One September Morning Read Free

the patio, hands on her hips. “I never sleep anymore, but that’s no reason to be nodding off at this time of the morning.”
    It’s as close as Suz has ever come to complaining. In the four months since her husband, Scott, was killed outside the city of Baghdad by an IED, a roadside bomb, Suz has pushed herself, sometimes stoically, to “shut up and move on,” as she puts it. The army allows widows and their families to remain in base housing for six months after the death of the service member; Suz will need a new place by December.
    “Where’s Sofia?” Abby asks. Suz usually keeps her three-year-old daughter within reach.
    “Day care. I dropped her off for a full day today. Got some leads on apartments near here, and I figured I’d check ’em out without the mommy baggage. One of them’s supposed to have a hot tub,” Suz adds, an enticing lilt in her voice. “Want to come with and check ’em out?”
    “I wish. But I’m beat. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    Suz tilts her head, the concerned mother. “You feeling okay, sweet pea?”
    “Just hallucinating in my sleep. I dreamed John was in my bed last night.”
    “A juicy dream, I hope.” Suz grins wickedly.
    “It was sort of reassuring…except that it felt so real. I swear, when I woke up, there was a warm spot in the bed beside me. I could smell his aftershave on the pillowcase.”
    Suz rubs her arms. “I’m getting goose bumps. Come with me and you can fill in all the details.”
    “Can’t. I’m pulling some notes together for a presentation due tonight.”
    “Well, you were in a funk when I caught you. You got to visualize success, honey.”
    Abby reaches back and twists her hair into a loose knot. “Does that work for you?”
    “Hell, I’m always too busy visualizing whirled peas. That and wrapping up dolls for a three-year-old. As of this morning, we’ve got another baby in the box.”
    “Really?” Abby bites back a grin. In the past few months, three-year-old Sofia has insisted on having her baby dolls tucked into shoe boxes and wrapped up as if they were gifts, which she carries around in a large shopping bag. Abby suspects that the behavior has something to do with the loss of her father, but as she’s pointed out to Suz, it’s a harmless practice. “Maybe Fia is onto something,” Abby says. “I’m going to try that the next time I’m feeling blue. Wrap up something I own and give it to myself as a gift. Maybe carry it around for a few weeks so that everyone will know I’ve got something special.”
    “Well, good luck with that,” Suz says. “’Cause my daughter has cleaned every last shoe box out of your closet.”
    Abby smiles at her friend, who looks almost professional with her ginger-colored hair swept back with a skinny headband. She’s wearing a lime green tank with a matching polka-dotted sweater, a denim skirt and black polka-dotted flip-flops. “You’re all dressed up today.” When Suz works the counter at Java Joe’s, she sticks to shorts or jeans and a T-shirt. “What’s the occasion?”
    “Just trying to look respectable for my potential landlords.” Suz yanks off the headband and shakes out her hair. “Respectable, but not loaded. Rents aren’t cheap around here.”
    “True.” Abby is relieved that her friend wants to stay in the area. At first, she thought Suz might take Sofia home to Nebraska. Suz and Scott both enlisted years ago to “get the hell out of Dodge,” as Suz likes to say.
    “I thought you were going to look for a place closer to Seattle?” Abby says.
    “Yeah, I was, but those places are really expensive. I don’t know what to do. I’d sort of like to stick nearby and keep Sofia in the same day care. Continuity and all. But part of me wants to make a clean break and start over somewhere else.”
    Abby nods, slipping her feet out of her sandals and hugging her knees. “Joe should give you a raise. You certainly deserve one.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m not sure that Joe