Sunshine

In her mind’s eye, Janice could picture Kurt rowing away from shore, his strong, tan arms moving rhythmically, his dark eyes laughing at her because she’d insisted they wear life jackets. She’d always been the cautious, careful one, while Kurt had loved the excitement of challenges, physical and otherwise. As a young man, he’d raced cars, learned to fly single-engine planes and skied every chance he had. He’d had a restless energy that seemed to drive him to swim regularly, even late into the season, to jog daily and to compete fiercely in tennis matches with friends.

At forty-six, slim and wiry with not an ounce of spare flesh, Kurt Eber took care of himself and was the picture of health. Or so Janice had thought until five days ago when she’d received the call. Kurt had died of a massive coronary while playing handball.

The rising sun shimmered on the surface of the lake and would probably melt much of the accumulated snow on this unseasonably warm January day. The day she would be burying her husband. Despite the mild morning, Janice shivered and thrust her hands deep into her coat pockets.

Fragmented thoughts drifted through her dazed mind. The frantic phone call from Kurt’s office manager and handball opponent, Tom Sikes, urging her to rush to the hospital. Her best friend, Anna Kelsey, offering to drive, her solid presence keeping Janice from falling to pieces. Dr. George Phelps, an old friend and their family physician, holding her hands as he gravely told her that Kurt had been dead almost before he’d hit the floor. She should cling to that, George had said—that Kurt hadn’t suffered more than a moment’s swift pain.

Janice had wanted to lash out at him, to shriek a denial that surely he had to be wrong. Kurt couldn’t be gone so quickly, so unfairly. He wouldn’t leave her like that. He’d always been there for her. Always, since they’d met at the University of Wisconsin so long ago. Just after she’d finished her sophomore year, Kurt, newly graduated, had persuaded her to quit college and elope with him, to leave her father’s house and become his bride. Surely this had to be some cruel joke.

But it hadn’t been.

Hunching her slender shoulders against a sudden gust of wind that swirled powdery snow at her, Janice turned and walked slowly back to her station wagon. She’d best return, for her children would be wondering about her absence. She’d left a brief note on the kitchen counter explaining that she’d gone for a short drive, but they’d worry anyhow.

Kurt, Jr.—K.J. as he’d been affectionately labeled as a youngster—a junior at his father’s alma mater, undoubtedly would be pacing the kitchen and drinking black coffee as Kurt so often had. His sister, Stefanie, only two years older and believing herself to be much more mature, would be calmly making breakfast for everyone. In her disoriented state, Janice had insisted that her father as well as her sister and brother-in-law, Irene and Everett, stay at the house, and now she regretted the impulsive invitation. She dreaded being alone, yet she craved it, an odd dichotomy of emotions. Perhaps they would sense her mood and leave right after today’s funeral service.

Janice got behind the wheel and turned the key. After a few rumbles, the engine caught. She and Kurt had talked about going shopping next month for a new car for her. With a trembling sigh, she wondered if she would be able to make such a large purchase on her own. She’d never picked out furniture or anything major without him. Swallowing back a fresh rush of tears, Janice headed for home.

* * *

SHE WAS SHAKY, but holding up well, Anna Kelsey thought as she stood studying Janice Eber across the funeral bier. Her long auburn hair was coiled under a black felt hat and her wide gray eyes were hidden behind huge sunglasses. Anna’s heart went out to the slim, fragile woman who’d been her close friend for more than twenty years. It was difficult enough burying the very elderly; to bury a husband in the prime of life was a travesty, Anna believed.

Needing a moment’s reassurance, Anna slipped her hand into her husband’s, and felt his strong fingers tighten in response. The death of a friend was a stark reminder of everyone’s mortality, she thought. Of course, Johnny and Kurt had not really been friends, not the way she and Janice were.

With his thriving insurance business and his near-obsession with competitive sports, Kurt was quite different from Anna’s husband. Johnny was a foreman at Ingalls Farm and Machinery and preferred quieter activities such as fishing, camping and a game of touch football with their grown children and expanding family. With Anna’s help, Johnny also operated Kelsey Boardinghouse, while Kurt had owned a large Victorian-style home, driven a Mercedes and worn five-hundred-dollar suits. Quite a difference.

A chill wind blew across the snow-covered hillside cemetery where the large gathering of mourners stood by the grave. Anna had known the townspeople would come in droves, for Tyler was a friendly place to live, a supportive community. Though Janice Eber had never worked outside her home, through the years she’d volunteered at her kids’ school, the library and the hospital, and she was well liked.

