Page 67 of Reclaimed Dreams

“That’s a deal, partner.” His voice had gone soft and rough, like he’d swallowed a handful of paving gravel. “That’s a deal.”

She squeezed back four times.

5 years ago

After a long day of trying to hold his shit together at work, Dom walked into a dark house. A TV blared with some stupid theme music, but all the lights in the house were off. Flicking switches as he went, he passed through the living room and into the kitchen, finally spotting Jo, curled up on the couch in the family room, illuminated by the blue glow of the screen. A Rick Steves travel special flashed across the screen before switching to the local PBS station’s fundraising drive.

“Hey, babe. How was your day?”

“Hmmm.”

Dom was used to her grunted responses now. It had been three weeks since the military funeral, and Jo had yet to speak a full sentence to him. He scanned the kitchen for any signs that she’d eaten anything today.

He saw two coffee cups in the sink, one empty, one full. Elena must have come by. Sure enough, he opened the fridge and found a casserole inside sitting on a lonely shelf. Jo still hadn’t left the house or gone grocery shopping. Dom added it to his to-do list for the next day. Written in Sharpie, the directions scribbled on the foil top told him everything he needed to know.

Macaroni and Cheese 350º for thirty minutes or until bubbly. Love, E

He put the dish in the oven and turned on the heat. Thank God for Elena. She’d been keeping food in their fridge for weeks.

“Babe, I’m going to go hop in the shower, okay?”

“Mhmmm.”

Dom climbed the stairs and stripped out of his filthy work clothes. When he tossed them in the laundry bin, he noticed it was full. A quick shuffle showed him it was all his clothes. Jo hadn’t changed out of her pajamas in a week.

Her behavior was starting to scare him. She’d never shut down like this before, and he had no idea how to get through to her. He’d tried talking, listening, cajoling… Tonight he was at his wit’s end.

He showered and as the hot water washed over him he had an epiphany. He came back downstairs in a T-shirt and a pair of comfy sweatpants with a small card in his hand.

He set the table for two and prayed both plates would get used. He heated some frozen vegetables in the microwave and pulled the casserole out of the oven. Dom even went so far as to open her favorite wine in hopes it would spark some appetite.

“Jo, come eat.”

“Uh-uh,” she muttered and rolled back toward the TV.

Dom crossed to the couch and picked her up. “Josephine Valenti, you need to eat something. You can go back to your show once you’ve showered and gotten some food in your belly.” He carried her to the table and sat her down in her chair in front of a small plate of food.

Jo reached for the wine and downed half the glass in one gulp. Dom rescued it from her grasp and handed her the fork instead. When she actually put a piece of pasta in her mouth, it felt like a solid win.

Dom scrambled for a conversation topic that would keep her engaged at the table. “So, work was crazy busy today. You know the Ohan-Mars project? With the really exotic hardwood flooring? All of the wood got delayed! It’s on a shipping container somewhere in the Pacific, but it was supposed to be here two days ago. Getting it all figured out was a nightmare. We are swamped. Do you…do you think you might be ready to come back into the office soon? We miss you, Jo. And it might be good to have something to get out of bed for.”

Another bite of macaroni, but no words. Just a baleful glare and a shake of her head.

“Jo, I’m not sure how to help you, but I can see that you need it. I’ve got the card for the counselor the chaplain recommended. I’m going to call her and see if she can come by.”

Jo shrugged. He took it as tacit agreement, since it wasn’t an outright denial. Honestly, even if she’d said no, he’d have called for himself. He was grieving, yes, but he’d also never been so scared in his life. He didn’t know how to help Jo, and he was worried that ignoring it would only make it more dangerous.

Leaving Jo at the table, Dom pulled out his cell phone and called the number on the business card.

“Hello? This is Dom Valenti. I need your help.”

Dom finally took a deep breath when Jo emerged from her cocoon on the couch over the following weeks. But much like the butterfly, her soft and warm exterior had transformed into a brittle shell. Talking with the grief counselor seemed to help, but her interactions with Dom were brief and direct. She had graduated to using actual words, but was miserly in how often she dispensed them.

Eventually, she came back to work, but nothing seemed to please her. The everyday challenges of running the business office that she had once handled with ease now left her angry and frustrated, her fuse perpetually short.

“What is this?” she barked, slapping an invoice down on Dom’s desk.

“Um, it’s an invoice?”

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