Ragged Edges
(#2 in the Lost Joy series)
by Jennifer Feith
November 12, 1945. It was two weeks before Thanksgiving, and the city
of New York was gladly being swept up in the gaiety of this first post-
war holiday season.
It also should have been a little girl's third birthday. But since
most of the world didn't know about that, very few of them cared.
For those who did, none of the rest of it really mattered much.
Jeff Singer hadn't been out of the hospital long. He hated hospitals.
After London, he had sworn he would never be in one for that long
again. But he hadn't really been given a choice. The doctors had
wanted his leg in traction. It was the same leg he had hurt in London,
and they were concerned about his future ability to use it. Not that
Jeff really cared. The same car that had crushed his leg had also hit
his little girl, and he knew which one he would have preferred to keep.
He hadn't been given a choice about that, either.
He was having nightmares again. His old dreams of being trapped under
the building in London, but instead of Victor, it was Carolyn he was
calling for. And even though he was buried under the debris, Jeff
could feel her letting go of his hand, see her running out into the
street in front of him. The only thing he couldn't do was run after
her.
Hilary had been there, most of the nights in the hospital. He could
tell from her stricken expression after she'd woken him up, some of
those times, that he had been calling Carolyn's name out loud. She had
tried to comfort him, but he hadn't been able to tell her what the
dreams were about. Bad enough that his subconscious was combining the
two worst events in his life, without Hilary having to relive it over
and over again as well.
She had asked him to tell her about the accident. She needed to know,
but Jeff couldn't bring himself to talk to her about it. Really,
Hilary was lucky not to have that scene in her mind. He remembered
every detail--would never forget, in fact.
At least this morning he didn't remember dreaming. Jeff pulled himself
out of the bed and grabbed at the crutches leaning against the wall,
wondering where Hilary was. He dressed himself with some difficulty
and hobbled toward the door.
The bedroom in their apartment opened directly into the living room.
Jeff stopped in the doorway, a fist clenching at his heart at the scene
that greeted him.
Hilary was sitting on the floor, next to the antique desk that they had
had forever. The desk whose locking drawers and compartments made it
the only hiding place in the apartment truly secure from the curious
fingers and eyes of a young child. The desk where they had already
tucked away a few presents for Carolyn, a month before her birthday.
Her feet were tucked up under her as her body rocked back and forth
slightly, almost imperceptibly. Silent tears streaked down her face as
she stared down at the object in her lap--the doll they had picked out
together.
Jeff propelled himself across the room. Letting the crutches drop, he
slowly lowered himself to the floor. Putting his arms around his wife,
he pulled her back to lean against him.
Her hands were wrapped around the doll's tiny arms. Jeff moved to
cover them with his, only to discover that his hands were trembling as
much as Hilary's. He brought his head to rest on her shoulder, hot
tears falling from his own eyes.
He didn't know how long they stayed that way. He felt Hilary pull away
and let her go reluctantly. She turned to face him, her eyes dry, but
Jeff thought as he looked at her that he had never seen them more
subdued than in the last few weeks.
"Jeff, please," she said quietly. "Tell me how it happened. I have to
know...I keep imagining..." she broke off and swallowed.
He wanted to tell her. He reached for her, his fingers gently closing
around her upper arms...but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
It was the same thing that had happened every other time Hilary had
made this request of him--he simply couldn't force out the words.
Jeff suddenly realized that his grasp on Hilary's arms was no longer so
gentle. Letting go abruptly, he pulled back. "I don't know what you
want me to say, Hilary."
She folded her arms across her chest protectively. "Tell me what
happened...what it was like..." Jeff winced slightly, his entire body
contracting away from her. Her voice rose slightly, tremulous. "Say
anything!" She took a deep breath. She turned away, just a little,
and her voice fell to a whisper. "Say you tried to stop it."
Jeff sucked in a sharp breath. "Of course I tried to stop it, Hilary,
what do you think?" Something in his mind told him she hadn't meant it
as an accusation, but he couldn't convince himself of that. The words
tore out of his throat. "I tried...she ran out ahead, and I tried to
catch her...I tried..."
He closed his eyes, but it didn't stop the image playing across his
vision one more time. It didn't matter that he'd tried.
He had failed.
He jerked back, feeling for his crutches. Hilary's eyes filled with
hurt for just a few seconds, but she stood and helped him up. He felt
her watching him as he made his way to the window and stared outside.
She came up behind him and said his name softly. When he didn't
respond, she put a hand on his back. "Pumpkin, look at me."
It was the first time she'd used the endearment since Carolyn's death.
Jeff felt his breath hitch in his chest. He turned his head toward
her, and she moved directly into his line of sight. "It wasn't your
fault."
He studied Hilary's face closely, searching for absolution he knew he
couldn't find. "Hilary, can you look me in the eye and tell me you
don't blame me...even a part of you? Just a little?"
She hesitated just a split second, but it was enough. "It wasn't your
fault."
Jeff laughed without sound, without humor. "And you don't believe that
any more than I do."
