Not having a telephone number, I wrote Laura as soon as I got back to the states, telling her that I was being discharged and that I would see her soon.
As of the 21st I was a civilian again. I spent the next two days looking for a suitable car, settling on a two-year-old Toyota with low mileage. It took two days to cross California and one half of Arizona, partly because I didn't want to push the car in the desert heat, mainly because I didn't want to be alone in Laura's house for long. The hand drawn map she had sent me did not contain street names or house numbers but it was accurate and the house was easy to recognize from the photo, even though it was dark when I arrived.
Not having a flashlight, I parked the car in such a way to direct the headlights on the rose trellis. Throns stabbed my fingers as I searched for the key. By the description she had given, "'on the trellis," Laura had not planned on my arriving in the middle of the night.
The house was small. From the back door I stepped into the kitchen, a rectangular room with a refrigerator and stove, both small. The front room and the second bedroom were devoid of furniture. Laura's bedroom at the rear of the house had the bed that she had written about, it being the only furniture.
Dropping my bag, I went back to the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty. On the counter was a small microwave, a toaster and a coffee maker. In the cabinets there was a set of dishes, four place settings, four glasses, silverware and two pans for cooking. I poured myself two fingers of scotch, thinking, it's a good thing I'm not hungry.
Sleeping in Laura's bed was strange, yet familiar. I could tell by the slight depression in the mattress that she slept on the left side of the bed, something I recalled from our R & R's. The bed sheets were clean but I still picked up her scent. Though I slept on what I knew to be my side, I swapped pillows, laying my head in the depression made by hers.
When I awoke I decided it had to be Saturday, the 26th, because I had been discharged on Monday, the 21st. I made a pot of coffee and retraced my steps through the empty rooms. The walls and wooden floors were clean but bare and there were no curtains or blinds on the windows in the unused rooms. The bedroom with the king-sized bed had dark drapes on the two windows and there was an air conditioner in one of the windows. The floor and walls were bare.
I took another tour of the house, taking notice that there was no telephone, no television, not even a radio. In the bathroom I found a closet with towels and soap but there was no indication that a young woman occupied the house. Even I knew something of the habits of females. There was no make up or jars of face cream. There was, however, an assortment of scented bath flakes.
In the bedroom closet, clothes, mainly casual, some of which I recognized from our weekends together nearly two years before, hung neatly on hangers. The kimono I had sent her for Christmas looked as if it had not been worn. Even the long nightgown was on a hanger. On the floor of the closet, next to her shoes was a suitcase. Curious, I opened the case to find panties, bras and socks, all very plain and white, like she had always worn on our R & Rs.
I spotted a shoebox on the top shelf. Reasoning that if she hadn't wanted me to see the contents she wouldn't have left it there, I reached for the box. Inside was a bundle of letters, all from me. Under the letters was the gold chain and the Korean trinket, my birthday gifts to her. At the bottom was the book, "Works of William Shakespeare."
Thumbing through the book, I discovered that it had been used and abused. Passages had been highlighted, some pages were dog-eared and others were missing. The only other item in the shoebox was an envelope containing the safety deposit key.
Satisfied that I had done enough snooping, I closed up the house and went searching for a place to get something to eat. The town was small, one main street with a choice of two eating establishments. After breakfast I went shopping for groceries. In addition to staples, milk and bread, I bought eggs and three packages of meat.
It was Saturday morning, the 26th. Having been in Laura's house about twelve hours, I was already bored. It seemed strange to be alone in someone's home. How well did I really know her? We had spent a few days and nights together a long time before. Her short letters revealed nothing personal about her except the recurring dreams she complained about having. The bed was the only place to sit down. I went for a long walk.
Sometime during the night I heard the shower. Excited, I raised myself up and looked around the dark room for any sign that she had come into the bedroom and found me sleeping. I would run into the bathroom and surprise her, to show her that I was awake. But when my feet touched the cold wooden floor it struck me. She's taking the shower because she worked last night; she's cleansing herself, making the transition from Tess to Laura. What if she's Tess? What if she's not ready for me? I got into the bed and tried to go back to sleep.
Laura eased herself into the bed, making a slight dip in the mattress as she settled in. Aside from one short sigh, we lay quietly for the next thirty minutes. I knew I was not going back to sleep and I suspected she would not be able to sleep either.
Laura broke the silence, "Are you awake?"
"Yes," I answered, wondering why she had not said my name.
"Would you put your arm around me?"
I rolled over and placed my hand on her belly. She was wearing the long nightgown. She put her small hand on mine and squeezed. A minute later her hand slipped from mine and her breathing became halting, a quiet snore escaping her nose. Her hair smelled clean. In the dark room I held her and listened to her sleep, wondering what was in our future, letting fear seep into my thoughts.
I did not sleep. Once, when she kicked me I compressed my hand against her tummy. Her hand covered mine for a few seconds, followed by a sigh as her body relaxed. When a speck of light filtered through the drapes I moved my hand from its resting place. Laura rolled onto her stomach, still asleep. My arm ached from being in the same position so long. In the dim light could see the strained look around her eyes and mouth.
An hour later I felt the peck on the back of my neck as her arms encircled my waist. I was at the stove, making an omelet, big enough for the two of us if she woke up, small enough for me to devour alone if she did not.
"Did the smell of coffee wake you?" I ask without turning. She was still wearing the long nightgown, nothing more.
"I reached for you and you weren't there."
I shut off the burner and turned to her. Seeing the sadness in her eyes and the drawn look on her face, I tried to hide my alarm. Laura studied my face, her lips quivering. Her slight body trembled in my arms; I felt wetness on my cheek.
"I'm crying because I'm so happy you're home," she said to explain the tears.
Laura excused herself to get dressed. When she returned her face was still pale but dry. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse, both white and loose fitting, with white sneakers and socks. Without peeking, I knew that her panties and bra were plain and white also. She wanted to be held again.
We stood at the kitchen counter and ate an overcooked bacon omelet with toast and coffee. I apologized for my cooking. Laura laughed and said it was fine, she was not very hungry. She wanted to know about my flight across the Pacific and my drive from the coast. We talked about our long separation, skirting what was foremost on our minds, what the future would bring?
"You didn't bring in my mail," she exclaimed.
I had walked by the mail box in front of the house but had not thought to check it. As I walked past my car I wondered how Laura had gotten home. It must have been well after midnight when she came to bed. There were two pieces of mail in the box, a bill from the electric company and the letter I had written when I first got back to the states.
