Phantom
: Chapter 26

November 18, 1944

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” John asks, hovering around the kitchen island while I prepare Sera’s breakfast.

An anxious energy radiates from his pores, and it’s making my skin itch.

He and Frank are leaving for a fishing trip this morning, and they plan to be out until late tonight. With winter approaching, today is a rare day of no rain, so they’ve decided to take advantage of the weather.

A plan that seems to set John on edge.

Everything has changed between us, and while the two of us try our best to make Sera’s homelife as normal as possible, there’s a noticeable shift. I don’t let him kiss me anymore. A decade ago, we would slow dance by the radio while little Sera would cling to our legs. Even five years ago, we’d sneak away for time alone or giggle and tease each other. Admittedly, it’s been years, but at the very least, we touched one another. Now, I shift away from even the smallest touch, always keeping a wall between us.

We coexist. While affection for Sera has never waned, not even for a second, it’s gone extinct between John and me.

I’m okay with that. However, my husband is not.

He tries to reconnect with me—to reignite the flame between us. I wouldn’t dare say John and I weren’t happy at one point, but that flame has always burned low.

I’m not a silly little girl, seeking a connection with a man and expecting it to always be fireworks and explosions. It’s inevitable for relationships to become boring and monotonous as life goes on, and I’ve no qualms settling into a life of comfort with my other half.

But that’s not what John and I have. We’ve always gotten along just fine if only to sit in comfortable silence with one other, though I have never truly desired John’s presence. I don’t recall the last time I was overcome with happiness or even a time where I craved him in any capacity. I’ve felt those things sporadically, of course, but never wholly.

It’s become apparent that John and I were young and weighed down beneath the pressure of societal expectations. We were two kids dumb enough to think we were in love; then we were friends, then parents, and now, we’re strangers.

I’ve settled in my discontent, and for years, I constructed some semblance of happiness, first for my Sera’s comfort, then for my own.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter anymore. John spiraled, and as a result, he hurt me in ways I cannot come back from.

If he left tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss him.

“Sera and I are going to catch a film around lunchtime, then she’s going to Brenda’s for her birthday party and sleepover,” I answer, keeping my tone pleasant.

“And after?” he pushes. “What will you do when she leaves?”

“I will stare out at the trees and write in my journal,” I say evenly. An unnecessary dig, but that comment of his hit a nerve. Since that fight when he claimed I do nothing more than write in my diary, he still hasn’t shown appreciation for how I’ve always taken care of him and our daughter.

My husband is determined to win back my love, but he thinks he’ll accomplish that by calling me beautiful or complimenting my dress. One night, he brought home a bouquet of tulips, and when I had asked him why, he said he remembered they were my favorite.

I didn’t bother correcting him. During the summer, I place vases of poppies in various parts of the house, keeping them alive for days on end. The flowers fill the front yard, too, and I held a poppy bouquet when I married him. He had one pinned to his suit, for God’s sake.

Poppies are my favorite.

Or rather, they used to be. Lately, I’ve been favoring roses.

“Gigi,” he sighs. When I give him my full attention, he seems to struggle for his next words.

Sera comes barreling into the kitchen a moment later, slicing the building tension and effectively ending the conversation.

“Just in time,” I chirp, turning to grab Sera’s plate, which is piled with a waffle covered in butter, syrup, and a small heap of blueberries.

“I hear you’re seeing a film today, princess,” John says, tugging on Sera’s ear affectionately. “What are you seeing?”

“That new musical comedy that came out earlier this month, Something for the Boys.” She takes a huge bite of her waffle, then swings her upper body side to side in a little happy dance.

She’s always been prone to dancing while she eats, and it never fails to make me smile.

John lifts his gaze to mine, where lingering questions still swirl within. I sigh and give in, hoping it will mean he doesn’t stress and rush home.

It’s sad to say, but I’m looking forward to his leaving for the day.

“I have a stack of books waiting to be read and a bottle of wine waiting to be drunk,” I say softly. “Those are the only plans I have.”

It’s concerning how easy it’s become to lie to my husband, yet I can’t find it in me to feel an ounce of regret. Shame, maybe, though even that has waned.

His shoulders relax, and he nods. Relieved, I turn around to clean up. The front door opens and slams shut a moment later, signaling Frank’s arrival. I peer over my shoulder just as he appears.

“Ready to catch some fish, Johnny-boy?” Frank calls as he saunters into the kitchen, a wide smile on his face. It’s rare to see him in something other than a nice suit since his job as a detective requires him to present himself a certain way. Today, he and John both wear simple trousers with suspenders, polo shirts beneath their thick jackets, and panama hats. They appear to be law-abiding citizens, but ever since they brought me to Angelo’s, I know better now. John is involved with the Mafia, and I have an unsettling suspicion that his best friend is, too.

“Always,” John returns with a forced grin while Frank ruffles Sera’s hair, causing her to swat at him playfully with a waffle-filled giggle.

Frank raises his hand, holding up a case of Rainier. “Thought we’d get some cold beers in our system today.”

John’s smile drops an inch, and the two men’s gazes swing toward me. Frank is aware that alcohol has become a sore spot in the Parsons household, yet he brings it anyway. I cast him an unimpressed look, and though he has the decency to appear ashamed, it does little to ease my frustration with him. Before, I wouldn’t have thought twice about John’s drinking beer. Now, I wonder how drunk he’s going to come home, and what will happen if he does.

If Frank truly cared about his best friend’s drinking habit, he wouldn’t have brought the beer. Yet it’s tradition, and I certainly don’t believe John has confessed to Frank all the terrible mistakes he’s made while sauced. Maybe if Frank knew, he’d be more diligent. However, it would be inappropriate for me to tell him such intimate matters about our marriage.

Still I won’t cause any more unnecessary tension. If he does come home drunk, I will just have to deal with it then. Saying nothing, I refocus on piling the dirty dishes into the sink.

Frank breaks the bout of silence, forcing heartiness in his tone. “You ready, Johnny? Let’s skedaddle. The fish are just beggin’ for some good bait today. I can hear ’em all the way from over here.”

I keep still as John approaches from behind, grabbing my arms and leaning in to place a chaste kiss on my cheek. A year ago, I would’ve met that kiss with my lips. Now, I keep my stare pinned to the dishes and wave them off without turning around.

“You boys have fun. But not too much,” I say merrily.

“Yes, ma’am,” John says quietly as he retreats.

They’re out the door a few minutes later, and relief washes over me. Turning around to Sera, I paste a smile on my face.

“Finish up those waffles, pretty girl. We have a film to catch, and you still need a bath. You have syrup in your hair.”

She shrugs haughtily as if wearing syrup in her hair is a fashion statement that I’m too old and decrepit to know. “I don’t need a bath. I’ll just smell extra sweet.”

“So sweet, you’ll make all the bees come out,” I retort.

Her eyes widen comically. She’s always hated bees. “A bath, it is.”