Jackson had gone to bed early. Lately he had been going to bed only an hour or two after dinner. Eleanor wondered if his arm hurt more than he let on; in fact she was sure it did. He watched TV for a bit, but then inevitably went to bed.
Eleanor decided that she should take a short break between writing articles. She was in the middle of writing newspaper pieces on local court cases; ones where a member of the press had gone to the court and made notes. The notes were emailed to her and all Eleanor needed to do was make some sort of sense of them. She just needed to re-organize the quotes and general facts of the case and present them in a chronological format that readers could follow.
These were her favorite kinds of articles to write. They were quick and easy money, and didn’t require a lot of intellectual input on her behalf. Once the third article was finished and emailed to the newspaper editor, Eleanor walked out of their second bedroom; the bedroom that had been turned into an office for her. She tip-toed down the hall past the bedroom that Jackson was sleeping in. She didn’t bother turning on the hall light for fear of waking him.
Once inside the kitchen, she boiled the kettle and made herself a mug of hot tea. She helped herself to a couple of cookies from the box in the cupboard while she waited for the kettle to boil.
She carried the mug down the hall and hesitated in the doorway to their master bedroom. Inside she could pick out the outline of Jackson’s body laying in the bed. His good arm was slung lazily behind his head and he was snoring softly. Eleanor watched him sleep for a few moments. She saw the bottle of ibuprofen sitting on his nightstand and knew that he had probably taken at least two in order to sleep.
Eleanor turned and carried her mug of tea into her office. She set it down on the desk beside her laptop and a burning scented candle. The second her mug touched the desk, she made up her mind.
Eleanor rummaged through the pile of newspaper clippings and various notes on her desk until she produced the folded sheet of paper that had come in the mail. The one that had supposedly come from L.M. Quinn. Eleanor opened a new email, and stared at the flashing cursor on the screen for a moment.
If the letter had really been from L.M. Quinn, and if that person really did want her to conduct an interview, than Eleanor would do it. But there would be a long list of things she wanted first. And the first thing she wanted was proof that the letter had come from L. M. Quinn.
* * *
Eleanor woke the next morning, much later than usual. She rolled over in bed and reached for Jackson, sliding her fingers across the cool, empty sheets on his side of the bed. She opened her eyes and squinted at the bright light that was filtering through the bedroom window and through the two inch gap in the curtains. The sunlight was bright and blinding.
Eleanor turned over in bed and blindly groped on her own nightstand for her phone. She managed to awkwardly brush her finger tips across it and awkwardly pull it closer. She closed her palm over the phone and pulled it toward her. The time flashed ten in the morning.
Eleanor closed her eyes tightly and resisted the urge to groan out loud.
This meant she had only gotten about four hours of sleep. She had stayed up later than usual; working well into the early morning hours. She had stayed up extra late to do as many articles that she could—they needed the money.
Eleanor was exhausted. She could have easily gone back to sleep for a few more hours, but decided she had better get up and shower. Maybe she could even get a bit of a head-start on some freelance pieces.
Eleanor tossed back the blankets and reluctantly slipped out of bed. She awkwardly made the bed behind her, adjusting the pillows and pulling the various sheets and blankets up. She didn’t bother smoothing down the covers or trying to make anything look too neat. It was at least made.
Eleanor padded across the bedroom floor in her bare feet and into their master bathroom. She shit the door out of habit and turned on the shower. She peeled off her clothes and dropped them into the hamper while she waited for the water to reach temperature.
Eleanor climbed into the shower and drew the curtain across. The water was hot—nearly scalding, but it felt good on her skin. It somehow immediately made her feel more awake and eased the tension in her neck and shoulders. She stood under the hot water for a good couple of minutes before she reached for the shampoo.
Once her hair was full of shampoo, she reached for her body wash. She nearly knocked over her husband’s toothbrush in the process. It was a never-ending disagreement between the two of them. Eleanor wished that he wouldn’t brush his teeth in the shower, but he insisted that it shaved a significant amount of time off getting ready in the morning. Now that he was off work due to his injury; she failed to see why he couldn’t take his time and brush his teeth at the sink like a normal person.
However, she also knew that he was under a lot of stress. He knew that their financial issues were weighing heavily on him. Even though he didn’t often admit it, she knew that he wished he could do more. He missed his steady job and his steady paycheck. He felt responsible for their financial troubles, even though he could not have foreseen walking into the convenience store and getting shot in the arm by an eighteen year old kid who was really just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Both Eleanor and Jackson were also acutely aware that if the kid with the gun had aimed even a few inches to the right things could have been much worse. Jackson could have been in a body bag instead of a sling. That thought made Eleanor sick to her stomach.
Eleanor turned and stood under the stream of water and let the water wash the soap from her hair and skin. She stood there for several minutes with her eyes closed and her breathing even.
When she was sure she would soon run out of hot water, she did a quick check to be sure that all of the shampoo had been rinsed from her hair—there was nothing worse than having to rinse your head under cold water in the sink.
Eleanor turned the water off and stood behind the curtain for a moment, trying to mentally prepare herself for the day. Now that the water was turned off, she felt the fatigue return. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. Eleanor finally pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the steamy bathroom. She reached for a towel and pulled it down from the rack on the bathroom door. She drew the towel around herself and knotted it under her arms.
Carefully, she walked to the sink. The mirror was completely fogged over. With the heel of her hand, she carefully wiped the mirror, clearing just enough of the steam that she could see herself. She couldn’t remember a time where she looked so tired.
A sudden knock at the bathroom door made her nearly jump out of her skin. “Ellie? Are you out of the shower?” Jackson’s voice asked.
“Yeah.” She answered. “What’s up.”
The door opened and Jackson stepped into the bathroom. “There’s someone here. She wants to talk to you.”
Eleanor blinked quickly and suddenly. “What? Someone is here? Who is it?”
“You’ll have to come out and see. This is like seriously messed up. I mean, it’s cool, but it’s messed up.” Jackson grinned.
Eleanor stared at him. “What? What are you even talking about?”
“Did you send an email to the people who sent the letter?” Jackson asked.
Eleanor nodded. “Yeah. Late last night. Why?”
Jackson grinned. “Just come out and see.”
He turned and left the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind himself.
Eleanor stood in the bathroom by herself for a good solid minute with her mouth gaping open.