Fractured

by Catherine McKenzie

“So I have to run with John?”

  “Maybe you could find a running group in the area. There must be several. Why don’t you check iNeighbor?”

  “You’re hilarious, you are. Fuck. This is such a mess.”

  “Mommy said a bad word.”

  I turned around. Sam was hanging over the upstairs railing in a way that always got my heart thumping. If it were up to me, jungle gyms would be removed from every playground.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Daniel asked.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Daniel walked up the stairs and picked him up. “I thought we agreed bedtime snack was it for food until morning?”

  “I know, Daddy. But my stomach is real hungry. I think I’m growing again.”

  “You’ll be taller than me soon.”

  “No, I won’t!”

  “Oh, yes, you might!”

  He swooped Sam upside down and tickled his stomach.

  “Stop it, Daddy. Stop it,” Sam said, laughing. I would have been worried they’d wake Melly, only she sleeps like the dead.

  Daniel deposited him at my feet. “You keep Mommy company while I go rustle up some food to make you grow taller.”

  Sam leaned into my legs and looked up at me with his big brown eyes. “Daddy was telling a joke, right, Mommy?”

  “Daddy was telling a joke.”

  “I don’t want to be too tall.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you read me in the pilot book that fighter pilots can’t be tall because they won’t fit in airplanes.”

  “You want to be a fighter pilot?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to being a fireman?”

  “That was when I was five, Mommy.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, I’ll have to update my book, then.” I pretended to take a notebook out of my pocket and flip its pages. “Mmm, let’s see, where is that page? Melly, Daniel, oh, here we are. Sam. What I want to be when I grow up. I’m putting down fighter pilot?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. I pretended to write.

  “Okay, then, done.”

  “That means it will come true now, doesn’t it, Mommy?”

  “Well, if you study and practice really hard, probably.”

  “But you wrote it down. And if you write it down, that means it’s true.”

  “Who told you that?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Sam!” Daniel called from the kitchen. “I think there’s some peanut-butter toast with your name on it.”

  Sam skipped away down the hall to his midnight snack. I cleaned up the rest of the living room while Daniel got him fed and back to bed. When he came downstairs, he was checking his e-mail on his phone.

  “This is funny.”

  “What?”

  “Guess who’s hosting this month’s block party?”

  “No one?”

  “You wish. The Dunbars.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

  “Oh, no. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over your embarrassment, or whatever it is, so you can run with John again. Or find some other women in the neighborhood to run with. I don’t care, so long as—”

  “It’s not alone, got it.”

  The May block party was the last I ever attended.

  There’s a moment before it starts to rain, where the wind is high and the air has announced its certain presence. The calm before the storm, they call it. Only it’s not really calm, it’s simply a moment of anticipation. As the trees rustle and the leaves blow, nature is taking in one last breath before it expels it.

  That’s how it felt as Daniel and I stood on the front step of the Dunbars’ house.

  Although I didn’t want to go to the party, I was curious about one thing: would alcohol be served, given John’s refusal to accept the no-alcohol policy at other events?

  It was proving to be a warm May, and the Dunbars had let it be known (through iNeighbor, but of course) that dinner would be—weather permitting—outside. I sprayed the kids with insect repellent and dressed them in long pants; the last couple of nights the mosquitoes had come out in attack formation around dusk. Melly had several welts on her face where they’d bitten into the downy skin of her cheeks, and my own ankles seemed to be a favorite snacking place.

  Hanna greeted us with her smile caught between her teeth. Daniel was carrying his customary bottle of wine. I had a large potato salad in Tupperware, because every good summer event needs a good potato salad, even when it’s not summer yet. The sight of the wine seemed to loosen her up a bit, her smile widening to reveal slightly stained teeth. She’d clearly been into the red wine already. I wondered if I should tell her that her transgression was visible, but then, as someone who used to have to hide her drinking, I was probably too attuned to that possibility. I decided to let it be.

  The twins spotted some of their classmates and looked at Hanna for permission before sprinting through the house. We followed them out onto their patio. I tried not to be too curious about the house, which I’d never been inside. Like most of the houses on our street, it started out as a modest, narrow Victorian. Subsequent generations had added on a floor over the garage and an extension at the back, so it was multileveled, like the series of decks at the back of our house. It was filled with traditional furniture in blue and beige tones, and twenty years of family photographs. John’s running shoes sat on a rack full of sports equipment. The wall above was covered with coats and hats and umbrellas.

  I didn’t feel at home or uncomfortable. It felt like someone else’s life.

  The backyard was pretty, though. Round Chinese lights were strung between the trees, and three long picnic tables formed a comfortable place for the grown-ups to sit and eat while the kids sat on plastic benches. It was a backyard that had seen a lot of large parties, and was well equipped.

  Half the block was there already, the men circled around the barbecue, the women keeping half an eye on their children. Music flowed at a gentle volume through the outdoor speakers, a mix of light jazz that neither pleased nor offended.