He turned away. He wondered if she would try again, but he felt her
walking away. Jeff waited until he heard the door to their bedroom
close before he sank into the nearest chair and buried his face in his
hands.
Almost a month.
It had been that long, and Jeff still hadn't let her comfort him. He
had held her, supported her, cried with her--but every time Hilary had
reached out to him in return, Jeff had pulled back. She could see that
he was in pain, but she wondered if he knew how much his withdrawal was
hurting her, too.
She needed to hold him. Losing Carolyn was the hardest thing she had
ever been through...but if Jeff had been killed, Hilary didn't know how
she would have survived. Jeff didn't seem to realize or care that he
had come literally within inches of losing his life as well. Hilary,
though, couldn't forget the hours she'd spent at the hospital, knowing
only that they had both been hit.
The terror that she would lose them both still hadn't left her. Maybe
that was because despite the fact that she had almost frantically kept
Jeff in her sight whenever possible, she still hadn't seen him. The
real Jeff, her Jeff, was hidden behind a mass of emotional barriers.
Hilary didn't know how to reach him.
Jeff was the one who knew how to tear down walls.
She didn't blame Jeff for the accident, Hilary told herself firmly.
And it was true...mostly. Jeff was right; if she was honest with
herself, there *was* a small part of her that felt he should have been
able to stop it--that she could have, if she had been there instead.
It wasn't right, but she couldn't help herself. And that accusing part
of her heaped blame on Hilary, as much as Jeff, for *not* being there.
Maybe that was why she needed to hear about the accident. She needed
to know that there was nothing she could have done.
It was still morning, but Hilary was so tired. It seemed like she
couldn't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time these days.
She didn't have Jeff's nightmares. For her, unconsciousness was a
blessing. She moved from her sitting position on the unmade bed to lie
down, pulling the covers around her.
She told herself that she was just resting for a moment. But when
sleep came, she welcomed it.
Jeff was gone when she woke up. He had put the doll away, she noticed.
Probably back in the desk, but she really didn't feel like checking.
Grabbing a coat, Hilary left the empty apartment to get some air.
The crisp, cool November air brushed against her face as she walked.
Hilary caught herself wondering if she should buy Carolyn a new coat,
the familiar emptiness returning as she remembered. It was those
infinitely short lapses that hurt most.
She hadn't thought she had any particular destination in mind until she
arrived. Looking up at the building, she hesitated for just a moment
before walking into the hotel lobby. She debated whether to call and
finally decided to walk up.
"Hilary!" Maple stood back from the door to let her in. This wasn't
the first time one of the grieving parents had shown up unexpectedly
during the month she and Victor had been in New York.
Hilary glanced around the hotel room as she entered. "So, Maple, when
are you going to get Victor to admit that you're not going back to
Pittsburgh and make him get you a real apartment?"
Maple grinned. "Well, I figure it'll take him a while to make up his
mind to leave WENN. He loves that place, ya know. And he'll take even
longer to tell me he wants to stay here. Meanwhile, as long as the
guys he's working with are willing to put us up here..." she shrugged.
After its involvement with the war effort, WENN had established itself
as something more than the struggling little station it had always
been. Keeping it afloat no longer provided the challenge Victor
needed. Certainly, now that Scott was back from the Pacific, he and
Betty could handle it. Although he hadn't acknowledged it yet, it was
time for Victor to move on to something new.
Maple took a closer look at Hilary. "Hey--you okay?"
"Oh, Maple," Hilary sighed. "I'm..." she straightened slightly. "I'm
doing fine, really."
"Uh huh." Maple looked at her. It dawned on her suddenly. "It's her
birthday, isn't it?" she asked gently.
"I can't stop thinking she should be here," Hilary said softly. "And I
can't get through to Jeff...or stop wondering how it happened...or stop
thinking that *one* of us should have been able to do bloody
*something*!" Her voice had risen considerably.
"Hey, hey!" Maple said, grabbing her arm lightly. "It's gonna be okay,
Hilary."
Hilary shook her head. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Maple."
"Sure you can," Maple cajoled her. "You're Hilary Booth, remember?"
"No, you don't understand," Hilary said despairingly. "I can't *be*
the Hilary Booth that people expect to see right now."
"Don't be the Hilary Booth that they expect to see...be the Hilary
Booth that you are." Hilary looked at her in confusion, and Maple went
on, "And that Hilary is strong, and she's confident...and she's gonna
make it through this."
Hilary stared at Maple for a moment, suddenly touched. She put a hand
over Maple's, still resting on her arm. "Thank you, Maple."
She didn't stay much longer. When she arrived home, she paused for a
moment outside the apartment, wondering if Jeff was back.
He was, with the day's newspaper spread out on the kitchen table in
front of him. When she came in he quickly turned his face towards it,
but his gaze was blank.
Hilary went around the table and stood behind Jeff. Leaning down, she
silently put her arms around him.
He stiffened, but he didn't pull away entirely. After a minute, his
hands came up to rest on her arms where they crossed below his neck.
Hilary closed her eyes against the sudden threat of fresh tears. For
that moment, anyway, she let herself believe that there was hope.
THE END