* * *
From the side of The Everything Store where a cordless phone clung to the wall—it had been a modernization not so long ago, replacing the kind of contraption with a curlicued wire—Julie heard a series of bleeps. The store clerk made the call matter-of-factly, her voice bleached of sympathy, allowing Julie a shred of dignity.
Chief.
Not the old chief, thank God, Julie’s grandfather, nor the son who came after him.
You mind coming down here?
The next voice Julie heard was husky and deep, echoing in her ear. Julie had known this voice when it was less husky, and not yet deep.
“Come on, Jules,” Tim Lurcquer said quietly, squatting beside her.
She blinked.
“Come on,” he repeated. “You’ll feel better once we leave.”
Tim got to his feet—a faint creak from his knees as he rose that surprised her—and extended a hand, strong enough to pull Julie upright. The cloth of his uniform shirt felt crisp despite the summer heat.
She held out a twisted clutch of plastic. “I have to buy these diapers.” That was what you did if you broke something accidentally in a store. Or ruined it with malice and fury. Maybe you paid double then. “Also, I think I might’ve assaulted a woman.”
Tim took the packaging from Julie’s hand, his touch slow and gentle, as if she were a deer or a sparrow, some sort of wild animal that would shy away from human contact. “No,” he said, his voice so kind it caused an ache. “You don’t. There’s not a person in this town who would take your money.”
* * *
Tim pulled up in front of Julie’s house in his police-issue vehicle, a luxury 4×4 that was a relic of another age. A whole other Wedeskyull, a different kind of regime. Subsidized by the wealthy to keep the powerful in charge. Julie’s uncle used to drive this Mercury; the model wasn’t even made anymore.
Of the Weathers men living here since the town was incorporated, Julie’s father had been an outlier. Younger by a fair shake compared to his two brothers, and the only male in the family not to enter law enforcement. He’d chosen logging instead, and had died in a chain-saw accident. Julie sometimes saw her dad’s premature death as a near-Grecian tragedy. Scandal and wrongdoing had undone the cops in her family, and although her father had attempted to rebel, find his own way, in the end he had been toppled too.
She unlatched her seat belt, which had imprinted a band of sweat across her shirt. Tim had powered both windows down, and it’d felt cool enough as he drove along at a good clip, but now the air grew swampy and hot.
“It’s not the loss that kills you,” Tim said.
She looked at him sharply, and he lifted both hands off the steering wheel, flattening his palms. A gesture of retreat, of surrender. But then he went on. “It’s the guilt. I see it all the time on the job. Guilt makes it so there are at least two deaths for every one.”
Julie’s nose plugged solid with tears.
“But I can’t imagine less reason for guilt than you have, Jules. There was just nothing you did wrong. Not one goddamned thing.”
She pressed two fingers hard against her eyes. “I’m going to leave, Tim.” Her throat was raw from crying, and the words came out rusty.
“Take your time.” The engine rumbled patiently.
Julie was shocked to feel a small smile lift her lips. At his assumption, the idea that even a move so small as that would require preparation on her part. Of course, just a couple of hours ago, it had. Then there came a trickle of something Julie hadn’t experienced in so long it was all but unrecognizable. Hope. Or at least a dawning awareness that she might be headed toward something. Which was maybe the same thing.
She had grown up here, brought the husband she’d met online back to her hometown, never spent more than a vacation week away. But now there was a newfound sense of movement, a feeling of things tugging and shifting inside her.
“No,” she said, turning to face Tim. “I mean that I’m going to leave Wedeskyull.”
Chapter Three
Certain entries on Opportunity.com—house swaps and anything involving a caretaker, for instance—could be counted on to go fast. But jobs tended to stick around longer, more variables involved on both sides in getting the right fit, and the site prided itself on a high rate of successful matches.
Julie brought up the submission form. Once it was filled out, the original poster could communicate directly with the user, send paperwork to be completed, set up a phone call or even an in-person interview. She clicked on the first box and typed in her last name. Then came first, middle initial, address, marital status. Married, Julie entered.
She stumbled over the tiny box into which you could enter your number of children—the drop-down went as high as twelve, good Lord—before leaving it blank and moving on. Choosing “0” seemed an erasure too cruel to bear.
Were you still a mother when you weren’t a mother anymore? What became of the role, the identity, once the child was gone?
A series of slots requested background information: where Julie had grown up, gone to college, fields she’d worked in other than teaching. Then came questions about her qualifications for this position, which Julie answered, fingers moving easily across the keys. The consolidated nature of Wedeskyull’s school meant that all the students were grouped together in one building, and due to perennial understaffing, teachers got switched around constantly. Julie had classroom experience in each of the grades taught on the place she’d just learned was called Mercy Island.
She opened a tab to Google it after she sent in this application, her hands hovering over the keyboard as she considered one final question.
Why is this opportunity the opportunity for you, and why are you right for it?
That one was going to take a little longer than the rest had. Still, Julie could envision crafting her statement and how it would be received, the seamless slide of a perfect fit. She paused as she considered, staring through the screen on the bedroom window. She was already steps ahead in her mind, having procured the job, making preparations to leave.
