We went back upstairs.
Ardis had put the coffee on. She’d found her coffee can in a different cupboard than where she’d left it, and she’d moved it right back to the right one.
That’s how I knew she was going to be all right.
Jade came home at 3:20.
I heard her car before I saw it. An old Malibu with a tired muffler. She came in through the side door in her purple scrubs from the care center, already talking.
“Babe, did you get the…”
Then she saw us sitting at the kitchen table. And she stopped like she’d walked into a wall.
She was a small young woman. Dark hair pulled back tight. Tired eyes. Her name tag still hung from the pocket of her scrubs. JADE K., CNA.
She held her purse in front of her with both hands.
“Mrs. Brekke,” she said. “Mr. Brekke. Oh my gosh.”
“Sit down, honey,” Ardis said. “There’s coffee.”
Jade didn’t sit down.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Brett said you said it was okay. He said he called you at Christmas, and you said I could stay as long as we kept the house nice.”
“He didn’t call us about any such thing at Christmas,” Ardis said. “He called on Christmas Day for about four minutes and talked about the Hawkeyes.”
Jade’s face crumpled.
She sat down then. Right there on the chair by the side door. Still holding her purse in both hands.
“I knew it,” she said. “I knew something was off. He wouldn’t let me answer the house phone. Not once. And he made Austin park out on the street that first week.” She looked over at her brother. “Did you know?”
“No,” Austin said. “I swear to you, Jadey.”
Ardis got up and poured a third cup of coffee. She set it down in front of Jade. Then she sat back down.
She didn’t say anything else for a while.
When Ardis stops talking, it’s because she’s deciding how much grace a person is going to get.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“He drives for the feed mill in Garner some days,” Jade said. “When they call him. Today he’s out by Britt, hauling feed to the hog farms. He’ll be home about five-thirty.”
“Drives for the feed mill,” I said. “Since when?”
Jade looked at Austin. Austin looked at the table.
“Since December,” Jade said quietly. “Since the plant.”
“What plant?”
She looked at me for a long moment. And I watched her understand that I didn’t know. That we didn’t know anything. Anything at all.
“Oh, Mr. Brekke,” she said. “He didn’t tell you about the plant either?”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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