The Things We Wish Were True (8 page)

ZELL

She’d hauled a stool out to the garden to get some weeding done and was awkwardly crouched on it, ripping weeds out down to the roots—an activity she found quite therapeutic—when she heard footsteps approaching. Before this summer, the footsteps would’ve been heavier, those of John plodding out, wondering what was for dinner or asking where was such-and-such, even though he’d lived in that house the last thirty years.

But it wasn’t John. These footsteps were too light to be his, little fairy footsteps. She turned to greet Cailey, whose presence was fast becoming a fixture. John had warned her just last night not to get too attached. She’d turned from him, busying herself with stirring the beans until he gave up and walked away. It was good to have someone to take care of, someone to cook for.

Last night she’d made a big meal, the kind her mama used to make—country-style steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh corn, green beans, and sliced tomatoes. She’d even made biscuits, something she hadn’t done in a coon’s age. Cailey loved her cooking and ate like there was no tomorrow. Zell worried that the child hadn’t been fed properly and made it her mission to get some nourishment in her.

For dessert she’d made real banana pudding, only to learn that Cailey didn’t like bananas. But that was OK because she had some ice cream in the freezer, and John was only too happy to eat the banana pudding himself, though Lord knew he didn’t need it. She glanced down at her own belly, brimming over the top of her waistband, then looked up and gave Cailey a smile. She adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat so she could see the child better.

“Have a good sleep?” she asked her.

Cailey nodded, chewing her lip and casting her eyes about like she was casing the joint.

“Give me just a minute to finish up here and I’ll make you some breakfast.” Zell turned back to the weeds, wincing as her knee protested the movement. The stool wasn’t really helping. She missed being able to kneel, missed getting her nose and hands fully immersed in the earth.

“I could help you with that . . . if you want,” Cailey offered. She moved closer, coming into Zell’s line of sight.

“Do you know about gardening?” Zell asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Cailey shrugged. “I helped my teacher at my old school. We were making a wildlife habitat. It was a class project, but . . . I moved away before we finished.” Cailey thought about it for a second. “That was two schools ago.” She shrugged as if it meant nothing, but Zell could see the lie in her pensive little face. She heard John’s warning again about getting attached, his words echoing from the night before. He knew her all too well.

“But you liked it?”

Cailey nodded. “I liked making a place for, you know, the animals and stuff. We planted special plants they could eat and made places for them to hide.” She shrugged again. “It was pretty cool.”

Zell’s voice was tight when she spoke, and she cleared her throat. “I bet you wish you’d seen it all finished.”

Cailey nodded, her eyes focused on the landscaping. She blinked a few times. “Yeah. My mom said we could go back one day, but . . . she never has time.”

“Is the school nearby?” Zell asked.

Cailey thought about it. “I think it’s like an hour away. Maybe.”

“Ah,” said Zell. She thought about her own life with young children, how overwhelming things had seemed then, and she’d been a stay-at-home mom with no outside responsibilities. There were so many things she’d intended to do with them, for them, but the time got away and then it was over. “I’m sure your mom would love to take you sometime.”

“Yeah,” Cailey agreed. “I know she would if she could.” She glanced over at Zell. “She’s a good mom.”

“She sure is, honey.” Zell had noticed Cailey’s penchant for defending her mom even though no charges had been levied against her. The woman, Lisa, was clearly in over her head, cursed with more responsibility than she had resources to handle, exacerbated, Zell guessed from things that Cailey had said, by a tendency to pick cruel, freeloading men. Zell had seen it before. Her own sister, for example, was now living in Arkansas with husband number four. She wasn’t judging Cailey’s mom—at least she hoped it didn’t come across that she was. She was just trying to help. Somewhere deep inside her a warning bell went off, but she ignored it.

“Can I go see her?” Cailey asked, seeming to sense a weak moment, an opportune time to strike. Kids, Zell recalled, were exceedingly good at that. “I want to go see her and Cutter.”

