Fractured

by Catherine McKenzie

  I bent down and took the vacuum out of Hanna’s hand.

  “What do you mean, used to be? We’re okay, aren’t we?”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Hey, come here.” I helped her up and led her to one of the picnic tables. It was a beautiful, crisp morning, a perfect one for running. But that was the last thing I needed to do today, alone or otherwise.

  “Talk to me,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  She put her chin on her forearms on the table. “I know this isn’t rational, or at least, I hope it isn’t, but ever since she moved in, I feel like things are different between us.”

  “Different how?”

  “It’s like you’re standing right next to me, but you’re in a different room.”

  I would’ve liked to pretend I didn’t know what she meant. But I couldn’t. My mind had been across the street since October. And I didn’t seem to be able to pull it back.

  “I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

  “What if I asked you never to speak to her again?”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “It might be.”

  “Then, yes. I can do that. If you want me to.”

  “There’s really nothing going on between you?”

  “No. We’re friends. Were friends, I guess.”

  Hanna’s always told me that, despite what she does for a living, she can’t tell when people are lying. She might know they are because she has a document that proves it or they said something different in a deposition. But those signs you see television lawyers picking up? They either don’t exist or fly right past her.

  I placed my hand on the side of her face and turned her toward me. I looked directly into her eyes.

  “I promise you,” I said. “There is nothing between us other than friendship. We’re both home all the day. You know the transition to being home has been weird for me. It’s nice to have a friend, someone who knows what it’s like. But I should’ve realized it might seem like something more to you. I should have talked to you about it.”

  I kissed her. Our lips were dry against each other’s. I didn’t push for anything more, but I could sense Hanna relaxing.

  “Can I ask about one more thing?” she said when we broke apart.

  “Of course.”

  “It’s going to sound stupid.”

  “Just ask.”

  “Why do you think her daughter said that last night? As they were leaving?”

  “What?” I said, my voice tight despite my best efforts. “The ‘no kissing’ thing?”

  “Yeah. That was weird. Wasn’t it?”

  “I have no idea why she said that. She’s six.”

  “Sometimes kids say things others are afraid to.”

  “What are you saying? You think I kissed Julie in front of her daughter?”

  She leans away from me. “When you say it like that . . .”

  “Is that what you really think of me?”

  “No.”

  Feeling like the complete and utter asshole that I am, I got up and walked into the kitchen, leaving Hanna on the porch. For lack of something better to do, I opened the dishwasher and started putting the dishes away.

  “You’ll wake the kids,” Hanna said, closing the patio doors behind her.

  “Worse things have happened.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re something.”

  I put a plate on the counter. “I’m tired, Hanna. This is hard to understand and take in. I don’t know how we ended up here.”

  “Now you sound like me.”

  “I guess we’re both searching for answers.”

  She placed her hands on my hips. I turned around. Hanna didn’t often look or seem vulnerable, but she did in that moment. And my desire to protect her was as strong as if she were one of my children. She never liked it when I told her that. But I thought that day might be an exception.

  “We’re in this together,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “We’re a family. You are my family.”

  “I still want to go ahead with the lawsuit.”

  “Is that what those papers were last night? The ones you gave Julie?”

  “It was a formal request that she take down the cameras and compensate us for Chris. But if she doesn’t do those things, then . . .”

  “Do you really think that’s going to accomplish anything?”

  She leaned her head back. Her eyes were wet. “I can’t tell. But I feel like I don’t have any control over anything right now, and that needs to change.”

  “Would it . . . would you let me try one last time to convince her to take the cameras down?”

  “The cameras won’t solve Chris’s face.”

  “I know, but maybe there’s a way we can put a claim in with their insurance? Let me at least ask, okay?”

  “And what about the lawsuit?”

  “Don’t you think it would be better if I told her? To show her how serious you . . . we are.”

  “No. If we have to go there, I want the element of surprise. I want to see how she feels if a bailiff comes to her door and serves her papers.”

  Hanna looked hard, then. The way she did when I’d gone to see in her court. Like reinforced glass.

  “Okay,” I said, the lie rolling out of me the way too many had already. “I won’t tell her about the lawsuit.”

  I waited until Monday to talk to Julie. I didn’t want an audience. I didn’t want to have the conversation at all. But I owed it to my wife. And I owed it to Julie, too. I started something with that first conversation in October. A push in a direction that snowballed.

