle had played his fair share of high school basketball, but was better known for his outspoken nature and inability to let class discussions pass without raising some controversial issue. Teri, who had been dating him for two years and would rather have read Sylvia Plath to herself than raise any kind of controversy, was an excellent match for him.
Kyle pushed his sandy hair out of his eyes, and took in Lorona and her red apron. “You're so domestic. Are you running around barefoot these days?”
“Ha. Not yet.” She returned to mixing the lemonade.
Teri hurried to join Yuki and they whispered together, her strawberry-blonde hair close to Yuki's dark head as Kyle strolled slowly through the living room which doubled as the bedroom, with studious deliberation.
“So this is it. I'd expected a more sophisticated style,” he said. “You know, black and white fixtures; more steel and glass, less wood. But hey, what do I know about—” He caught Lorona's warning glance. “I was thinking out loud, wasn't I? This is a really nice place.”
There was an awkward pause, until Teri said, “I brought Boggle. Do you guys want to play?”
Three hours later, they were on their way through bag number three of popcorn and had used the dictionary several times to prove the nonexistence of Yuki's invented words. She argued for them, regardless, and had everyone laughing with her uses of “hoopier” and “fundee” in a sentence, which she demonstrated in a British accent to make it sound more proper. A few times, Lorona thought she caught a glance passing between Teri and Kyle, usually the kind Teri sent Kyle when she wanted him to shut up before someone got hurt. Once she heard Yuki say to Teri, “I'm sure she knows,” when Teri was washing her hands in the bathroom and they thought Lorona was somewhere else.
Around 10pm, the lettered cubes rested in their case as everyone settled on the sofa for the movie. Kyle had instilled in them the habit of frequent commentary during movies and, like clockwork, Yuki launched into a monologue as soon as the previews began.
Kyle put his mouth next to Teri's ear and murmured, “Where do you think he keeps it?”
“Keeps what?” Teri yawned.
“You know, the journal.”
Kyle's expression revealed he'd spoken louder than he'd meant as Lorona turned and demanded, “What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing,” he blushed.
Lorona snatched the remote and paused the film. “You can't do this and expect no reaction from me. Spit it out, Kyle.”
“I'm doing everything that I can to respect your…uh…husband. I would rather you not press me on this one.” Kyle was being sincere, but it didn't matter.
Teri covered her face with her hands. “We're like the worst friends in the world.”
Yuki's face paled.
“Will someone please tell me what's going on?” The TV flickered onto its screensaver display as Lorona stared at each in turn. Kyle looked embarrassed, Teri looked mortified, and Yuki just looked like she couldn't find the right words to put in her mouth.
“It's just a rumor,” Teri finally managed, placatingly.
“Maybe it doesn't even exist,” Kyle added. “I mean, keeping a journal isn't the manliest thing I can think of.” He looked up suddenly at Lorona. “You should probably just ask Kestrin.”
“I've never seen him write in a journal,” Lorona countered.
“He has one,” Yuki said softly.
Kyle gawked at her.
“He showed it to a friend of mine,” Yuki said.
“So what's the big deal?” Lorona felt her heart beating quicker with nameless foreboding. “Someone explain this.”
“All I know…” Teri began, “is that no one knows exactly what Kestrin writes about—except for the girls who read that one entry, which is supposedly designed to make their knees turn to jelly because it talks about how they were destined for him.” Teri went on as if she were performing a poetry reading, halting every few words as though from a bad case of stage fright. “The rest of it is probably where he records his thoughts without censoring them. That's what you do with journals, right?”
Lorona saw her future guilt looming like a guillotine blade, poised to fall. She would find the journal and read it. It was as simple as that.
If Kestrin used some sort of fake destiny dream entry to get girls to sleep with him, I need to know. If my husband is a practiced liar, don't I deserve to know this? It was like someone else fed the thoughts straight into her mind.
“The entry he shows the girls is just a dummy one,” Yuki added. “In it he writes that he had a dream that he'd meet the perfect girl that night.”
“Have you seen it?” Lorona asked, startled suddenly.
Yuki looked down. “No. My old roommate saw it and told me. She used to cry about him. Of course, she was unstable already, so that doesn't say much. But I knew you were different to him and then he proposed, and you were so sure, so I supported you and I don't want to mess anything up now.” She halted suddenly and kept her frown pointed at the floor.
Saturn's entire meteor belt felt like it was crashing onto Lorona's head, forcing her brain to the point immediately preceding total implosion. Lorona's father used to call these episodes ‘curiosity attacks,’ as if they could be compared to a heart attack.