She was a sweet woman, Anna thought, a good wife, caring mother and wonderful homemaker. Anna had never heard Janice raise her voice nor give a dissenting opinion. She simply didn’t like to make waves, which often annoyed Anna, who felt Janice ought to speak out more, be a little more assertive.

Anna watched the solemn-faced minister move to the head of the casket and begin reading the Twenty-third Psalm. Shifting her gaze, she felt Janice’s face turn even paler as her son gripped her hand on one side and her daughter gripped the other. Kurt had been from Boston, an only child whose parents had died some years back, so there were no Ebers to mourn his passing. But the Ingalls clan was well represented, flanking Janice on both sides under the dark green canopy.

The Ingalls family had been involved in the early settling of Tyler. Inventive and industrious, they were still the wealthiest folks in town. Janice’s father, Herbert, ran the company lab in Milwaukee and seemed friendly and down-to-earth to Anna. His wife had died years ago and Herbert had raised both Janice and Irene. No two people could be less alike than Janice and her sister, Anna thought as she watched Irene clutch her full-length mink coat more tightly around her ample bosom.

Then there was Janice’s uncle, Judson Ingalls, Tyler’s patriarchal figure at nearly eighty. Tall and dignified, he stood next to his widowed daughter, Alyssa Baron, and her three children. In truth, they were no longer children. The oldest, Dr. Jeffrey Baron, was thirty and already being mentioned as the next chief of staff at Tyler General Hospital.

Next was Amanda, a couple of years younger, sweet and unaffected and a practicing lawyer in Tyler. And the youngest, Liza, a fun-loving, spirited young woman, a decorator who’d recently married a somewhat reclusive fellow named Cliff Forrester. A striking family, attractive and intelligent and, with the possible exception of Liza, dignified in their bearing.

Had the Ingalls family, with their wealth and style, made Kurt into the man he’d become—a restless super-achiever and self-made businessman who’d never quite felt accepted despite his best efforts? Anna asked herself that question as she heard the minister winding down. Kurt had married Janice when she was very young, obviously wanted to exceed her family’s achievements, to make her proud of him. Anna wondered if Kurt ever knew that Janice would have loved him just as much if he’d been a used-car salesman.

Stepping back with Johnny, Anna stood among her own children, watching the many citizens of Tyler file past to say goodbye to Kurt and offer a word of comfort to Janice. She saw her two married daughters, Laura and Glenna, walk over with their husbands to talk with their cousins.

Looking up at her husband, Anna squeezed Johnny’s hand. “I think you should phone the office for an appointment,” she said quietly. “You haven’t had a checkup in a long time.” As Dr. Phelps’s receptionist, she knew the health history of nearly everyone in town, yet she had trouble persuading this stubborn man to take care of himself.

“I will,” Johnny answered in the vague way he had when he didn’t want to argue the point. Obviously he had no intention of complying. “Are you going to Janice’s when this is over?”

“Yes, of course. You remember last night, all that baking I did? I had Patrick run it over to Janice’s earlier.”

Johnny frowned. “What about the rest of the town? You have enough to do without—”

Anna stopped him, raising a hand to caress his cheek. “Lots of people are bringing food. It’s already done, so don’t fret. We wanted to do it this way. Alyssa dropped off several platters already and Marge Peterson sent two boxes of covered dishes from the diner. You should stop and have something to eat.”

“I can’t. We’ve got a lot of people out at the plant with this damn flu bug.” Johnny glanced up at the early-afternoon sun. “Freezing one day, then almost sixty the next. Half the town’s sick with it.”

“It’s still the middle of winter,” Anna commented as she frowned at her only son. “Patrick, why aren’t you wearing a topcoat?”

Patrick Kelsey smiled at his mother. “I’m married now, Mom,” he answered as he slipped his arm around his wife’s slim waist. “You can’t boss me around anymore.”

“As if I ever could,” Anna muttered. “Pam, you need to take a firmer hand with your husband.”

Pam Casals Kelsey looked up into her husband’s vivid blue eyes. “I try,” Pam answered. “I insisted Patrick bring his coat and he insisted we leave it in the car.”

“That’s because my son thinks he’s a macho man,” Anna responded with a smile. But then her gaze shifted back to Janice.