  I had the perfect excuse. I’d finally managed to get her webpage looking like I thought it should. We’d had one conversation about it, months before. She’d shown me sites she liked. Told me what she didn’t like about her existing site. Then I’d gotten a contract from P&G, and I’d lost track of time. It was unsettling how the days slipped by now that I didn’t have a fixed schedule. It wasn’t how the years speeded up when you got older. Each year taking less space than the last. It was more like how something that has no shape can be difficult to define. Other than the markers of mealtimes, there wasn’t anything specific I needed to do at any given time. Even lunch was fluid. What did it matter if I ate at eleven or one or three? So long as I met my deadlines, none of it mattered.

  And somehow, Julie’s site didn’t feel like a deadline. It felt more like a point of connection I could only keep if I didn’t complete it.

  But I had to cut all ties. So I’d spent the weekend working feverishly to finish it after Hanna went to bed. It wouldn’t have done to have her find me deciding between two of Julie’s head shots.

  I spent much of that morning at the window. There were scuff marks in the floor now where I usually stood. Or perhaps that was my imagination. Maybe they’d always been there, a remnant of another generation of owners I’d never noticed before.

  Regardless, I stood on my mark and pushed the curtain aside. I watched as Julie helped get Daniel and the kids into the car, then return inside. I was still watching when she emerged half an hour later in her running clothes. I resisted the urge to run after her, and occupied my time until I knew she’d be back. I was at my post when she returned an hour later.

  Then I counted out the minutes her stretch and shower would take.

  I didn’t leave quite enough time.

  I stood on her front porch, searching for a doorbell. Instead, there was a key panel and an intercom, but there wasn’t any button to press.

  I raised my hand to knock. I heard the whir of a camera swiveling.

  “What is it?” A disembodied voice asked before I touched wood.

  “Julie? It’s John. Can I come in?”

  “I just got out of the shower.”

  “I can wait.”

  “Hold on.”

  I sat down on the front stoop. I looked acros
s the street at my own house. Unremarkable as always. A garbage truck worked its way up the street. Its gears ground loudly. Other than that, the street felt deserted. But yet, I felt watched. Felt certain that if I pulled out my phone and checked iNeighbor, someone would’ve checked me in.

  John Dunbar is sitting on Julie’s front porch. Looks like trouble.

  The door beeped behind me and opened. Julie’s hair was wrapped in a towel, but she was otherwise dressed.

  Julie lets John into her house in a state of undress.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked once I was inside, fluttering a piece of paper at me.

  I felt a surge of anger. Had Hanna gone ahead and served the papers, even though I’d asked her to hold off?

  “What the fuck is wrong with that woman?” Julie said.

  “Hold on a minute now. You can’t speak about my wife like that.”

  “Your wife? What? I meant Cindy. Is Hanna behind this?”

  “Behind what?”

  She handed me the paper. It was a note from Cindy telling her she was no longer welcome at the monthly block parties.

  “Did you guys take a vote or something? I tried to check iNeighbor, but I’ve been blocked there, too. Ha!” There was a note of hysteria in her voice.

  “I had no idea about this.”

  “Of all the petty things, to actually disinvite me from the block parties! As if I ever wanted to go to them in the first place.” She smiled, but her bottom lip quivered. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You know, you and Susan are the only people who’ve been at all welcoming to me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “But it is. I feel like the fat girl in high school all over again.”

  “Hey, now, come on.”

  She brought her hands up to her face. She was crying hard. I didn’t know what to do. So I did the wrong thing.

  I wrapped my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. My hands went reflexively to her hair.

  Julie and John were observed in an embrace.

  She took a deep shuddering breath, and we both pulled away.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “I need to call Daniel.”

  “Daniel?”

  She wiped her tears away. “I promised myself that this would never happen again.”

  “Nothing’s happened.”

  “Something was about to happen.”

  “Okay, maybe, but it didn’t. We didn’t.”

  “I need to stop this. I need to take responsibility for my life. Everything is so screwed up right now.”

  “This can’t all be about Cindy.”

  “It isn’t. But . . . why are you here?”

  “Oh. Um, I finished your website.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, remember? You asked me to work on it for you.”

  “But I didn’t pay you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’ll write you a check.”

  “Why don’t you take a look at the site and see if you like it first. Then you can pay me if you want.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll e-mail you the link.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I feel like a shit asking you this now, but do you think there’s any way you could take down the cameras? Or see if your insurance company would pay something toward plastic surgery for Chris?”