Packing would be an ordeal. So many things had been hastily stowed in the wake of Hedley’s absence. Swing, highchair, stroller—objects Julie could no longer bear to look at, all boxed away or simply shoved into closets, to be dealt with during a later that never seemed to come.
But other steps would be easier, like slipping out of the pared-down life she was now living. And David could work from anywhere. He was a freelance journalist—one of the few still making a living in an age of vanishing pubs and free content—and even earned enough to rent a room in town where he wrote. He said that getting dressed each morning and leaving the house made him more productive.
Car wheels ground over the gravel in the drive. Speak of the devil, Julie thought, with her second partial smile of the day. Or if not a smile, at least some movement of her mouth, her mind, both of which had felt encased in cement for over a year.
David’s car engine turned off, leaving only quiet ticking amidst the cricket hum and gentle whoosh of wind through broad, fleshy leaves outside.
Lately David been working longer hours, and it didn’t seem like he should be home already; then again, time wavered in and out so unreliably for her these days. Maybe it was later than she thought. But glancing at the computer screen, Julie saw that it was only four o’clock. She looked toward the window again.
David had just opened the back door of his car to let their dog out. Depot jumped down with the resounding bark that signaled reunion.
“She’s in town, boy,” David called as Depot bounded up the porch steps.
Her car was missing from the driveway, Julie realized. David’s offhand comment didn’t take into account how radical the trip had been for her. Her husband missed a lot, although not, thankfully, their nightly ritual, which she was in sore need of right now.
&nb
sp; The window already wide open to let in the warm summer air, Julie lifted the screen and leaned out. “I’m home, I’m here!”
Depot gave a satisfied bark, while David craned his head to look up at the second floor. His eyes reflected the sun, making his expression unreadable.
Julie blinked in the bright glare. “The car’s in town. I had, um, a problem.”
“Yes,” David said, voice traveling through the still remainder of the day. “I heard you were in town today.”
So he knew. Well, at least that justified his lack of surprise at the fact that she’d gone out. The memory of those crumpled-up diapers returned, and as the sun struck her skin, Julie’s cheeks grew hot. But the incident felt somehow distant, a long time ago already, perhaps because of the opportunity she now had to pursue.
David’s tread sounded heavy on the porch. Julie went to meet their dog at the top of the second floor staircase, Depot’s bulk hitting her, rocking her back on her heels.
“How was your day, Deep?” she murmured.
Back when Julie was still teaching, she couldn’t come home in the middle of a school day to give Depot the exercise a big dog needed, and anyhow, David said that having him around for company while he worked made the words flow. But Depot’s presence would’ve been nice during the infinite hours of Julie’s days this past year, time no longer blown up like a balloon, expanded by the chores of new motherhood. David had voiced concern that a change in routine might be disturbing to their dog; after all, Depot was grieving Hedley too. He used to lie beside the baby’s Moses basket, face between his front paws as he kept his eyes open, taking in the nursery.
Depot was so big that the baby basket couldn’t be seen when he lay down in front of it. Long after she’d outgrown it, Hedley still preferred to nap in the basket, and sometimes Julie would come in and startle for a second at the sight of the empty crib, envisioning the terror that would’ve arisen if Hedley had been snatched by some stranger. One of the things that plagued Julie now was the fear that she’d brought on Hedley’s disappearance from their lives by foreseeing it once too often.
Depot twitched in Julie’s grasp, a full body shake sufficient to reposition her. Julie felt herself smile; that made three times today. “You trying to wrestle or just get away?” she asked.
If a switch in routine had worried David, what was he going to think about a total change of environment for their dog? On the other hand, David had never fully adjusted to life in Wedeskyull, hadn’t come to love it as Julie had hoped he would. He might be perfectly happy to leave.
She bestowed a final pat to their dog, who raced down the stairs in search of food, while Julie herself moved more slowly down the flight of steps. David wasn’t in the living room, nor the kitchen either. Poor guy knew there wouldn’t be much to eat. Well, she would change that, Julie resolved. A return to the land of the living—a different land of the living—signified life starting up again. She wondered about the food situation on Mercy Island. Did you have to cook every meal—in which case David was going to need to muster some skills—or was there takeout?
She glimpsed him through a screen door that led to an enclosed deck.
“David?”
A mere whisper. Her husband didn’t look up. She and David had lost the ability to talk in normal tones. Julie coughed, started over.
“How would you feel about moving to an island in Maine?”
Chapter Four
David twisted to look at her, a cold, beaded bottle of beer in one hand. That he had known how to keep the house stocked with. They’d never once run out of beer. To be fair, David always kept a bottle of Julie’s brand of scotch around too.
He stood by a screened wall at the back of the deck, looking out over the garden. Tidy rows of regimented flowers. Julie wondered how the perfectly tended beds would fare once she and David left. Depended on the new residents. Should they rent out their place, put someone in charge of Airbnb-ing it maybe, or sell it outright?
