Ask Me Again Read online

  I set hearing protection over my ears, yanked the starter cord on the mower and had a sudden moment of panic where I couldn’t decide if I wanted to mow in lines or concentric shapes. I stared at the grass and imagined each outcome. What does it matter? The grass doesn’t give a shit and nobody is going to know how you mowed it.

  I pushed the mower right across the middle of the lawn. There, who cares. Still, the uncomfortable tightness at the back of my neck didn’t ease until I’d erased the line with a perfectly aligned back and forth pattern. Once I’d finished with the back and started to make my way to mow the front lawn, Bec waved at me from the deck.

  I cut the mower and pulled the earmuffs off, leaving them looped around my neck. “Sorry, what was that?”

  Her expression told me she’d been trying to get my attention for a while. Grinning, she bounced down the stairs toward me. “You and your safety gear.” Something she always teased me about—the fact I couldn’t do any chores without donning some sort of ear and eye protection.

  “I like my eyesight, thank you. And I want to make sure I can still hear you nagging me when I’m ninety.”

  The corners of her mouth edged downward. “I don’t really nag, do I?”

  “No, honey,” I said automatically, because that was the only correct answer.

  She bit her lower lip but the crease in her cheek gave her amusement away. “Hmm. And ninety?”

  Her question made me pause. “Well…yes.” The concept of Us was something I’d always assumed, that this was the last relationship we’d each have, together until the end. But we’d never explicitly discussed it. We’d mentioned marriage in an abstract way about a year ago when discussing our shared bank account, but other than that it remained unspoken.

  A sudden panicked and irrational thought came to the forefront. Maybe this was a temporary thing for her, something to tide her over until someone more suitable came along. Someone less weird and less stricken by invisible ailments. Someone whole. Suddenly, all I could think about was that box in the safe. So stupid, Sabine. As if you’re even worthy of asking her for that right now.

  She kissed me lightly, her thumb caressing my cheek. “I’ll be ninety-eight, darling. And if I’m still nagging you by then, you should be grateful.” Bec reached around and patted my butt. “Can I nag you to come inside for lunch?”

  The thudding of my frightened heart eased. “Sure. I’ll be in as soon as I’ve finished the front.” And spent five minutes trying to decide exactly which way was the right way to mow.

  Chapter Eight

  Rebecca

  We flew into Ohio just after ten thirty in the morning, renting a car for the hour and a half drive to Sabine’s parents’ house. Sabine only grumbled a little when I insisted she pull over at a roadside flower stall so I could purchase a mixed bouquet for her mother, Carolyn.

  “You know she doesn’t expect that, Bec,” Sabine told me once I’d carefully propped the flowers on the backseat, wedged between the door and her messenger bag.

  “I know, but it’s polite. And just how I am,” I added with a smile.

  Sabine leaned over to kiss me. “I love how you are, and so do my parents.” She buckled her seatbelt, then glanced down as she always did to check I was belted in too before driving on.

  Her parents were out the front door before we’d managed to get out of the car. After tight, tearful hugs all around and a gleeful acceptance of my flowers, Sabine and I were sent straight up to her old room with instructions to come back down as quickly as we could. Her parents hadn’t seen her in close to eleven months and clearly didn’t want to waste a moment with tedious things like unpacking and settling in. Sabine’s expression said it all, and once we were alone upstairs, I erased the thin set of her lips with a soft kiss.

  The bedroom was a shrine of sorts, her mother insisting on keeping it as a testament to Sabine’s childhood. Jana’s room was the same, and this sweet maternal love for her adult daughters made something inside me swell with even more adoration for Carolyn. Trophies and ribbons sat on shelves and hung on special racks, photos in frames dotted the walls and top of the dresser, and a vase of fresh flowers rested on the windowsill. The small double bed was neatly made, with a raggedy teddy bear sitting up in the center of the spread. With a huff of exasperation, Sabine quickly snatched up her childhood toy and put it on the dresser.

