Stories We Never Told

by Sonja Yoerg

  “Got it.”

  Jackie ditched her backpack, grabbed a snack, then went upstairs to do her homework. At seven fifteen she ordered pad thai from her favorite place and watched a Saved by the Bell rerun while waiting for it to arrive. The episode was one of many featuring Kelly getting her heart crushed by a guy, a funny guy (are they always funny?), a seemingly nice guy. He even looked a bit like Matthew. Jackie skipped what she knew would be a happy ending; why bother? Kelly would find a different boy, a better one. It would be romantic, but not realistic. There aren’t that many funny, nice guys. Her mother was right. If you get your heart broken, it’s your own stupid fault.

  The next morning Matthew found Jackie in the hallway outside her English class.

  “Hey.” He stood close, but not too close, and smelled like soap and peanut butter. He smiled, and his dimples showed, setting off that jumpy feeling in her stomach.

  “Hey.”

  “I’ve got a skateboard thing tonight at the park. A competition.” He spun his cap on his index finger. Prowess. “Want to come?”

  He cared enough to ask her, but everything else about him—the way he stood, hands loose at his sides, the way he didn’t notice the kids having to go around him to get inside the classroom—said he might not care about her answer, or that he was determined to give that impression. Jackie pictured herself at the park, elbows propped on the railing with the other girls, each claiming a skater or hoping to, not paying attention to the tricks or even the falls, only the possibility of a boy—a look, a kiss, a feel—like catching a wave and riding, just because it’s there, riding it to . . . nowhere.

  “Not really,” Jackie said.

  “How come?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. Matthew seemed perplexed. He must’ve thought everything had been going so well. He’d scratched her surface and discovered she wasn’t all that shy, and now he wanted a reward, she could see that. He wasn’t getting one.

  The bell rang. The clusters of kids around them shifted and broke.

  Jackie tilted her head at the classroom door. “I gotta go.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be fun. Starts at seven thirty, but you could come whenever.” He smiled again, another dose of dimples.

  Jackie’s heart squeezed but she ignored it. “I don’t actually like skating. Watching people skate.”

  His eyebrows went up, then knit together in a frown. “Okaaaaaay . . .”

  “But good luck.” A bone. Jackie didn’t want to be mean. She was just being realistic. Adults were always saying twelve (or eleven or thirteen or whatever) was too young for dating, but for Jackie, twelve already felt too old.

  Matthew stood waiting for her to change her mind. She could see that he expected her to want what he wanted, to adore him at the skate park, to kiss him back when he wanted to kiss her. This must be what her mother had been getting at. Jackie wasn’t positive, but thinking about it made her tired, and she had a class to get to.

  “Bye, Matthew.” She said it a little like she was dismissing him. Which she was.

  He actually pouted. Then he turned away and walked slowly down the empty hall.

  Jackie felt a surge, like clean, cool water in her veins. She’d made the choice. She’d made him leave. Her mom would be proud.

  Jackie squared her shoulders and followed the other kids into the classroom, feeling like she’d already learned the most important lesson of the day, or maybe even her whole life.

  Miles drives up Winthrop to the top of the hill, turns around, and rejoins Middlebrook Road. Jackie is quiet. The businesses thin out and are replaced with fields and farms. The sky is clear and a shade of blue she never sees in DC. Miles gives up on the radio, having lost the only decent station. Twenty minutes out of Staunton, they veer onto a gravel road and wind along a slope bordered by woods on the right and open pasture on the left. The road bends, and an old brick farmhouse appears, with scattered outbuildings that seem to multiply between visits. In the summer, towering walnuts and silver maples shade the house; now they are bare-branched sentinels. Grace and Hector bought the property six years ago when they had only Daniel. Hector, a professional builder, recognized the bargain and has been renovating since.

  They pull up alongside Hector’s black F-250.

  Now that they’ve arrived, Jackie’s mood brightens. She can’t wait to see her sister, Hector, each of the children. Jackie gets out and opens the rear door to retrieve the food. “You haven’t been here since July, right?”