The thought prompted a sudden tingle, like the sensation of a foot waking up. Not entirely pleasant, except in how inarguably there it was, novel to feel anything again at all. “David? Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard.” He took a long swig from his bottle.
The slow, sweet slide of scotch down her throat had made a lot of hours, over the past year and probably others before that, recede into a tolerable haze. Julie had been longing for such a state just a few minutes ago. But suddenly, she wanted to be sharp.
“You okay, honey?” she asked. “Did you have a rough day?”
“Not as rough as yours,” he answered. A pause. “Care for a drink?”
From a glass-topped cart, he produced a tumbler and a fifth of scotch, already half-emptied by other cocktails, prior drinking nights. Julie hesitated before taking the generous fingerful David had poured, and her husband closed her hand around the glass.
“Go on,” he said. “Looks like you need it.”
Neither his words nor the offering conveyed much kindness, but Julie lifted the glass, cool in her hand, and took a sip. The taste, its instant effect, blotted out the quiver of shame that had passed through her upon hearing David’s assessment of her day.
“I think things are going to get better now,” she said. “I’m going to get better.”
No reply.
“This island… Can I tell you about it?”
David plunked his bottle down, soldier-straight, not a wobble. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Julie looked at him. It wasn’t as if such incidents transpired regularly for her, although yes, there had been more than one, especially in the initial days, weeks, maybe months. “I know. Me either. But what happened today—I don’t mean the thing in town, something else—”
“Thing,” David repeated. “Is that the euphemism we’re using?”
Julie flinched. How had she missed the anger in his tone, in his whole demeanor? David’s body was rigid all over with fury.
She struggled to hit a light note. “Well, whatever you call it, this was the worst one ever. Do you know I actually hit a woman? Not hit her hit her. But I threw a wad of diapers definitely in her direction—”
David spoke over her. “This is starting to get humiliating. For you, I mean. I’m not concerned about myself. Having a meltdown in front of a bunch of strangers—”
Julie felt a small charge of her own anger. “These aren’t strangers! They’re my lifelong friends. Family almost.”
“Well, your friend the store clerk didn’t exactly see fit to take care of you like family, did she?” David replied bitingly. “She called the police. Yes, that’s who I heard from.” A pause for an acerbic quip. “Small-town living.”
Heat returned to Julie’s face on a painful back draft. She swallowed her drink in one gulp, then blotted her lips with her hand. “She was just trying to help.”
David’s shoulders sank, a sudden softening. He poured Julie a second nip. “You’re right. And she was right, too, I suppose. Because I sure haven’t been able to do that.”
“Oh, David.” Julie drew nearer, touching her husband’s bare arm. The feel of his skin ignited something long lost. David dressed in button-down shirts to write, but tonight, perhaps on account of the warm weather, he had rolled up his sleeves. The look lent her husband an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Is that what this is about?”
He didn’t respond, though he also didn’t step away.
“It isn’t you. It isn’t anything you’ve done, or haven’t done. I just… I miss Hedley. That’s all. I don’t mean that’s all. What a stupid thing to say. That’s everything.”
“Everything,” David repeated. Venom had returned to his voice.
“Not everything,” Julie amended. “There’s us. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed to forget that lately.” She’d taken David for granted. He would be there whenever she crawled out of t
he dark place created by Hedley’s loss because he occupied the same cave.
Depot nosed open the screen door, padding up beside Julie. His snout glistened, giving off a meaty odor, the way it always did after a meal. Depot wasn’t a neat eater. Julie glanced inside the house. Aside from the Saturn’s ring of nuggets scattered around Depot’s bowl, the kitchen looked clean to the point of sterility, uninhabited and scentless.
David seemed to follow her thoughts. “It’s like I’m married to a shell. It’s not even you in there anymore.”
“It is me. More than it’s been in a long time. Let me tell you what I did today.”
He let out a scoff. “Before or after you lost your marbles in town?”
Julie felt her legs sag. Depot moved closer, and his mass served to steady her. “That sucks,” she said. “I understand that you’re angry—I even think I understand why—but don’t you dare make me feel crazy. What happened to me could send anybody—”
“It didn’t just happen to you!” David roared. He swept out a hand, grabbing the beer bottle before it could topple off the cart.
With a single step, Depot edged David backward, away from Julie.
It had been an atypical loss of control. David was a careful man who moved in precise, contained ways. He printed articles out in neat stacks to proofread, collated his notes, planted seeds in ruler-straight rows. Made love with slow, steady strokes; grieved with silent tears, one tissue dampened at a time. Even his drinking rarely grew sloppy.
“It happened to us,” David said. “You act as if I have no right to be bereft.”
“I don’t think that at all!” Julie cried. Though, of course, it was she who had been with Hedley at the time, and maybe deep down, Julie did feel that worsened her burden. The shock of checking the stroller and not being sure at first, having to lean over and really look, study the folds of blanket under the hood. “I know you’re mourning too.”
David scrubbed a hand across his face, smoothing his hair back into place.
The Second Mother Page 2