Zell had spoken with Lisa just yesterday when she’d stopped by to see Cailey. Cutter was still touch and go. He was hanging in there, but not improving as they’d hoped. Lisa and Zell had agreed that it was best for Cailey not to see Cutter until he was awake. That was exactly how they’d put it, stringing the words
until
and
awake
together in an act of good faith—both of them wanting to believe that this kind of positive talk could make all the difference. Zell had said a little prayer for the boy after Lisa left, even though she wasn’t in a position to be asking for favors from the Almighty.

“Soon, honey,” Zell promised. “I’m waiting for your mother to let me know the doctors have cleared Cutter for visitors.” When all else fails, blame it on the doctors. This was also something she remembered from raising her own children. The doctor said you have to eat that. The doctor said you have to go to bed now. The doctor said you have to have sunscreen or you can’t go swimming. The doctor was always a good scapegoat. Zell held her breath and hoped her ploy would work on Cailey like it did with her own kids.

“I wish those doctors would hurry up,” Cailey grumbled, sinking down beside Zell on the lawn.

“What if . . .” Zell spoke aloud, her mouth uttering the words even before the idea had fully taken shape. Cailey looked up, her face expectant, eager. Like most children, she knew that questions that started off with “What if” were usually good questions. “What if,” Zell continued, “you and I turned my yard into a wildlife habitat? It could be our little project while you’re here.” She watched Cailey’s reaction, hoped this wasn’t a colossal mistake. Something inside her said,
You never learn.
But something else said,
Maybe this time will be different.

Cailey hesitated for just a moment, as if she were having an internal dialogue of her own. But then the eager, expectant look returned, and a grin broke out across her little face. Cailey’s genuine smiles were rare, and Zell let herself take this one in, because this one was just for her. “Yes?” she prompted, wanting to hear the word on Cailey’s lips.

Cailey nodded vigorously and the grin widened. “Yes!” she said. She sprang up and started sprinting away, then turned back to beckon Zell to follow her. “I know the website we have to go to!” she hollered from across the yard. “Come on! I’ll show you!”

Zell smiled and started the slow process of getting herself up off the stool, her knee already protesting with even the slightest movement. In a flash, Cailey was back at her side. “Here,” she said, extending her small hand, “I’ll help you up.” Zell did the only thing there was to do: she took Cailey’s hand and allowed the child to help her stand.

BRYTE

She sank down onto the cold tile of the laundry-room floor and willed herself to get a grip. She’d found the business card in the pocket of her shorts, rescued seconds before being thrown into the washing machine and destroyed by the hot water she was about to send pouring into the tub. Her heart pounding, she remembered and pinched it out of its hiding place, nestled there between the layers of denim, put there as a protective weapon on a night she’d felt vulnerable. She thought not of Jencey’s face, but of Everett’s as he looked at Jencey. She worried that Jencey’s return had put everything she’d created for herself at risk.

As a child, she’d wanted exactly what she’d grown up with. She wanted to replicate the life she’d known. She was the only one of her friends who felt that way, her teen years spent listening to various accounts of how the future was going to be different for them. Jencey wanted a big house. Everett wanted Jencey. Other friends wanted more religion or less, more freedom or less, more money (but never less), different politics, different traditions, different lives from the ones they’d been brought up in. She would listen politely, nod when appropriate, and make encouraging comments. But inside she was thinking,
Is it wrong to want more of the same?

She loved her parents, her home, her neighborhood, even her school. She loved swimming with the same kids each summer at the pool, the big Fourth of July celebration that lasted all day and into the night, the way the sun’s rays glinted off the lake and the breeze rippled the water. She loved church on Sundays and takeout pizza on Fridays, the Christmas-card photos of friends and family members affixed to the refrigerator door for months after the holidays were over, and afternoons reading in the backyard hammock. She loved belonging to this place and these people. She knew she was lucky—many kids didn’t have what she had. What more was there to want?

Crouched on her laundry-room floor, running her fingers across the raised black letters, she waffled between remembering and forgetting, between who she was, then and now. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted, but it had come at a price she’d never expected. She stood, feeling restless and anxious, her heart beating much too hard for a stay-at-home mom doing laundry on an ordinary summer Tuesday.

She palmed the card and walked it back to its original spot in the drawer. But before she could hide it away again, she paused, taking one last look. She took in the name, then the phone number, then the e-mail. Could it still be the same? Would it hurt to try?

