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Six Houses Down

By Kari Rimbey

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CHAPTER 1
“I don't understand why you can't stay just a little longer. You said you'd be home for three weeks this time.” Sharon Webster pulled on the end of her sleeve as she watched her husband prepare to leave again. “Can't you start work on this next project from D.C.?”
“I wish I could, but there are pre-bid meetings with contractors and design questions, among other things I have to be in Sorrento for.” Bill placed a freshly cleaned shirt in his suitcase. “The Italian government moved the project up, not me. I don't want to be away from you and Stewart. I'm sorry, Sharon, I have to leave in the morning.” He reached for her. “Come here.”
Sharon sunk into his chest and tried to find comfort in the strong arms wrapped around her, but her gut twisted as if she hadn't eaten in days. Every time Bill came home, he had to leave early. The first time it was one or two days, then a week, and now two weeks. A question that seeded itself several months earlier needled her—did he really have to leave?
“Why don't we go out for dinner tonight,” Bill suggested. “We could go to the station and get a burger. Stewart will do okay there, don't you think? There's a lot to see, the space is wide open, and we can sit away from the crowd. He could check out the charter buses.” Bill looked at her as if one night away from the house was all she needed to pull her out of the he's-leaving-again blues.
Sharon nodded, afraid that resistance on her part would only make things worse.
“We could walk down Independence Avenue and follow the path around the water. It would be good for Stewart to get out. He’d like that, right?” Bill’s exaggerated optimism wasn’t helping.
“He probably would,” she replied, forcing a smile.
* * *
Stewart hopped in place as Bill unlocked the car in the alley.
“Somebody's happy to get out of the house.” Bill helped him hook his seatbelt, and then slid into the driver's seat. “Are you ready to go to Union Station and see the buses?”
Her son chuckled and tapped his fingers on his legs. To make room for the joy coming from the back seat, Sharon forced the disappointment over Bill's early departure aside and winked at Stewart. He smiled and pressed his face against the window. Tall for a five-year-old, he was a mini version of his father. While they waited at the stop sign, Bill reached back and poked Stewart in the side, causing an eruption of pleasure-induced squeals. If she could only freeze this moment in time. For the next several miles, her son continued to clap his hands and bounce his legs on the edge of the seat.
After parking at Union Station, the three of them rode the escalator to the bus deck. Bill held their son's hand while they walked the length of the terminal. Stewart thrust a hand at every empty bus in the long row, as if completing an inventory.
“Which one is your favorite? Which bus do you like better than all the other ones?” Bill asked, looking back and forth along the row. “How about mom? Maybe she has a favorite?”
Sharon pointed down the sidewalk. “I like the red, white, and blue one.”
Stewart seemed to study his options, and then yanked on his father's arm, pulling him down the row to a black bus emblazoned with a lightning bolt.
“That is a nice one. Good choice, son. Come on.” Bill pulled on his hand. “Let's go get something to eat.”
Stewart jerked his hand free and darted across the lot.
“Stewart, wait!” Sharon yelled.
Both her and Bill leapt forward in pursuit of their runaway son.
“Stewart, stop!” Bill demanded.
A station attendant blew hard on his whistle. “Get back to the sidewalk! You have to cross at the crosswalk!” he barked.
When Stewart didn't comply, the attendant blew his whistle again and ran toward him. “Get back on the sidewalk!
Stewart screamed and ran between two-empty busses. The closer the attendant got to him, the louder he screeched, like a trapped animal in fear of imminent demise. Bill reached his son before the attendant did, scooped him up with one arm, and motioned for the attendant to back off. Sharon regretted leaving the house as she watched Stewart kick and slap his father.
“That's enough!” Bill scolded, setting him down on his feet.
Stewart covered his ears and hunched down on the sidewalk. The parking attendant speared Bill with an expression of accusation and kept a steely glare on him, cocking his head back, and waiting a few seconds before turning to walk away.
“Come on, honey. It's okay.” Sharon patted Stewart's shoulder and tried to ignore the offense boiling off her husband.
Bill threw his hands in the air. “That idiot thought I was going to hit Stewart!”
“Don't worry about him, he doesn't know what's going on here. Let's get something to eat.” Sharon helped Stewart to his feet.
“What is going on?” Bill raked a hand through his hair. “When did he start freaking out like that?”
“It's all right. Can we go eat now?” She steered Stewart toward the crosswalk.
“It's not all right.” Bill looked at her as if she should have the answers to their son's temperament.
Heat crept up her neck. “Is this supposed to be my fault—since your gone all the time?! He's getting older and more independent, that's what's going on, not to mention the obvious—he's scared to death!” She spun around and marched Stewart back to the car.
Sharon felt a distance growing between her and Bill as they ate drive-through burgers on the way home, exchanging impersonal small talk like a telephone survey. She studied their son for signs of distress. He hummed, held a plain burger in one hand, and pulled on the door handle with the other.
“The door is locked, right?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.”
Sharon put her burger back in the paper bag. She wasn't hungry. By the time they were home, Stewart seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and sorted a box of cars in the living room. Sharon busied herself washing a counter that was already clean, and Bill sat with his head in his hands at the kitchen table.
“I'm sorry,” her husband said without looking at her.
Sharon wished they’d stayed home. “It's okay. Me too.”
“I know,” he mumbled.
It wasn't okay, but she'd say anything to smooth things over before he left for Italy. Sharon couldn't tell what bothered Bill more, what he'd said that hurt her, or her own caustic response about him being gone all the time, but she wouldn't ask.

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