For All the Evers

  “When my Eddie gets home, he’ll be happy to meet you,” she said. “Your name is all over these letters. Thomas seemed very smitten. He even wrote about getting a tattoo with your name on it.”

  Adelaide flipped through what had to be ten different drawings before finding the letter she sought.

  “Here it is. Take a look.”

  Fallen took the letter and heard Thomas’ voice as her eyes fell to the last paragraphs:

  Fallen covered her mouth. He was looking for her. Like he’d said he would. And she’d been doing the same thing—just seventy years later.

  “Here, sweetheart. You have to take these drawings. Ed will be glad to meet you. It’s only been two years since they lost Thomas, but it still feels raw for him.”

  Fallen nodded, accepting the drawings. Adelaide was lost in time for the moment, and Fallen completely understood the feeling. She wished she could go back to when just finding Thomas on Thursdays was her most pressing worry. Now she knew for certain their remaining time together was limited. Just how limited was the next question.

  She looked at the next letter. And the next.

  Thursdays. It seemed to be April, rather than October, where Thomas was, but they always met on Thursdays. She went to Adelaide’s wall calendar and matched the Thursdays she’d dreamed with Thomas to the dates on his letters. Calculating forward, May 7, 1945—the date of Thomas’ death—would be not this Thursday but the next.

  Her throat closed up, but before terror encompassed her completely, she realized that the currently slightly confused Adelaide might be able to help her.

  “How did he die?” she asked the woman softly. “Thomas—how was he killed?”

  Adelaide shook her head. “A hero, my dear, a true hero. He was leading his men through the jungle and after so many years at war, he must have just had a sense about something. He had his men stay back while he went ahead, and he stepped on a landmine. It killed him instantly, so he didn’t feel any pain, we hope. But he did save a good number of his men by insisting they stay back.”

  Adelaide looked around like being in her living room was confusing.

  “You were talking about Thomas,” Fallen offered.

  “Such a shame. Such a handsome guy. No wife. No kids. It’s important to never forget that those boys died for us.” Adelaide started stacking up the rest of the drawings—either ignoring the resemblance to Fallen or just not seeing it anymore.

  She stopped mid pick up and put her hand to her cheek. “I think I’m getting tired. Is it rude if I have a little bit of a lie down?”

  Fallen shook her head. “Not at all. Let me make sure you’re all set.”

  Adelaide used the bathroom before coming to sit on her bed. Fallen found another afghan and tucked it in around her.

  “Rest now, and thanks for the visit.” Fallen closed the door and damn near ran back to the living room. She had no idea how much time she had before Marquette returned, and she needed to snap as many pictures as she could.

  She was three letters in when she heard a car door slam and Marquette speaking loudly on her phone. Fallen grabbed her purse and shoved as many of Thomas’ letters as she could in her bag, cringing when she heard the crinkling. She hated the thought of any of his words being damaged.

  When Marquette entered the living room, Fallen had switched to putting the keepsakes back in the box.

  “How is she?” Marquette seemed to be eyeing the furniture like a buyer.

  “She’s resting. We were looking at her pictures.” Fallen put the award on top of the remaining drawings of herself in the box so Marquette wouldn’t see them.

  “Let me guess, her husband used to tell her to do that to help her memory?” Marquette took a moment and wiped at a tear before adding, “Maybe he should have given her better advice.”

  “Actually she did great remembering all the details of—your uncle, would it be?” Fallen replaced the box in the wicker basket chest.

  Marquette nodded. “Yes. Listen, thank you. I’ll certainly pay you for your extra time. Adelaide will be coming with me to move to the apartment in the morning.” She walked through the living room touching things. “There’s a service coming tomorrow to get this stuff out of here.”

  “Won’t she need her things?” Fallen replaced the afghans.

