Read Online Nowhere to Hide by Joan Hall Hovey - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Hall Hovey
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thoughtful Myra.
The parade of visitors bearing food and condolences had long since dropped off. One day Ellen shuffled into the kitchen to find Myra, wearing one of Carl’s shirts over paint-spattered slacks too big for her, (though she’d been slim for years now, when Myra was feeling depressed, she returned to wearing "fat" clothes) standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, just as she’d been on the day of the funeral—on the day Paul remarked about the star quality of the funeral, saying how pleased Gail would be. He probably meant well enough, she thought now. It was the sort of thing people said.
A pink, plastic transistor radio sat near Myra on the counter, tuned in to her favorite country music station, but turned low so as not to disturb Ellen.
She gently took the soapy dish from Myra’s hand and set it on the counter. Managing a smile, she said, "You go on home now. I’ll finish these."
Myra stood hesitantly, her dark eyes moist with unshed tears. "Are you sure? I really don’t want to leave you alone."
"I’m sure." She hugged her. "You are such a good friend, Myra. But Carl and the kids need you now. And you need to be with them. I know it’s damn near impossible, but maybe you can try to salvage what’s left of the holidays." Their Christmas, of course, was clouded by Ellen’s loss, spoiled. She felt badly about that, especially for the boys. She imagined they were all feeling pretty neglected by now, and right that they should.
"There’s a stack of sympathy cards on top of the fridge," Myra said, tugging on her boots, "Just in case you feel like opening them."
"Thank you."
"You don’t need to open them. It might just upset you."
Feeling a rush of affection for her friend, Ellen put her arms around her, perhaps as much for herself as for Myra. So many emotions buffeted her, so many they were impossible to separate in her mind. When she drew away, she looked squarely at Myra. "I have to be alone sometime," she said.
The tears Myra had been fighting now spilled over. "It’s not fair," she sobbed. "First your parents, then Ed, and now—"
"Whoever said life was fair?" Ellen interrupted quietly. "You should know all about that, kid. Hey, wait a second." She went to the closet and returned with two shopping bags bulging with gifts. "Merry Christmas," she smiled. "A little late, but better than never, huh? I got Joey some games to go with his new Nintendo. And by the way, thank you for the robe. You know that’s my favorite shade of blue. I love it."
Myra was getting teary again.
"Hey, look, if I need you, I’ll call," Ellen assured her, giving her another quick hug. "You’re just up the road, for heaven’s sake."
"Promise?" She sniffed a couple of times while reaching guiltily for her coat, her eyes never once leaving Ellen.
It touched Ellen to see her friend so torn between a sense of duty toward her, and a natural, healthy desire to be with her family—to be where death had not visited. Forcing a smile, and lightness into her movements, Ellen helped her on with her coat. Promising again to call, she ushered her out the door.
She stood in the doorway watching, as Myra drove off up the road in her little green Honda Civic.
In every direction she looked, the view was spectacular. It was a day that sparkled. Snow-laden trees beneath enamel blue skies. A virtual winter wonderland.
Unmoved, Ellen went back inside.
Alone now, she wandered into the living room. She sagged down in the old sofa chair with its pretty new cover. When the silence grew too loud, she got up and turned on the television. She sat staring at the flickering images.
He was there. He was already there, in her apartment, hiding, when I was talking to her on the phone. Gail’s words played in her mind. "Hold on a sec, Ellen. I think I heard something... It was just Tiger—crazy cat. I forgot to feed him when I came in and he was letting me know in no uncertain terms."
No, it wasn’t Tiger she’d heard. Not
The parade of visitors bearing food and condolences had long since dropped off. One day Ellen shuffled into the kitchen to find Myra, wearing one of Carl’s shirts over paint-spattered slacks too big for her, (though she’d been slim for years now, when Myra was feeling depressed, she returned to wearing "fat" clothes) standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, just as she’d been on the day of the funeral—on the day Paul remarked about the star quality of the funeral, saying how pleased Gail would be. He probably meant well enough, she thought now. It was the sort of thing people said.
A pink, plastic transistor radio sat near Myra on the counter, tuned in to her favorite country music station, but turned low so as not to disturb Ellen.
She gently took the soapy dish from Myra’s hand and set it on the counter. Managing a smile, she said, "You go on home now. I’ll finish these."
Myra stood hesitantly, her dark eyes moist with unshed tears. "Are you sure? I really don’t want to leave you alone."
"I’m sure." She hugged her. "You are such a good friend, Myra. But Carl and the kids need you now. And you need to be with them. I know it’s damn near impossible, but maybe you can try to salvage what’s left of the holidays." Their Christmas, of course, was clouded by Ellen’s loss, spoiled. She felt badly about that, especially for the boys. She imagined they were all feeling pretty neglected by now, and right that they should.
"There’s a stack of sympathy cards on top of the fridge," Myra said, tugging on her boots, "Just in case you feel like opening them."
"Thank you."
"You don’t need to open them. It might just upset you."
Feeling a rush of affection for her friend, Ellen put her arms around her, perhaps as much for herself as for Myra. So many emotions buffeted her, so many they were impossible to separate in her mind. When she drew away, she looked squarely at Myra. "I have to be alone sometime," she said.
The tears Myra had been fighting now spilled over. "It’s not fair," she sobbed. "First your parents, then Ed, and now—"
"Whoever said life was fair?" Ellen interrupted quietly. "You should know all about that, kid. Hey, wait a second." She went to the closet and returned with two shopping bags bulging with gifts. "Merry Christmas," she smiled. "A little late, but better than never, huh? I got Joey some games to go with his new Nintendo. And by the way, thank you for the robe. You know that’s my favorite shade of blue. I love it."
Myra was getting teary again.
"Hey, look, if I need you, I’ll call," Ellen assured her, giving her another quick hug. "You’re just up the road, for heaven’s sake."
"Promise?" She sniffed a couple of times while reaching guiltily for her coat, her eyes never once leaving Ellen.
It touched Ellen to see her friend so torn between a sense of duty toward her, and a natural, healthy desire to be with her family—to be where death had not visited. Forcing a smile, and lightness into her movements, Ellen helped her on with her coat. Promising again to call, she ushered her out the door.
She stood in the doorway watching, as Myra drove off up the road in her little green Honda Civic.
In every direction she looked, the view was spectacular. It was a day that sparkled. Snow-laden trees beneath enamel blue skies. A virtual winter wonderland.
Unmoved, Ellen went back inside.
Alone now, she wandered into the living room. She sagged down in the old sofa chair with its pretty new cover. When the silence grew too loud, she got up and turned on the television. She sat staring at the flickering images.
He was there. He was already there, in her apartment, hiding, when I was talking to her on the phone. Gail’s words played in her mind. "Hold on a sec, Ellen. I think I heard something... It was just Tiger—crazy cat. I forgot to feed him when I came in and he was letting me know in no uncertain terms."
No, it wasn’t Tiger she’d heard. Not
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