  “Right.” Miles unfolds himself from the car, stretches his arms above his head, casts his gaze over the house and the view of the fields running golden and russet over the near hills.

  “Wait until you see the new kitchen.”

  “I remember we had to use the outdoor grill to cook everything. Like camping.”

  Jackie laughs. Miles does not camp.

  He retrieves the wine, shuts the door, and catches Jackie’s eye over the roof of the car. “You look beautiful, by the way. I’ve been looking forward to cooler weather just so I can see you in that coat.”

  The coat, made of deep-green felt with intricate hand stitching, was a gift from Miles last Christmas. “You’re sweet. And you have excellent taste.”

  Jackie leads the way along the curved walk and up the front steps. The porch serves as a mudroom; a dozen pairs of boots and shoes in all sizes are scattered on either side of the door.

  Miles holds open the glass storm door for Jackie.

  “Brace yourself,” she says.

  Miles shrugs and smiles. “It’s a party.”

  “Every day’s a party here. And sometimes the guests get put in time-out.”

  “Praying it’s not me.”

  She opens the door. A jubilant sea of children and dogs crushes into the hallway.

  Grace wades through, arms outstretched. Her hair has mostly fallen from its clip, and her T-shirt has stains where little hands have pulled at it. Jackie gets a lump in her throat as Grace hugs her around the box of food she’s carrying.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, you two!” She kisses Jackie’s cheek and wipes the spot even though she’s not wearing lipstick. “I’m going to change later. Don’t worry.”

  “You look great.”

  “Liar. Go put that food down somewhere.” She gently pulls one of the five-year-old twins away from Miles’s leg. “Mommy’s turn, Maria.” She hugs and kisses Miles. “God, you’re cute.”

  “I have wine.”

  “Even cuter.”

  As they proceed down the hall, Jackie and Miles greet the kids, the dogs, and, in the kitchen, Hector, holding the youngest, Edith, on his hip and rinsing green beans in a colander with his free hand. He’s an Antonio Banderas look-alike. All the children inherited his olive skin and dark hair in varying degrees except Edith, who sports the same red hair and freckles Grace had as a baby.

  “Hi, Hector!” Jackie places the food on the counter and kisses her brother-in-law on the cheek. Edith kisses the air and laughs. Jackie reaches for her, and the baby hides her face in her father’s neck. “Maybe later, huh?” At fifteen months, Edith is the right age for separation anxiety.

  Miles shakes Hector’s hand and clamps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Hector.”

  “You too. The kids have been so excited to see you guys.”

  Roberta toddles into the kitchen, trips herself up, and bangs her head on the counter. She wails.

  Grace scoops her up. “How about we divide and conquer?”

  Ten minutes later, the four older children are outside with Miles and Hector. Edith sits on the kitchen floor playing with Tupperware while Jackie and Grace organize the kitchen.

  “Everything okay?” Grace asks. “You sounded pretty stressed on the phone the other day.”

  Jackie weighs whether to say anything about Harlan and Nasira. She’s put them out of her mind, more or less, and her stalking is under control. Her sister’s stance on Jackie and Harlan’s relationship had been that as long
as Jackie was happy, Grace was happy. But when Jackie broke it off, Grace admitted she’d never been crazy about Harlan. “A bit too smooth,” her sister said, adding, “at least for my taste,” which for Grace was tantamount to a damnation. Jackie is certain Grace would not approve of the new twist on her interest in Harlan—who would?—and decides to jump past it.

  “Did I? I guess I’m worried about this long-term study. So much is riding on convincing the foundation it’s worthwhile.”

  “You mean funding?”

  “Yes. They want results, understandably. Four years is a long time.” Jackie covers the potatoes with water and places the pan on a backburner to cook later. “Good thing is, the results look solid so far.”

  Edith pulls herself up on her mother’s pant leg and lifts her arms. Grace picks her up. “I’m proud of you, Jacks. Every time I think of your work, I count my blessings with these rascals.” She blows a raspberry on Edith’s palm, and the baby smiles. “Did I tell you I’m thinking of homeschooling?”