  “The apartment is already furnished. She’ll have a roommate. It’s near my house, so I can visit her, and she’ll be closer to my kids, too. They’re all in the area. But this is all five hours away, where we live, so it’s just easier to get rid of most of this. She doesn’t really remember it anyway. I’ll go through and pull anything of value. I just need a breather before getting into the thick of it.” Marquette waved a hand toward the front door. “Thanks again for all you’ve done.”

  Fallen nodded, realizing she was just going to have to leave now with what she had in her purse. She considered punching the woman’s lights out real quick so she could get the rest of Thomas’ things, but she needed to stay out of jail for Fenn and her next Thursday date.

  She had one week to figure out how to make sure Thomas didn’t step on that landmine.

  Chapter 22

  Pictures

  Back at home, Fallen ran up to her room. She didn’t take off her coat or her shoes, just plopped on the bed and carefully began extracting what she could from her purse.

  First there were three pictures of herself, each signed and dated, which she laid out on the bed. She brushed her hand against the paper and got the chills. Thomas’ hand had touched the same place in his waking world. She bent and put her face against it too, imagining his hand there instead. He was a wonderful artist. She couldn’t draw more than a stick figure, but the love they shared, and even the ecstasy she’d felt in his arms, was conveyed clearly in the drawings.

  The old church decorated with fall leaves was there. And the treehouse too. He’d drawn his own hand in the center of her chest. She could tell he’d done a rushed job of adding a scarf to cover her nipples. She looked right at him in the drawing.

  Love. So in love. Carefree too.

  She missed him so much.

  The last drawing was her wrapped in the curtains that had skirted the movie screen on their last date. She removed her calendar from the wall and matched the days of their dates with the dates of his letters. Her calculations had been correct: he had two weeks left. Well, not quite. According to the Purple Heart, he’d died on a Thursday.

  And then Fallen fell into despair. What could she possibly do? Could she change the past? The story of Thomas as provided by Adelaide was incredibly sad and scary. Her Thomas losing his life to a landmine. Never getting home to his brothers and mother. Never getting home to her.

  She wept for his lost future, but she was careful to not disturb the papers in front of her. Somewhere in her mind, even as she started to lose it, she knew she had to protect them.

  Fallen took time to mourn, to shout, to cry. And then she had to stop. Because she needed a plan, and someone who is losing her shit can’t save anyone’s life.

  By the time Fenn came home from wherever he’d been, she’d dried her eyes and collected Thomas’ papers carefully. She would pore over his letters now. All information was potential help.

  When she went downstairs, Fenn reported that he’d had a great afternoon playing football with his friends. He asked about her red eyes, and she told him it was a long day at work, that Adelaide was moving to an apartment five hours away, and she thought she was getting a cold. He talked to her for a while and said he’d already eaten when she offered him food. Then Fallen just tried to remain present with him as she bided her time. The letters called to her.

  After he hit the shower on the way to bed, she reviewed everything one more time, then loosened the board in her closet and carefully put the documents inside, next to Fenn’s watch. She set her alarm for early the next morning, though it was her day off. She would stalk Adelaide’s house and watch for the junk guys. Getting the rest of Thomas’ things into
her possession was all she could think about.

  She woke up three times during the night to check on her stash. And each time she read Thomas’ letters. Memorizing the words on the page was inevitable, but she tried to pretend it was new information each time.

  In the morning, Fallen walked to the grocery store a half an hour before it opened, just to get a look at Adelaide’s house. Everything was quiet; Marquette’s car was still there.

  She waited around until the doors opened at the store, then did some quick shopping. On the way back, when she passed Adelaide’s house, things had changed. Marquette’s car was gone, and the front door was propped open. Men with 1-800-Clean printed on the back of their shirts carried belongings out to their truck.

  Fallen ran home and practically threw the groceries on the counter.

  Her brother met her in the kitchen, sleepy. “You okay?” he asked. “You look rough.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, which she had forgotten to comb. “I’m fine. Well, actually, I’m not. I really need to go for a walk.”