  Good thing we slept so closely together or it would be an uncomfortable week. During our first visit, we’d stayed in a hotel so Sabine could have more space to sleep with her healing wounds and so she didn’t have to negotiate so many stairs. Each time we’d come since, she had tried to insist we book a hotel, but that notion was always squashed flat by her mother. To stay in a hotel unnecessarily was out of the question, and to stay in the guest room even more unthinkable—this was Sabine’s room and that was that.

  Despite what her mom had said, Sabine insisted on unpacking both our suitcases, and as she hung clothes in the closet and folded them in drawers, I studied the photographs I so loved. Gap-toothed Sabine holding a puppy. Sabine with braces and an academic award and wearing one of the biggest smiles I’d seen. Sabine riding, and leaning down to pat her horse as a ribbon was fastened around its neck. Sabine with her sister on the beach. Sabine giving the valedictorian speech in high school.

  I picked up one of the whole family wearing garish Christmas sweaters, a Fleischer tradition I’d discovered when one had been given to me with the joking instruction I was to wear it, or else. “Why do you keep these photos here instead of at home?”

  She paused with one of my casual tees in her hands. “Mom likes them, and I guess I’ve just never gotten around to having copies made.”

  “Mmm. Speaking of, your mom’s going to be fretting downstairs. Why don’t we unpack later?”

  Her grip on the garment tightened. “I just want to get it all organized, Bec. She’ll be fine for a few minutes.” She carefully folded the tee into the drawer of an old mahogany dresser.

  I loved that dresser, this room, the whole house. I turned away from her and stared out the window, looking down onto the huge backyard which bordered pastures as far as I could see. Set on just over twenty acres, the old farmhouse—renovated in the years following Gerhardt and Carolyn’s marriage—was full of polished wood and glorious stonework. A beautiful old barn sat on the hill closest to the house, and wooden shelters lay scattered over the gently undulating country. The fields which used to hold Sabine and Jana’s horses now housed a herd of cattle that as far as I knew did nothing but produce adorable calves which Gerhardt sold only to friends who wouldn’t eat them.

  Sabine’s father appeared imposing—tall and rugged, and often with an expression that made him seem aloof. But I’d learned it was just him absorbing the goings-on in his watchful way, and that he was a kind, gentle man at heart. When I’d first met him, I’d been worried about how he would receive me, so I’d smiled politely, offered my hand and called him sir.

  Given the Fleischer family history and his own service, Gerhardt was a stickler for military protocol. And I’d broken one of the fundamental rules—do not become involved with those under your command. He’d laughed, bright blue eyes creasing, then hugged me, thanked me for bringing his daughter home and told me to call him Gerhardt. Ever since Sabine had mentioned I had an interest in military tactics and weaponry, he would pull me aside every chance he got, stick a drink in my hand and we would talk until Sabine or her mother told us enough was enough.

  Carolyn was as sweet and kind as Gerhardt and was fiercely protective of her family. Within moments of our first introduction, she too had pulled me in for a hug, crying and thanking me over and over for taking care of Sabine, and telling me I was part of the family now until I was crying too. I always felt stupid thinking it, but they really were just like an adoptive family. There had never been any awkwardness, and I still felt as though I’d stumbled into something wonderful.

  Sabine closed the drawer decisively, the sound of wood on wo
od echoing sharply in the enclosed space. “You ready?”

  “Yes.” I held out my hand.

  She took it and pulled me close, burying her face in my hair and I felt the deep breath she took before she kissed my temple. She’d been quiet and reflective ever since we’d left home. Just something that needed time and some rest to fix.

  Hand in hand we made our way downstairs, and the first thing I noticed was the wall opposite the bottom of the stairs held photographs of us that hadn’t been there on my last visit. Alongside the photo of Sabine receiving her Purple Heart hung one of us standing together out in the field that bordered the backyard. It must have been taken when we were here last summer.

  I stopped in front of it and stared. Sabine wore a cobalt sundress, one tanned arm slung casually over the wooden fence railing behind her, the other wrapped around my shoulder. I was leaning into her, smiling down at the grass, and Sabine was grinning at me. I remembered the funny thing she’d just said, but I didn’t remember the photograph being taken.