“Look,” Kyle put a hand on her arm, “it's not our business to spread gossip around. I'm sorry I said anything.” She could see in his eyes that he meant it. “We want you to be happy, and sometimes a person's reputation gets in the way of who they really are. I'm hoping that's the case with Kestrin, for both your sakes.”
Yuki took the remote and restarted the movie without letting Lorona reply. She wrapped her arms around Lorona's waist and made shushing noises as the opening credits appeared and the intro music swelled.
“You can deal with this later,” Yuki whispered.
Lorona closed her eyes. Yes. She would deal with it later.
By the time Yuki and Teri and Kyle said their yawning goodbyes and slipped out of the apartment, the clock on the microwave said it was eleven minutes after midnight.
Lorona started brewing a strong pot of coffee, widening her eyes in determination against the exhaustion that begged her to bury the doubts and anxieties in slumber.
It'll be okay. The drowsy voice prodded. Just leave it be and talk to him when he comes home.
Yeah right, she shot back. Ask smooth-talking, lady-charming Kestrin to tell me the truth about the hidden journal, the secret journal, the journal I sure as hell should have known about by now.
She'd left the curtains open and the blue night, pricked with stars, leaked through the gaping glass mouth of the balcony doors, chilling her veins with its massive darkness and pressing her hopes under the surface of her skin where they writhed and flailed and then lay still, leaving only the burning need to search.
In prior curiosity attacks, Lorona had barraged her father with persistent questions about a birthday surprise until he relented or she'd written email after email to a friend in another state who had told Lorona she'd have to guess some special news. Lorona sent fifty-seven emails before she found out the news that her friend had sold her first painting. The birthday surprise was a canoe trip along the shores of the university arboretum.
Neither bit of information was life changing, earth shattering, must-be-known- this-instant, but that didn't stop Lorona's need to know. And now the presence of Kestrin's journal lurking somewhere in the room, filled with the secrets of his nights with others, harboring the words he'd used to manipulate the hearts of—
Lorona clamped her hand over her mouth. It wasn't nausea, it was the reverse. She was craving the taste of oranges so fiercely, her tongue stung and her gums ached at the base of her teeth. The desire had never been painful before. She bit her finger, trying to snap herself back to her senses.
You only have three hours before he gets here. Don't waste time.
In the empty dark apartment, black and gray except for the cerulean rectangle of the balcony glass door, her inner voice sounded like a frightened little girl. Maybe because that was what she was, a girl who still hadn't forgiven her mother for leaving, who'd dragged all of her weaknesses and insecurities straight into a crazy marriage.
Willing herself into physical activity to stop her mental flash flood, Lorona chose to scour the bed. She unfolded the futon, brushing crushed popcorn kernels into her palm and eating them to give her stomach something to do besides clench. She lifted the mattress, unzipped the cover, and felt around the corners and the center of the foam for something rigid and book-shaped. Nothing.
The drawer of his bedside table held a pen, a few condoms, a small bottle of cologne, some photographs of him and an older female relative, probably his mother judging by the blonde curls, but nothing remotely like a journal. She went to the bookshelves next.
These were wedged into the wall ledge in such a way that scaling to the top of them would be tricky. Ironically, the actual line of books ran along the topmost shelf and various things like wine bottles, CDs, and folded sweaters occupied most of the lower shelves. There was one small shelf of books within easy reach, but none of these were journals.
“Either Kestrin doesn't read very often, or he doesn't want anyone getting at them,” she muttered.
Lorona remembered the coffee, poured herself a large mug, and gulped it before testing the temperature. If it had peeled off a layer of her throat with the scalding heat, she didn't care. The caffeine leaked into her consciousness, her thoughts sharpened, and the questions melted into the tangible goal: Find it.
She brought a chair from the kitchen table and propped it beneath the shelves. From there she could stand and climb on level with them, though the toehold was so small she couldn't kept a good balance. She settled for grabbing the books and flinging them over her head, ignoring the crashing thumps as they hit the futon and the floor, falling open with pages that fluttered in protest.
Once the books had been toppled, she descended, scooped them into a pile, and examined each one for inner pages covered with her husband's neat but inelegant handwriting. Every single sheet was filled with writing from a printing press. Lorona realized as she closed the last book that she had not noted which books went where.
She sneezed in the rising cloud of dust. “He probably won't even notice.” She forced a laugh, hoping to make herself feel better, but the tension flapping in her stomach just buzzed more fiercely. “They're dusty because he never looks at them. Besides, why would he keep a journal way up there, where it's so hard to get to?”