  “Hey. Is it anything I can help with?” Fenn pushed his hair out of his eyes, and it flopped right back.

  She weighed her options. Alone it would be very hard to fight off at the junk guys to take Thomas’ stuff—if it was still even there. Maybe Marquette had decided to preserve a few of her family’s memories after all. She was probably selfish for wanting more than she already had, but Thomas’ life was on the line, and she had to put saving him first.

  “Yeah. Actually, remember I said Adelaide’s getting moved to an assisted living place?” Fallen gathered her hair into a sloppy knot-style bun behind her head so she would look a little less like a crazy person, even as she felt nuttier all the time. “She showed me some stuff that belonged to a veteran in her family, and I just want to make sure it doesn’t get tossed out.”

  Fenn had started unpacking the groceries, but when he got to the bananas, he stopped to have one like his life depended on it. “You want us to go dumpster diving?” he asked, popping the last of the banana in his mouth.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. There’s a service there cleaning out everything. I just want to make sure, maybe talk to them…” she trailed off.

  Fenn nodded. “Give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll call Mitchel. Having a car might help carry the stuff, yes? Like, how much is there?”

  “Just a photo album and a box.” She had roped her brother into her delusion. Possibly an addiction. But it was love. And life on the line.

  “Still good to have a car,” he told her. “Be back in five.”

  Fallen finished putting the groceries away while she waited for her brother. She pictured the junk truck at Adelaide’s filling up and the company swapping it out for an empty one. This made her jittery.

  When Fenn returned, she already had on her jacket.

  “Mitch the bitch will meet us there. Let’s go.” He held the front door open.

  On the walk he quizzed her. “Why are you interested in this old lady’s relatives?”

  Fallen wished she could confide in Fenn, but she just couldn’t, so she gave him part of a reason that was a little true.

  “I just think veterans need to be respected, and I get a feeling from Adelaide’s daughter that she might not feel the same.” Fallen pointed at the truck as they arrived on her street. “See? I don’t even know what’s going on there. I’m assuming that everything gets tossed or resold.”

  The side of the truck read: Call us and forget about it forever. Which was fairly tasteless considering the reason they were packing up this particular property.

  “Yeah,” Fenn agreed. “That would be my take as well. Here’s our ride.”

  Mitch pulled up alongside them and waved as he eased the car to a stop along the curb. They joined him in the car to case the joint.

  There was no good moment to run in and raid the stuff, so Fallen just watched the furniture she’d been cleaning regularly get packed into the truck. First came the two bedrooms, then the kitchen stuff, and at last, Fallen saw the living room couch.

  “That’s it.” She interrupted her brother and his friend talking about video game characters to point out the change in the situation. “They’re in the living room now. That’s where the stuff is.”’

  Fallen scooted closer to the front of her place in the backseat, trying to examine everything that came out of the house.

  Finally she saw the wicker chest in the arms of a burly moving man.

  He set it down in the truck, and the guy behind him brought the afghans that had been on top.

  When they started to close the rolling overhead door, Fallen felt her heart lurch. “Oh no! We’re too late.” Panic raced through her.

  “No, wait. They aren’t taking the truck. They’re going for lunch, I bet. And that last guy was lazy as shit. I’m willing to bet he didn’t lock it.” Mitchel slouched in his seat as the workers piled into a pickup truck and drove away.

  Sure enough, the clock read 12:15. They waited a respectable amount of time before Mitchel pulled up behind the truck and hopped out like he worked for the company.

  Fenn’s blue jacket did actually resemble the color the moving men had been wearing. Mitchel yanked on the truck’s rolling door, and it flew open.

  Fallen pointed out the trunk to her brother, and he hopped in and popped it open. Mitchel jumped in as well and held a hand out to Fallen. Under the blankets she found the photo album, and Mitchel grabbed the photo box.

  Once they had the things Fallen was desperate for, they hopped out of the truck, and Fenn jerked it closed.