  “I love that one of you two,” murmured Carolyn from behind us.

  She walked away to place the platter of snacks in the other room, and I tugged Sabine so we could follow. But Sabine slipped her hand from mine and remained standing where she was, absorbed in the photo. Tension radiated from her like heat waves, the emotion odd given our current surroundings and circumstance. When she spoke, the words came out as a hoarse whisper. “We look really happy.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Sabine turned to me. “Are you still happy, Bec?” she asked, her tone quietly intense.

  The question was so unexpected, I was momentarily stunned. After a quick glance to make sure her parents were out of earshot, I said forcefully, “Yes, I am.”

  “Good,” she breathed. “That’s all I really want.” Before I could ask a reciprocal question, or get her to elaborate, Sabine pulled me toward the den and I could do nothing but follow mutely.

  I could find no room to mull over her question because the family conversation began the moment we entered the room. Gerhardt poured wine and Carolyn distributed food, both of them waving aside my offers of help. Sabine’s wide-eyed look told me I was wasting my time asking. I accepted a plate and relegated our odd exchange to a mental compartment where I could examine it later.

  As was customary at any Fleischer gathering, the conversation went around and around a variety of topics, never slipping into a lull. We spoke of Sabine’s deployment, my job, the addition of a new shelter for the cattle, Franz the new bull and how he’d sired the highest number of calves ever, Carolyn’s ongoing feud with the neighbor who’d stolen her cake container after a bake sale held to benefit the local women’s group, the fact both Sabine and I would probably be working and wouldn’t be able to make the family Thanksgiving next month.

  Sabine relaxed, leaning into me with her thigh pressed against mine until I could feel the tension had all but left her. She pulled my hand into her lap and didn’t let it go, leaving us both to juggle wine and food one-handed. Randomly, she’d squeeze my hand and I couldn’t tell if it was a reassurance or if she was trying to telegraph something. Every now and then, either she or Carolyn would get up to check the progress of our late lunch, top up glasses or the platters.

  After the second bottle of wine was half empty, Gerhardt stood and walked to the window. “Come take a walk with me, Rebecca. I need to check the water and I’ll toss out some hay for Franz and the ladies.”

  I nodded lazily, a little dulled by a few glasses of wine before two p.m. “Sure.”

  Carolyn peeked around from the kitchen. “Lunch will be ready in half an hour, Gerhardt. Don’t lose track of time out there, and for heaven’s sake don’t make poor Rebecca listen to you talking about herd health.”

  He waved dismissively, left the room and I could hear his chuckle echoing from the hallway. Sabine’s face appeared beside her mother’s. She rolled her eyes expansively then padded over to steal a kiss. Hugging me, she whispered in my ear, “Help. I might commit matricide if I have to listen to another word about how all her friends have grandchildren and she doesn’t.”

  I laughed and squeezed her tight, grateful that she’d settled back into what seemed her usual self. “I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t help you with that one.”

  “You’re cruel.” Sabine kissed my neck, warm lips lingering against my skin. “I’ll be right here. Biting my damned tongue,” she added under her breath as she turned to trudge back to the kitchen.

  I slipped into my coat and waited by the back door, looking across the upward-sloping backyard and into the field beyond. Gerhardt appeared with tumblers each containing half an inch of amber liquid, one of which he handed to me. “Brandy. Fuel for the walk.” He grinned Sabine’s grin and held the door open.

  “Thank you.” I tucked my free hand into my pocket as we walked across the large back lawn toward the pastures. The grass was showing signs of the cooler weather, the tips just turning brown and crunching underfoot. Gerhardt opened the gate and we headed up toward the barn, my lungs grateful for the cool, clean air. I took an appreciative sip of my drink, the spirit settling warmly in my belly.

  Sabine’s father stopped and spun as if getting his bearings, looking left and right. “Herd must be over the hill.” He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, then turned intelligent blue eyes toward me. “Did Sabine ever tell you about the time she dislocated her shoulder?”