There was a weary slump to her friend’s shoulders and her hands fluttered nervously as she accepted the condolences of a well-dressed man Anna had never seen before. Obviously Janice was still struggling with the shock of Kurt’s sudden death. Maybe if they got her home now, she’d have time for a short rest before having to put up a brave front during the luncheon.

Quickly, Anna said goodbye to her own family and moved unobtrusively until she was next to Janice. Taking one of her cold hands, she smiled gently. “Why don’t we move along to the house now? You can talk with the rest of the people there.”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Janice sounded tired. Slowly she turned for a last look at the coffin that held her husband’s remains.

She hated to leave, yet she wasn’t certain how much longer her legs would hold her. She was so cold, cold clear through. Her feet, her hands... It should have rained today, Janice thought irrelevantly. You shouldn’t bury someone on a sunny, crisp day but rather on a gloomy, rain-filled one. Much more appropriate.

Her thoughts were rambling, disjointed and a little frightening. She needed to get out of here, to be home, to be safe and warm again. She would not cry here in this grim, desolate place. Moving woodenly, as if she were sleepwalking, Janice placed the rose she’d been holding on top of the casket, then closed her eyes a long moment, fighting the quick flash of pain. When she felt her son’s hand on her arm, she straightened and let herself be led to the waiting limousine.

* * *

SHE LOOKED TIRED, David Markus thought as he stood at the far end of the living room watching Janice and the seemingly endless stream of neighbors and friends who kept coming up to her. Women with reddish-brown hair usually looked good in black, but today, Janice’s pale skin was too stark a contrast. Yellow was her color, a preference he’d shared with her years ago.

Sipping his coffee, he studied her from his unobtrusive corner. The dress was somewhat shapeless and not terribly flattering to her willowy figure. She’d wound her thick hair into a haphazard upsweep that was nonetheless appealing. Her face was oval, with high cheekbones, a small nose and a generous mouth. By far her best features were her wide-set gray eyes. Without the sunglasses, they appeared huge and terribly vulnerable, fleetingly reflecting a myriad of emotions as they settled on first one person, then flitted to another. He doubted if she’d remember much of what was said today.

She’d changed, David decided as he settled himself on the arm of a nearby chair. But who hadn’t in the past twenty-plus years? Changed, and yet she was in many ways the same. A little hesitant, her voice still low and husky. He’d been enamored of that voice back when he and Kurt and Janice had all three been attending the University of Wisconsin at Madison.

David had just started his junior year when Janice had arrived as a bright-eyed yet shy freshman. In a bevy of sophisticates, she’d stood out as a guileless innocent. He’d gravitated to her and they’d started dating. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to have gone off the deep end over Janice, and he’d recognized that quickly. But he’d been nearly penniless then, financing his education with scholarships, and on what his mother managed to scrimp together. He’d had nothing to offer a girl from a moneyed background.

She’d come from a sheltered home and a watchful father. Finding herself suddenly on her own, she’d gradually moved out of her shell, and David knew she’d dated others besides him. After a while, he’d stopped asking her out, telling her he had too many obligations to allow much time for dating. She’d accepted his news calmly, though he’d thought she looked disappointed. Or had that been wishful thinking? The next thing he knew, she’d been all wrapped up in his roommate, Kurt Eber.

Kurt’s parents had died, leaving him with a decent nest egg that he hoped to parlay into even more money. The Ingalls family didn’t seem to intimidate Kurt, though he’d mentioned to David that they appeared to disapprove of his brash confidence. David had wondered if Janice would succumb to Kurt’s heated pursuit of her, and indeed, she’d been overwhelmed by his charm. Over her family’s objections, she’d run off and married him. David had chosen not to go along to stand up as Kurt’s best man.

So much water under the bridge since then. Finishing his coffee, David stood and set the cup aside as Herbert Ingalls walked over to him, squinting through his bifocals.

“I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” Herbert asked, extending his hand.

“Yes, sir,” David said, shaking hands. “We met some time ago. David Markus.”

“Ah, yes. You were involved in a government program that my lab was working on about five or six years ago.” Herbert ran long fingers through his unkempt white hair.

He was a big man, tall and thick through the chest, even though he had to be in his mid- to late-seventies. Compared to his well-groomed older brother, Judson Ingalls, Herbert in his baggy tweed suit looked a little like an unmade bed, David thought.

“You still with the Feds?” Herbert asked.