  “Why am I not surprised? You’ll be great at it.”

  “Thanks. Most people say I’m a lunatic to consider it.”

  Jackie smiles at her sister. “They must not know you very well.”

  At midday, Grace and Hector give the kids lunch even though the turkey dinner is scheduled for three.

  Grace pokes the last spoonful of mashed carrot into Edith’s mouth. “Low blood sugar will have them snapping at your ankles.”

  Hector lifts Edith from the high chair and rinses off her face and hands in the sink. “Nap time. Miles, can you grab Roberta?”

  “Absolutely. We’re good friends now.”

  Jackie watches as Miles wipes off the little girl’s hands and gently lifts her to his chest. Roberta sends her mother a worried look, which Grace answers with a smile and a wave. Roberta lays her head on Miles’s shoulder. His hand spans the width of the girl’s back. Jackie’s chest tightens. As Miles follows Hector to the stairs, Jackie fights back tears.

  Grace reads Jackie’s expression and reaches for her sister’s hand. “Oh, sweetie.” She waits until the men are out of earshot. “Have you guys talked about this recently?”

  “Not really.”

  “No time like the present.”

  “Today?” Jackie gathers dishes and takes them to the sink.

  Grace joins her. “What’s Thanksgiving without family strife?”

  “Miles doesn’t do strife. It’s one of his most endearing qualities.”

  Grace lifts the lid on a pot and tests a potato with a knife. “Almost.” She replaces the lid. “Jacks, just talk to him. He’s your husband.”

  Michael runs in from the den, red-faced, his twin sister on his heels. “It’s my turn to choose the game, and she won’t let me.”

  Maria scowls. “Your games are stupid.”

  “Are not.”

  “Are too.”

  Grace says, “Who wants to set the table?” The twins look at each other and head back to the den. Grace turns to Jackie. “The key to diplomacy is misdirection.”

  Jackie laughs. “I’ll set the table and take care of the potatoes.”

  “Thanks. I’m off to change before Mom gets here.” Grace stops at the entrance to the den. “You can watch your movie until Grandma comes, okay?” She disappears up the stairs.

  Other than the sounds from the movie, the house is quiet. Jackie finds a pale-yellow tablecloth in the sideboard and shakes it onto the table. It’s creased but no one will mind. She brings plates and flatware from the kitchen, and wonders which kids she should set places for. All but Edith, she decides.

  Miles appears in the doorway. “Can I help?”

  “Sure.” She points to the plates and flatware. “You can do these, and I’ll figure out glasses.” She retrieves five wineglasses from a high cabinet. “Did Roberta go to sleep for you?”

  “Out in seconds. She wore herself out chasing after the others outside.”

  “You haven’t lost your touch.” Jackie rummages in the sideboard for cloth napkins and finds the purple dahlia ones she gave Grace ages ago. There’s a little yellow in the design, so Jackie calls it a match and circles the table, laying one at each place. She observes Miles arranging the flatware precisely. “You probably know what I’m going to say.”

  His hands still.

  “That predictable?”

  He looks up. His expression is full of sympathy. “You know I love kids, Jackie.”

  “I do.”

  “But it’s hard. I’ve spent twenty years putting out fires around Antonio. I know every child is different, but it makes me leery. We’ve talked about this.”

  Jackie selects water glasses from a cupboard and carries them to the table. “I understand, Miles, but we could have a very different experience. Plus Antonio is a great kid; he just has challenges right now.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Do we even have time for a baby? Look at us. We barely have time for each other.”

  “We can change that. We can decide to.” She hears herself pleading and wishes she didn’t have to. When she first met Miles, she was thirty-four. Antonio was sixteen and living with his mother in Italy. Everything was possible then, including a family. Miles was receptive to having children and, after Harlan, that itself seemed like a gift. Doors reopened, and she no longer felt as though she’d missed out. They got married. Now she’s thirty-eight and the opportunity to have a child is dwindling.

  Miles’s tone becomes more adamant. “We are already deciding we don’t have time—with our schedules.”