  No one else came to greet us, so we stood there, watching, like kids waiting to get picked for a team in gym class. Not that Daniel ever had to worry about that. I was the one who was holding us back, literally and figuratively.

  “Are we on the schedule?” I asked Daniel. I’d left the potato salad in the dining room, and was holding on to his hand like a kid being left off at the first day of kindergarten. I was rarely so clingy, but with one thing and another, I felt like I had to keep my ally close.

  “You mean for car pool?”

  “No, for the block parties. Aren’t we supposed to host one of these at some point?”

  “I think we only get put on the schedule in the second year. Or something like that. Give us a chance to settle in.”

  “Right. Sure.”

  “You so anxious to host?”

  “No, but I’d like to prove a couple of people wrong about me.”

  “Stop being so paranoid. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  My jaw clenched. He knew I hated being called paranoid, but I took a deep breath and let it go. It was too early in the evening for conflict.

  “There’s John,” Daniel said, pointing to the grill. “Go on.”

  He nudged me in the back, and I let go of his hand. John was standing with two other men, ones whose names I hadn’t nailed down yet. It reminded me of the first few weeks of law school; there seemed to be a window to learn everyone’s name. If you missed it, then you were shit out of luck for the next four years.

  All the men were holding beers, but when I looked more closely, they were O’Doul’s—nonalcoholic. So the ban was still in force, at least in the backyard.

  “Let me guess,” I said with some of the old confidence I used to have at college parties after a couple of mixed drinks. “You guys somehow managed to fill those bottles with real beer?”

  John laughed. “Don’t go spilling our se
crets now.”

  Cindy’s husband, Paul, looked at his bottle in surprise.

  “Is that why this tastes so good?”

  “She was joking, Paulie.”

  “Ah, right. Well, still, I’d better take it easy on these, just in case.”

  He wandered off in the vague way I’d noticed about him before. Without Cindy by his side, he seemed to be missing some fundamental parts of his personality. A few seconds later, the other man’s wife called him, in an exasperated tone, to come do something with their kids.

  And so John and I were alone.

  If you can be alone when a party full of people are watching.

  “How’s it going?” he said, turning over a raft of sausages.

  “It’s been a weird month, to be honest. You?”

  “Same.” He took a swig of his beer. “Are those cameras pointed at my house?”

  “What? No.”

  “Where, then?”

  “They show the perimeter of my house from every angle, so if someone comes on the property again, we’ll know who it is.”

  “Do you get the video feed live?”

  “Only the camera over the front door so we can see who’s there Why?”

  “Is there a way you could show Hanna that?”

  “How would I do that?”

  “Invite her over, show her there aren’t any monitors in the house.”

  “Why? Isn’t my word good enough?”

  “She’s just . . .” He closed the lid on the barbecue and glanced around. Hanna wasn’t in view, but Cindy was eyeing us. “She feels like she’s being watched. And between that and what happened to Chris . . . if she knew I was telling you this, she’d kill me, but she wants to send a letter, a formal lawyer’s letter, telling you to take the cameras down and asking for compensation.”

  “She what?”

  “Keep your voice down. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Is this because of . . . she doesn’t know about . . .”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “I don’t know what to think right now.”

  John looked over my shoulder.

  “Daniel’s coming.”

  I stared down at my shoes, trying to process what he’d said. Was the world really so off-kilter that someone who’d terrorized me could get away scot-free, and people I’d been doing my best to befriend could sue me because their son acted like a thief?

  “Are you guys back on?” Daniel asked, placing his hand on the small of my back. I leaned against it for support.

  “Back on?” John said.

  “He means running. He thought we should start running together again so he doesn’t have to worry about me, because I’ve been doing it alone.”

  I met John’s eyes as I said this, pleading with him to say no.

  “I’m actually suffering from shin splints right now,” John said. “But do you know Stephanie and Leslie? They run pretty frequently. And I agree with Daniel. You shouldn’t run alone.”

  My shoulders shrank. The shin splints were bullshit. I’d seen him go out for a run at noon every day. But who was I to force the issue?

  “Can you introduce me?”

  “They’re standing over by the swing set,” John said, pointing to a redhead and a bottle blonde I recognized as one of the women who’d stood by Cindy during our confrontation in the pickup line at school. Neither of them looked particularly in shape, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Thanks,” I said, and walked away, leaving Daniel with John.

  I hovered on the edge of the circle Stephanie and Leslie were a part of, wishing I had access to John’s flask. I hated asking people for things. Maybe my nightly walks with Susan would be enough? And where the hell was she, anyway? She’d promised to be here tonight for moral support.

  “Can I help you?” Stephanie said when she finally noticed me standing there. She had a china-doll complexion, with round, blue eyes.

  “Um, hi. I’m Julie. I’m not sure we ever formally met? I live across the street?”

  “We know who you are.”

  “Right. Well, um, John mentioned you guys run together sometimes? And, uh, I was wondering if I could join you?”

