One September Morning by Rosalind Noonan

sergeant and turns toward her bedroom, suddenly feeling exhausted but knowing she won’t be able to sleep. No…sleep is not the thing she needs. What she longs for now is the solace of a hot shower, a chance to be alone and cocooned within the rush of water, a place to let the tears flow freely, to sob and howl without someone patting her back and trying diplomatically to make her stop crying.
    “Well,” she tells Sharice, folding her arms in front of her chest, “thanks for all your help today. I’ll call you from the East Coast.”
    “We’re not finished here. I’m going to help you pack for your trip,” Sharice tells her.
    “You don’t have to do that,” Abby says. “We’re both tired, and I’m just going to throw a few things together.”
    “And then you’ll be across the country without the things you need. Don’t be silly. I’m happy to help.” Sharice marches into the bedroom. “At times like this, you forget to pack important things, and suddenly you find yourself across the country without a toothbrush, or minus your favorite slippers, or, God forbid, without any clean underwear. I remember traveling home when my father passed. The boys were young yet, and Madison wasn’t even born, and when we got word there was no time. We had to throw together a few essentials and jump on an army transport from Okinawa back to the States….”
    Abby sits on the edge of the bed, listening as Sharice talks from the closet.
    “Needless to say, there was no time to pack properly. I threw things into a suitcase and a duffel bag, trying to remember to pack the right dress clothes for the ceremony, as well as coats for the weather. Of course, when we arrived in Minnesota, nothing was quite right. I’d forgotten to pack dress shoes for the funeral. Had to borrow a pair from my sister. Those shoes gave me the worst kind of blister on my heel. Noah was angry about the blue suit I packed for him. He complained that it made him look like sailor boy. And John…apparently, just before we left the house, John dumped out all his clothes and replaced them with his collection of stuffed animals, so that they wouldn’t get lonely without him.”
    She emerges from the closet rolling a suitcase, another bag slung over her shoulder. “So there we are in Minnesota for my father’s funeral and John has nothing to wear. I was so angry with him.”
    “What did you do?” Abby asks, grateful for Sharice’s rare anecdote.
    “I made John wear Noah’s sailor suit. That taught him not to repack.” Sharice removes a garment bag from the closet. “You’d better take your dress clothes. Might as well have what you need in case the funeral is back east, which sounds very likely.”
    And that’s that, Abby thinks as her mother-in-law starts going through the garments hanging in her closet, looking for a suit or a dark dress.
    Thinking of comfort, Abby opens a drawer on her side of the dresser she shares with John and pulls out short white socks and panties, shorts and T-shirts. One pair of jeans should be enough, and she’ll need a sweatshirt. She pauses, then slides open John’s bottom drawer, where her hands dig into his old football jersey, scarlet red with the number nineteen on the front in white. Pressing her face into the soft folds, she inhales his scent, a mixture of salt and soap, a scent that creates a pang of longing deep in her soul. The jersey goes into the bag along with everything else, then she changes her mind and pulls it out. She’ll carry it with her on the plane, burrow into it when she has nowhere else to turn.
    As she closes the drawer, photographs on top of the dresser catch her eye. Two photos from their wedding, and a picture of John in his gray dress uniform, the sky behind him so blue that his dark hair and broad shoulders cut a bold silhouette. That smile…it tugs at her heart, even in a photo. She used to tease him that he could appear in a toothpaste commercial, and he’d flash her a wide