  “Oh crap,” Mitch announced. “They’re back.”

  Sure enough the moving men had returned, fast food in hand.

  Mitch was the coolest. “Just walk. Smile and wave. It’s going to be great.”

  Fallen did her best to wave and giggle when the man on the passenger side rolled down his window to give her a low wolf whistle.

  When they reached the car, they didn’t bother to put their ill-gotten gains in the truck. They just toted them on their laps. Mitch put the car in reverse and made an unhurried U-turn, despite Fallen and Fenn freaking out around him.

  “I told you. I got this. You’d be surprised how looking like you aren’t in a rush is a great diversion. And it helps to have a pretty girl with you.”

  Mitch winked at her in the rearview mirror, and Fenn punched him in the arm.

  “You’ve done this type of thing before?” she asked. What kind of guy was her brother hanging out with anyway?

  “Well, no. But I watch a lot of spy movies.” Mitch turned the opposite direction from their house. “And I’m going the long way to your house in case they get wise.”

  Fenn immediately began teasing Mitch, and soon they were going back and forth about which movie spy they should be.

  Fallen reached over the seat and lifted the lid of the box on Fenn’s lap. Sure enough, Thomas’ Purple Heart was on the top.

  She closed the lid, but not before her brother saw what was inside.

  “They were tossing out the guy’s Purple Heart? That’s rough.”

  Mitch agreed, and Fallen felt a little vindicated for her first burglary.

  ···

  Fallen spent Sunday night flipping through Thomas’ things on the floor of her room. Fenn had popped in a few times to see how she was doing, but she was barely able to focus enough to answer him.

  With Thomas’ letters and drawings and photos spread out in front of her, she felt more connected to him than ever.

  Unfortunately, the new resources in front of her also made her aware of the gripping pain his family felt after his death. There was an obituary newspaper clipping with a copy of Thomas’ smart-looking military photo carefully folded between the letters from him that were bursting with life.

  The telegram from John to his mother notifying her of Thomas’ passing was heartbreaking in its simplicity. Fallen couldn’t help but imagine his brother choosing
the words he knew would shatter his mother. And Lucy getting the notice. Was a telegram always a bad sign? Fallen suspected it was.

  There was very little information given about where Thomas had died—some small Philippine island—and nothing on how. So all she had to go on was Adelaide’s memory of what her husband had told her. Both John and Ed had been in different countries at the time, so maybe they were wrong, and the story was just rumor. But the date printed on his Purple Heart seemed definitive. Now she just needed to figure out a way to tell him.

  They’d gotten away with a lot in the last dream, shared way too much information. If only her memory had worked better…

  She filed the papers and pictures away and kept them by her bed, except for the Purple Heart. She had heard rumors of people selling them online and feared her mother would somehow become one of them. She put the honor with Fenn’s watch behind the board in her closet.

  Monday morning came all too quickly, and Fallen and Fenn got out the door late. Mitch did a drive by of the hotel to drop her off again, so she just squeaked into the meeting on time. But the sad eyes in the room deflated her, and she knew. Now she knew for sure.

  “Desta passed away early this morning,” Melanny explained to the subdued room. “Her funeral will be this Thursday. Please plan to attend.”

  8 and 9 included Fallen in their condolence hugs, and they took the birdcage together to their floors.

  Fallen kept a box of tissues with her, because she kept finding tears on her cheeks as she walked through the routine Desta had taught her.

  It wasn’t until she got to 514 and the end of the day that Fallen remembered seeing Mr. Orbit let himself back into the room last week instead of following her to the elevator to go see Desta for the last time.

  She opened the door carefully, and noticed immediately that the camera was gone. The ceiling had been patched, and unless someone knew where to look, they might never notice the variation in the plaster.

  As usual, she checked the mirror, and found it was not in the giving mood. So she did her regular, mostly unnecessary, shining of the room in which she dreamed.