On Reflection

by Rhona

The house in Alaska was all Jean had left of Scott. They had planned to settle down here, raise a family, grow old together. But that wasn't going to happen now. Scott was dead. She had to keep saying that to herself otherwise she was going to start to believe that her husband was going to walk through the door and tell her it had been a bad dream.

She walked through the house, up to the their bedroom. Her hand touched the handle of the door and a life time of memories came flooding back. The first time they had been in this house. It had been pitch black because of a blown fuse. Both had been tired and decided to have an early night. By candle light she had led the way up the stairs to the bedroom. He had his hands around her waist, his face was buried in her hair. What had he been singing? It was something really terrible at any rate. But that night had been the happiest night of her life.

Inside the room there was nothing to indicate that anyone stayed here. The bed was made but there were no signs that anyone had slept here. Most of their personal items had been removed from the dressing table. Nothing left of Scott. Nothing left of Scott and Jean. Nothing. Only her memories.

Charles had said that it was good to remember the times she had shared with Scott. Remember all the love that you shared. He had said that to her. The hell it was good. What about all the years they had in the future to share? She wanted those days not the memories of yesterday. And every time she thought of her past with Scott, all she could ever see was her husband dying. No memory ended happily. Only tragically as she saw Scott's last few moments of life.

Her hand wiped the tears away. It was becoming an automatic response. When she thought she had nothing left in her, a fresh batch of tears appeared. Scott hated when she cried. He had always thought it was partly his fault and felt extremely guilty that she was crying. Like the gentleman he was, he would comfort her while his guilt increased by the minute. It got so much at times, with the telepathic bond which made the feeling of guilt pass to her, that she ended up comforting him. Stupid? Yes, it was but it didn't matter.

She took off her shirt and jeans until she was down to her underwear. The discarded clothes were tossed into a bundle at the end of the bed. Normally she would have taken her time to put them away neatly but after the flight and the memorial service, she didn't have the energy. The bed seemed big without her husband in it. Too big. Too much space. Her hand reached to the over to his pillow, pulling it close to her chest, she imagined it was him. In her mind, it was his head against her breast. The false security let her sleep. It let her hope.

Several hours later she woke, just as she had the first morning she had been there. The bed was in a mess, her clothes a mess on the floor. She walked down stairs to the kitchen. In the corner she saw the flashing light of the answering machine. It had been ages since she had last checked it. There was probably a million a one messages on it. Some of them were bound to be from friends telling her how sorry they were for her loss. But something drew her to the machine. She pressed the play button.

"Hi, Jean, it's Scott. I know that we had a fight and we both said things that we didn't mean but I've had time to think. You were right and I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm on my way home now and I'll be back soon. I love you."

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