She took a deep breath and reached for her cell phone, charging on the desk where she left it each night. She gave herself a pep talk as she entered the numbers on the card into her phone’s keypad. This was about a job, and that was all. She was doing her due diligence in the face of the repeated requests from her former employer; she was just being smart. Her heart hammered as the line rang and rang and rang. It went to voice mail, and the minute she heard his voice, she hit “End”—a reflex. This was wrong and dangerous and stupid. She stood there panting as if she’d run a marathon, her insides churning. She paced back and forth a few times in front of the desk, calming herself, still holding her phone.

This morning before he’d left for work, Everett had said he was going to make an appointment at the clinic, that they couldn’t keep putting it off. He’d brushed aside her objections, put his hands on her shoulders, and with a serious look told her that he’d be with her every step of the way. He’d never understand that this was the last thing she wanted. She would do anything to keep from hearing the same verdict, the same options she’d heard before. And going back to work could stop that from happening.

She looked down at the phone, debating placing a second call and this time not hanging up.
If you do this,
she coached herself,
everything could change.
But everything was going to change anyway. She pulled up her recent calls and hit the number again. She cleared her throat as the phone rang, readying herself to leave a message. There was that voice, strangely familiar even though it had been years since she’d heard it last. She smiled at the sound of it, then began to speak after the beep.

“Hi,” she said. “This is Bryte Lewis. We met several years ago at the ATXS show, at the cocktail party. I’m not sure you’ll remember, but you mentioned I should call if I was ever looking for a job, and I am. So, if you can, I’d love to talk to you about it. I know tomorrow is the Fourth, so you’re probably not even working this week, but if you can give me a call, my number is—” The beep sounded, and she was cut off.

A voice inside her said,
This isn’t just about a job.
But she ignored the voice, pushing it into that place deep within her where the truth resided. She watched as the phone’s screen returned to a photo of the three of them at Easter, all dressed up. She’d put Christopher and Everett in adorable matching pastel bow ties. She exhaled loudly and considered calling back to leave her number. No, the number would show up in his list of incoming calls. If he wanted to respond, he’d figure it out.

JULY 2014

JENCEY

The impact of a little body landing on the mattress jolted her awake in her old bedroom, never changed since her departure, a pastel wonderland with its boy-band posters and various other accoutrements of the teenage female. Her girls were fascinated with the time capsule that was her old bedroom, holding long-since dried-out bottles of nail polish up to her with a kind of wonder. “Mom,” Pilar had asked, astonished, “
you
wore glitter nail polish?”

She supposed it was astonishing to a child who’d only seen her mother with French manicures, which was what all the women had back in her old neighborhood. She’d taken the bottle of nail polish from Pilar’s hand and studied it for a moment, seeing in her mind’s eye sitting with Bryte on her bed, doing one another’s nails. Bryte was always so careful, so serious about the polish being just so. She’d been fastidious then, and—from what Jencey could tell—was still that way. She was just as serious and careful in her devotion to her home, her cooking, her son, and Everett. Jencey tried not to think about those few moments alone she’d had with Everett after dinner. There were things she’d wanted to say to him, but didn’t dare, the unsaid words still rolling around like marbles in her mind.

“Get up, Mom!” Zara hollered, shaking the mattress as violently as her small body could manage, her shrill voice too loud and piercing on the cusp of a sound sleep. Jencey had been dreaming she was in the woods by the lake, but there was someone else there, too, someone she didn’t know, but who knew her—the presence disturbing, threatening, and all too real. She tried to shake off the dream even as she pulled back the sheets so Zara could snuggle under with her. She hugged her daughter tighter and kissed her head several times, the action warding off any lingering bad mojo from her dreams. Zara giggled and wrenched away. “Mom, we have to get ready for the parade!” she scolded.