  This sudden turnabout threw me off, and I waited a long moment before answering, “No, she didn’t.”

  “She would have been around sixteen and mad on English horseback riding. Been competing in dressage mostly for years, real fancy sort of stuff, training hard and having lessons all the time. Carolyn and I didn’t know a damned thing about horses, but we drove Sabine to shows nearly every weekend until we thought she could handle the trailer herself.” He paused, sipped his drink and kept walking. “Well, she had her second horse, we bought him already trained up to high level and she was doing pretty good on him. Winning a lot of classes.” Gerhardt glanced at me as if to see I was still following his story.

  I nodded. “She’s told me about a little about her horses.” I knew both Sabine and Jana rode until Sabine left for college—Sabine competitively, and Jana casually and only because she wanted to do everything her older sister did.

  “Mmm. Well, the day before she had this big competition to qualify for the state championships, she went out with some friends for a ride on the trails, just for something fun to take a break from training. The damned horse tossed her and she dislocated her shoulder.”

  I cringed. “Ouch.”

  He paused to check the levels in the large circular water troughs that were concreted into the ground outside the barn. “I’m not sure what happened exactly, but I think she convinced one of her friends to put it back into place, probably talked them through the whole thing. She made Jana wash the horse and braid its mane ready to compete the next day and she never said a word to me or her mother.”

  I ran my thumb around the smooth rim of the cut-crystal glass. “She didn’t go to the emergency room?” She would have been driving by then and could have taken herself if she’d been hiding it.

  “No. I found out later she got some sticky bandage from her horse first aid kit and had Jana tape her shoulder up, probably got the technique from one of the medical textbooks she’d saved her allowance for. She used to make us take her to the secondhand college bookstore, spent every dime on books.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I think she still has some of those textbooks.”

  “I’m not surprised. She’s always been sentimental about her special things.” He turned back to the barn, lips twisted into a smile of his own.

  Though I was certain I knew the answer, I asked anyway, “She rode in the competition, didn’t she?”

  “She did and she won both of her classes. Two blue ribbons, and qualified for the championships. Jana came along that day and got the horse’s
saddle on and all that. Course we didn’t know that Sabine was hurt, and we thought Jana was just being nice and was excited to see her sister ride. Turns out Sabine swapped two weeks of math homework for her sister’s help, and her silence.”

  I was incredulous, but at the same time not overly surprised. “What about the pain?” If her friend had managed to reduce the dislocation without incident then the pain should have been manageable without a prescription. But still.

  Gerhardt laughed. “I believe she took enough ibuprofen to kill a small elephant.” He pointed off to his left. The herd of black and white cows along with the massive Franz were beginning to make their way to the barn from the small valley to the west. I had a feeling Gerhardt came up here often and fed them just for the hell of it.

  “How did you find out she’d hurt herself?” I swallowed another mouthful of my drink, wondering why she hadn’t ever told me this story, and more to the point, why her father was telling me now.

  “After she received her ribbons, she was riding back to the trailer and passed out, fell off all over again and Jana spilled the beans. Then when we took Sabine to the ER she sat there, all uppity and telling the doctor exactly what kind of dislocation it was and how she’d treated it.” Gerhardt laughed and slid the wide door of the barn open. “Of course, she was absolutely right. I wanted to throttle her for being so arrogant and stupid about it, and hug her for being so damned clever. Hold on a minute.”

  He walked inside and momentarily, fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered before illuminating the barn. It was a roomy wooden structure with a rough concrete floor, a laneway with two stables on each side, and toward the back stood a room and an open bay which was piled almost to the roof with stacks of fodder.

  I’d been in here once before, in the dark, during my second visit to Ohio. After we’d taken a walk, Sabine had brought me up here, insisting there was something she wanted me to see. She’d dragged me just inside the door, pushed me gently against the wall and dropped to her knees in front of me. Surprisingly, the memory of our frantic coupling stirred nothing in me now except sadness when I compared it to how detached she’d been the other night when making love to me.