  “I’ve got some flexibility in my schedule, but not a ton. Could you cut back on travel if we had a baby?” The last time they spoke about a baby was a year ago—last Thanksgiving. Miles had just left Athletes First to strike out on his own and wanted to devote his energy to the new venture. What he didn’t say, and perhaps didn’t anticipate, was that he would spend the next twelve months on the road.

  Jackie stands with two water glasses in her hands, holding her breath.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Right now, the travel is essential to what I’m building. So right now, no.”

  She should have anticipated this response, but hearing him state it so definitively rattles her. She doesn’t have much time beyond right now, so what he is saying is bigger than it seems, maybe even to him. He has Antonio after all.

  He comes around the table and touches her cheek.

  She ought to tell him it doesn’t matter, that he is enough.

  She can’t.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Let’s talk about it more when we’re alone, when we have time.”

  “Okay,” she says, and sinks into his arms.

  It feels like the end of a conversation, not the beginning of one. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s too late for them to reshape their lives to accommodate a child. Maybe what Jackie feels is wistfulness, an ache for something she can never have. The reason she can’t have it isn’t because of schedules or because of Miles. It’s because of Harlan. She made the decision to hang in for so long with him, first refusing to acknowledge what she truly desired, then kidding herself that he would change. The years slid by, passing unnoticed behind the opacity of her self-understanding, years she can never retrieve.

  CHAPTER 11

  On the family room couch, Jackie is wedged between Daniel and Maria on one side and Michael on the other, leafing through their baby albums and making up captions for each photo. Michael points to his twin sister in the bath and quacks. The others join in, including Jackie, and their quacking dissolves into helpless laughter. The kids fall into Jackie’s lap and spill onto the floor. Roberta waddles in from the kitchen and pats Michael on the head. “Good duck.” They howl.

  With each laugh, Jackie is aware of the hard ball of disappointment in her chest, but she is determined not to let it spoil her time with her nieces and nephews. Maybe the reason she brought it up again was to banish the uncertainty once and for all. What, then,
accounts for her palpable disappointment? Hope is a pain in the ass.

  A blur of movement snaps Jackie back to reality. Roberta lunges to tackle Maria and misses, and Jackie catches the toddler just before her head collides with the coffee table.

  “Goodness gracious.”

  Jackie’s mother stands in the doorway. Her chin-length deep-brown hair looks freshly cut, and her navy peacoat sets off her pale skin. She’s wearing lipstick, which is unusual, a lively shade of berry that matches her nails. This, Jackie surmises, is related to the elderly man hovering behind her.

  Jackie picks her way over the sea of children to greet her mother. Grace approaches from the kitchen, and Jackie catches her eye. Grace’s shrug, which anyone other than Jackie would miss, signals her ignorance of Cheryl’s companion.

  “Hi, Mom,” Jackie and Grace say simultaneously, drawing it out into a brief chorus as they have done since they were teens. If their mother is amused, she doesn’t show it. They take turns kissing her cheek.

  “Girls,” Cheryl says. “This is my friend Martin Rhodes.”

  Jackie knows nothing about her mother’s social life, and Cheryl has never brought a date to a family gathering before. Cheryl is sixty-one. Judging by his wrinkles, Martin is in his midseventies. He’s pulled together, though, with a neatly trimmed beard and a well-tailored jacket. He extends his hand, first to Grace, then Jackie, and Jackie notes the Patek Phillippe watch. Money. Cheryl’s holy grail.

  Grace rounds up the children, reminds them to greet their grandmother, and introduces them to Martin.

  Cheryl holds a stale smile on her face. “So lively. Isn’t there one more somewhere?”

  “Edith will be up soon.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Grace herds the kids into the den. “A little more movie until turkey time, okay?”

  Martin Rhodes smiles broadly at Cheryl and tips his head toward the den, then to Jackie. “Well, I must say, Cheryl, you are truly blessed.”

  She takes this as her due and moves on. “I didn’t want to come in carrying everything and risk an accident. Martin, would you mind getting the packages from the back seat?”