Jencey moaned aloud and pulled the covers over her head. “Can’t your grandmother take you?” she said from under the sheets. She’d known today was the Fourth and had vaguely thought of the neighborhood to-do over the big day, but hadn’t actually expected to take part in any of it. Pilar and Zara had spent the day yesterday helping her mother make the traditional dishes to put out at the neighborhood potluck. Things just wouldn’t be the same in Sycamore Glen if her mother’s potato salad wasn’t among the dishes. Jencey wasn’t in the mood to participate in a large celebration that most likely would involve people she hadn’t seen in over a decade, fielding questions about her husband and why she was there, which she’d so far, for the most part, been able to avoid. But the girls were invested now, which meant she was as well.

Zara’s head appeared underneath the covers, her grin so wide her dimples showed. She scooched down to get into Jencey’s line of sight. She was her mirror child, her baby, her sweetest girl. “No, Mom, you have to come. You promised.”

It was true; she’d agreed at dinner last night, acquiescing to the girls’ pleas without much of a fight. That would teach her to drink wine at dinner. She tossed the covers back with a world-weary sigh, her eyes falling on a poster of Marky Mark before he’d become the more respectable Mark Wahlberg. “You’re right. I said I would go, so let’s go watch this amazing, elaborate display of patriotism!” she said, her voice containing so much false enthusiasm she expected Zara to see right through it.

But she didn’t. “Pilar!” Zara hollered as she hopped up from the bed. “I told you she’d come!” She scampered from the room, her little feet thundering down the hall in search of her sister. If her parents weren’t awake, they would be now.
Serves them right,
she thought. She was tempted to pull the covers back over her head and fall headlong back into dreamland, but she wasn’t sure her dreamland was a safe place to go.

She took her spot on the sidewalk with the other neighbors, waiting for the parade to start. Her mother had prepared a thermos of coffee for her, and a friendly man she didn’t recognize handed her a donut to go with it. She accepted the fried ring of dough and sugar just because it was the Fourth of July and the donut had red, white, and blue sprinkles. It felt unpatriotic to turn it down. She watched the parade, such as it was, begin its long trek from the entrance of the neighborhood to the clubhouse. As tradition dictated, the local fire department had sent an engine to lead the way, and she waved back at a fireman who hung off the side, pointing at her as he passed, waving enthusiastically when he was sure he had her attention.

“I think he likes you.” Bryte sidled up, pushing Christopher in his stroller. After all their days at the pool together, Jencey had come to recognize that stroller as well as she recognized other people’s vehicles.

Jencey grinned at her and said hello even though her mouth was still full of donut. She broke off a bite of the donut and handed it to Christopher without asking Bryte first. Christopher looked up at her with utter gratitude on his face, stuffing the donut in his mouth before his mother could think better of it and take it away.

Bryte laughed. “Donuts are his love language.”

“Smart boy,” Jencey said. She looked around for Everett and was glad when she saw that he wasn’t with her.

Reading her mind, Bryte explained. “We came to see Daddy ride his bike, didn’t we, Christopher?” She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the pack of paraders still waiting for their turn. A big red tractor decorated with an abundance of streamers putted by. The man driving it spit a big brown stream of tobacco juice onto the pavement.
Only in the South,
she thought.

Beside her, Bryte shuddered at the sight of the spit, then continued talking. “Everett got roped into riding his bike with some of the other neighborhood guys.” She looked down at Christopher, his mouth stuffed with donut. “Christopher helped decorate it last night,” she added.

“I’m sure it’s lovely.”

Bryte laughed. “It’s um, colorful,” she said with a smile. She looked around. “Your girls in the parade?”

“Oh yes. My parents decorated their golf cart. They’ll be along any minute.”

They stood in companionable silence for a bit as girls on horses and a man in a huge old convertible made their way past. People cheered and clapped and screamed, more for the sheer excuse to do so than because the entries were anything spectacular. Children ran up and down the parade route, shrieking their excitement and waving their arms so the people in the parade would throw them candy. She tried to imagine this sort of spectacle in her old neighborhood, but she might as well have been trying to envision a parade of elephants or spaceships traversing down the main drag of her former residence. For one thing, aliens and pachyderms would never make it past the gatehouse. For another, her old neighbors only did things with elegance, distinction, class—a hodgepodge, anything-goes parade like the one she was watching would have caused horror and dismay among the people she’d once called friends.