  “I thought you ran with John?” Leslie asked. She was shorter than I was and had the stocky thighs of a sprinter.

  “He’s injured.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what he says. Anyway, if I’m not welcome, it’s fine. Just thought I’d ask.”

  I started backpedaling away. Three steps in, I plowed right into someone, pushing them off balance so she dropped the plate of drinks in her hands. It fell to the ground with a crash, glass and china shattering everywhere.

  I turned around to come face-to-face with a shocked Hanna.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I’m the world’s worst klutz.”

  I bent down to start picking up the glass shards. Stephanie went over to where the kids were playing to keep them in place.

  “Do you have a garbage bag or something? Or maybe a broom?”

  “Leave it,” Hanna said. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “I really want to help. I’ll pay to replace the glasses and . . .”

  “Julie. Please. Don’t you think you should just go?”

  I looked up at her. The red stains had moved from her teeth to her lips, like a berry lip balm that had been applied unevenly.

  “What?”

  “Just leave. I can’t believe you showed up here in the first place.”

  John approached with Daniel. John looked like he wanted to say something but was holding himself back.

  Daniel came to my side and helped me up.

  “Is that really called for, Hanna?” he said, his voice full of controlled anger. “It was an accident.”

  “Everything’s an accident with her! Chris, the glasses, the cameras that just happen to be pointed at our house.”

  “I’ve apologized for what happened to Chris over and over. What more can I do? What do you want me to do?”

  Hanna walked into the kitchen, leaving the debris behind. I looked at Daniel.

  “Can you get the kids?”

  He nodded and walked to the sandpit where they were building a castle with their friends. The party had gone silent.

  I caught John’s eye, and he gave the faintest of shrugs. No one was going to come to my aid or my defense. I was alone in a sea of shattered glass.

  “Here,” Hanna said, returning from the kitchen, her face full of red splotches. She thrust a thick envelope at me. “This is what you can do. It’s all in there.”

  I started to open it mechanically, but Daniel stopped me.

  “Read that later. Let’s go.”

  Everyone watched as the four of us walked out of the backyard. We ran into Cindy in the hall, coming out of the powder room. Her eyes looked glassy.

  “Leaving so soon?” she asked, her voice listing.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said.

  “Leave it, Jules.”

  “No. I’m so sick of this. Ever since I got here, she’s been acting like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Is it because I wasn’t enthusiastic enough about your welcome basket?”

  “You didn’t even write me a thank-you card.”

  “Seriously? I didn’t thank you for something I never even asked for, and that’s license to ruin my life?”

  The people from outside crowded into the hall behind us.

  “Stop being so melodramatic,” Cindy said. “Ruin your life? What about that poor boy? What about Hanna having to feel like everything she does is caught on camera?”

  “This all started long before then. You’ve never welcomed me here. Ever since that first party, we were a bunch of outsiders who weren’t good enough for you.”

  “Can you blame me? With your new money, your misbehaving daughter, and those creepy books you write? They’re right. You’re as weird in real life as you come across on the page.”

  “I think you’ve
said enough,” Daniel said sharply.

  “I quite agree,” John said, getting a look from both Daniel and Hanna. “Cindy, why don’t you go back outside. And the rest of you, too. Show’s over.”

  Cindy huffed and stormed down the hall. Hanna took her by the arm in a gentle way that promised a forbidden glass of brandy. Everyone else seeped away, and it was just me, John, Daniel, and the kids left in the hallway. John and Hanna’s wedding picture tilted precariously behind him.

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” John said.

  “Not your fault, man.”

  John looked at me. “Take care of yourself. This will all blow over.”

  He reached out and briefly squeezed my arm as Hanna returned. It was nothing, a second of encouragement, but before his hand had fallen away, Melly said in that clear voice of hers, “No kissing!”

  Service

  John

  Five months ago

  The morning after our block party, I found Hanna in the backyard, the small vacuum cleaner in hand, hovering over invisible shards of glass on our back porch. We’d spent an hour the night before making sure every last piece was gone. Everyone had pitched in. It had even sort of become fun. We’d collected the glass into a small pile. Looking at it, on the towel we’d placed on the picnic table, it seemed like there was more glass than needed for six drinking glasses.

  Glass is funny that way.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. Hanna’s hair was tied in a tight ponytail on the crown of her head. She looked like Becky, young and vigorous. And angry.

  We’d gone to bed silently. It had taken me a long time to sleep. Though I’d given Hanna the go-ahead with the lawsuit the month before, I hadn’t heard anything since then. I didn’t know for sure what she’d handed Julie at the party, but I could guess.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “I thought we got it all last night?”

  She held up a tiny sliver of glass. It glinted in the sun. “I almost stepped on this.”

  “Accidents—”

  “No, I will not listen to that again. I knew there was something off about her the first night we met. Remember I said so after the block party?”

  I didn’t, but I nodded.

  “She’s poison. She’s poisoning us. We used to be happy, didn’t we?”