Cursing her own bad thinking, Lorona returned the books to the shelves, stacking them in haphazard carelessness. Her hands bore gloves of dust and ink by the time she'd finished. She scrubbed them with strong dish soap, feeling her skin stretch dry and tight, and poured another cup of coffee. It had gone cold by this point, but she didn't bother to warm it up.
As she slurped the dregs of the second cup, her eyes settled on the kitchen knives hanging on the magnetic strip over the counter. She selected the sharpest one, set her empty mug in the sink and knelt by the section of carpet that ran the wall below the bookshelves and along the head of the futon. She slid the knife along the baseboard till it caught the edge of the carpet. It peeled back easily enough and she was so excited by the brown corner of something below, she missed the staple that buried itself in her left thumb pad. She hissed and dropped the carpet, recognizing the shape of a floorboard that really looked nothing like a journal or even a book, if she was honest with herself.
That's what all of this is about isn't it? She pressed the staple wound to her mouth. Kyle and Teri and Yuki are all honestly worried about me. So worried, they couldn't stop themselves from slipping up tonight and saying stuff about Kestrin that they knew would upset me. And speaking of honesty, what kind of guy hides stuff like this from his wife?
Lorona resumed tugging. Sometimes several feet of carpet came loose from the floor. After twenty minutes and a few more staple jabs, she knew that the journal was not below ground.
Next she checked the kitchen, pulling down cans of beef chili and stewed tomatoes, feeling more and more embarrassed as the places she searched grew smaller and smaller. She checked the bathroom, pulling out old bottles of aftershave and bubble bath and unfolding all the towels in the linen cupboard. She even lifted off the back of the toilet tank to see if anything was floating in the water inside. She'd had a cousin who hid candy in a jar in the toilet tank. The water was perfectly clean and no one ever thought to look there, but there was no journal in the toilet, either.
A few minutes before three, Lorona fell into bed, exhausted and alternating between curiosity so strong it electrified her blood and self-disgust that felt like a belly punch, the reward for ransacking her own home.
Kestrin kicked the carpet out of the door's path and twisted the deadbolt behind him. He pulled off his shoes, walked around the futon, and slid the package that had mysteriously appeared at the bar onto his nightstand. The house seemed cleaner than usual. Shelves were dusted and items had been straightened. That's what happens when you leave her alone for too long. She starts cleaning. He peered at his wife and she wiggled her toes.
“Are you awake, or am I just seeing what I'm wishing for?” he whispered.
“As you wish.” Her voice was somber. She sat up and switched on the lamp, kindling red life into her hair. He sat at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his work shirt. The house smelled of popcorn.
Lorona's eyes flitted across the room, as if she were disturbed. She looked away.
“Are you crying?” he asked, as he touched her cheek.
Lorona shook her head. “No. Crying isn't something I really do.”
Kestrin thought again of the dream in his journal. Discomfort clutched lightly at his chest. He rubbed his eyes. He was too tired to think more about it tonight. But she really did look worried. He stroked the top of her head. “Is there something you're not telling me? Do we need to talk?”
Lorona didn't answer for a moment. Then she said, “There are thousands of things I'm not telling you. But now that you're here, I just want to sleep.”
“I'm not surprised. It's three in the morning. What did you do while you were waiting for me?”
“I had Kyle and Yuki and Teri over. We played games and watched a movie. Then they left and I decided what color I'm going to paint the walls.”
“This is a rental, no painting.”
“Okay, then I know what fabric I'm going to hang on that empty wall: a big strip of deep blue. It'll be like a royal tapestry and I'll paint something on it in white. It'll be majestic.”
“Wow, already decorating. Are you cooking, too?” He meant this as a joke.
“There's some leftover stir-fry in the fridge. We made it halfway through the movie when there was a big family dinner scene and we couldn't stand to watch them. Help yourself.”
“I'm in heaven.”
As he entered the kitchen, his phone buzzed with another text message.
Are you ignoring me? I want to talk to you about this crazy marriage. Call me first thing in the morning. -Mom
Kestrin glanced at the package on his nightstand and the pieces fell together.
His coworker had said, “Some lady dropped this off for you. She didn't leave a name.” Kestrin had assumed it was just another girl trying to get at him, but the text message made him reevaluate the hasty assumption.
After a few bites of stir-fry, he stood on his side of the bed and tore away the brown paper from the package. The delivery lady had been his mother, slipping the package in before he arrived at work. He slid the contents into his hand and felt the familiar pressure of the leather cover. Why his mother had been keeping it, he didn't know, but he planned to find out soon. His journal was returned.