She felt a little foot nudge her in the back of the leg and looked down to see Christopher kicking absentmindedly as he took in the sights, his brow knit together, his face serious. She tried not to think too much about whether he looked like Everett. He was all decked out in red, white, and blue, as were most of the other kids. Her own girls had cobbled together white T-shirts and denim shorts at the last minute, and her mother had come to the rescue with red-and-white polka-dot ribbons for their ponytails, completing their patriotic ensembles. In her old neighborhood, she’d have planned weeks in advance, ordered special coordinated—heaven forbid they matched!—outfits for them to wear. This year she hadn’t given it a second thought.

A man on a unicycle rolled by them, throwing candy out of a fanny pack as he went. Bryte caught a piece of gum, unwrapped it, and handed it to Christopher, who looked like he’d hit the jackpot as he greedily stuffed it into his mouth. “Do you remember doing this as kids?” Bryte asked when she turned back toward the action. Everett still hadn’t been by.

“Oh, sure,” Jencey said, as if it was old hat, unwilling to admit all the memories the event was stirring in her. So many memories she faced each day, all coming at her like a mental assault.

Her parents came by in the golf cart with Pilar and Zara waving shyly from the backseat as they passed. Jencey attempted to wolf-whistle and saw Pilar duck her head in embarrassment, her face taking on a rosy blush. Zara hollered, “Mom! Hey, Mom!” and waved more furiously. Jencey laughed and waved back just as furiously. Zara’s ribbon had come untied on one pigtail, but the other was hanging in there, giving her a lopsided look.

She spotted the man—the one who’d saved the little boy—heading toward them, a meek and uncertain smile on his face. The unlikely hero who’d teased her about being named after a legendary one. She gave him a little wave. He looked momentarily surprised, then waved back and headed their way with a little more confidence in his step. He stopped when he got to them. “Hello,” he greeted them. “I was hoping I’d see you guys here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Bryte said.

He waited until he caught Jencey’s eye. “Hi,” he said, and it felt like a special greeting just for her.

She blushed in spite of herself. “How are you?” she asked. She hadn’t seen him since the incident and hoped he was doing OK after what had happened. She hadn’t been able to get it too far from her mind, and she hadn’t been the one to pull the child out of that pool. She’d heard Cutter was not out of the woods.

He shrugged. “Hanging in there.” He gestured at the paraders going by. “Just celebrating our nation’s birth.”

She grinned in response. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She knew all their minds had to be on what they’d witnessed, in spite of the forced celebration. It was the only reason she wanted to go to the pool today, to be around the people who’d been there that day. “Do you come every year?” she asked, just to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, my wife—Debra—she loved all this stuff. So the kids think it’s a requirement to come.” He rolled his eyes, and she could sympathize with his reticence to be somewhere people were having a good time. It took a lot out of you: celebrating when you wanted to do anything but.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

He looked at her and squinted his eyes in confusion. “Loss?”

“Your wife? She’s um . . . deceased?” She winced at her words. First she brought up the little boy, then his wife’s death. Way to keep things positive. She was definitely rusty at conversing with the opposite sex.

Thankfully he didn’t look upset. Instead, he surprised her by laughing. “Debra? Dead?” He shook his head. “I might’ve wished her dead sometimes, but no, she’s very much alive. We’re just living apart while she ‘figures out what she wants out of life.’” He made air quotes with his fingers as he said the last part, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He gave her a meaningful look. “Turns out she’s not so sure she ever wanted any of this life, after all.” He gave her a “what are you gonna do?” shrug just as Bryte broke into whoops and applause, startling them both.

Jencey turned in time to see Everett ride by on a mountain bike bedecked in streamers and paper flags. He was wearing an Uncle Sam top hat, which he tipped in Bryte and Christopher’s direction.

“See, Daddy?” Bryte yelled and pointed, as if Christopher could miss him. From his stroller, his somber expression changed, and he also began waving and hollering. When he smiled, dimples creased his cheeks and his eyes danced. He clapped his hands together, marveling at the sight of his dad.

Jencey clapped as well. When her eyes locked with Everett’s, she smiled at him. He didn’t tip his hat to her, and she didn’t expect him to. He belonged to someone else now. He rode past her, but she didn’t watch him go.