  “That’s what Hanna asked for in that letter she gave me.” She frowned. “What you’re suing me for.”

  “We haven’t sued you.”

  “But you’re going to, right? You said so on Friday. So you’re here to make one last effort to get me to take the cameras down or else.”

  “It’s probably something like that,” I admitted.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because ever since the cameras went up, everything but the phone calls has stopped.”

  “Couldn’t that be a coincidence?”

  “Sure. Or maybe, it’s someone in the neighborhood who’s been doing everything.”

  “Do you think it’s someone in my house? Is that why the cameras are pointed our way?”

  She unwound the towel from her head. Her hair was half-dry and tangled. “I already told Hanna, the cameras aren’t pointed at your house.”

  “I feel like we’re going around in circles.”

  “So do I.”

  “What’s the solution?”

  “You go your way, and I go mine. You came to tell me that too, right? That we couldn’t speak anymore?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes me sad.”

  “Me too.”

  Our eyes locked. I knew this was the right decision, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  “Are you going to drop the lawsuit?” she asked.

  “Are you going to take the cameras down?”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to be able to convince Hanna otherwise.”

  “I can . . . write you a check for Chris.”

  “No.”

  “I want to.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Hanna about that.”

  “Hanna and I talking doesn’t turn out well.”

  “She’s . . . she’s really nice, you know. I love her. I always have.”

  A slight wince. “You can tell. It’s nice to see.”

  “Daniel loves you, too.”

  “He does.”

  “I should go. But . . . why don’t you try and make friends with Hanna? All of this . . . I feel like we all got off on the wrong foot.”

  “Those damn matching Asics,” she said, and we stood there for a minute longer, looking at our feet.

  Pine Street Neighborhood Association

  Monthly Newsletter

  June edition

  Hello Neighbors!

  Wow, it’s summer! How did that happen? Time FLIES by.

  My almanac says it’s going to be a hot one! I know we all love our lush backyards, but let’s take it easy on the watering!**

  Exciting update on the speed-bump campaign. We, okay, me, ahem, were able to get a meeting with our city councilor and I’m pleased to report that she is SERIOUSLY considering the idea. The fact that I was able to show her the many complaints logged on iNeighbor about cars speeding on our street seemed to tip the scales in our favor. So, keep up the good work data collectors! No word yet on when they’ll be installed, but fingers crossed it’s soon!

  A big shout-out to all of you who took the time to vote for Ashley’s Eden Park series in the Cincinnati Junior Photo Contest. While runner-up is fantastic, I’ve launched an official investigation into whether the winner’s parents were using a form of robocalling to tip the scales in their daughter’s favor. I think we can all agree that her photographs had nothing on Ashley’s. If you have any skills in that area—John Dunbar, I’m looking at you!—please give me a ring.

  For those of you in the book club, this month’s read will be Wreckage by Emily Bleeker. I hear it’s much better than some books that will remain nameless!

  Stay cool (but not too cool**).

  Cindy Sutton,

  PSNA Chair and Founder, 2009–present

  **In accordance with bylaw 201.45, sprinklers may only run for thirty minutes, twice a week.

  Today

  John

  2:00 p.m.

  When Hanna comes out of the grand jury room, she won’t look me in the eye. Though she was put together when she went in there, now she’s a mess. She’s pulled her hair from its pins, something she does when she frets. It’s hanging in her eyes, half hiding her face. Her suit looks slept in, the skirt rumpled from where her hands have been clutching at it. Her expression reminds me of the time we were on a plane that landed in a lightning storm. We lost significant altitude several times. A woman behind us threw up. One of the flight attendants briefly floated t
oward the ceiling, then slammed to the floor. We had to assume the crash position. When we were finally safe on the ground, we’d stumbled off as if we’d flown through a war zone.

  That’s what Hanna looks like. As if she’s been at war. Perhaps with herself.

  I gesture for her to come to me, my arms half-open. Instead, she walks up to Chris and pulls him into a hug. She whispers something in his ear. The “I love you,” I hear. The rest is lost. Then the clerk calls his name. Hanna clutches Chris’s arm, not wanting to let him go. He loosens her fingers gently, one by one. Says, “It’s okay, Mom.” I give his shoulder a squeeze. He doesn’t look at me. Maybe he thinks I’m still trying to get him to keep my secrets. But that’s the furthest thing from my mind. My son is about to walk into a place where we can’t help him anymore. Perhaps that’s been true before. But it’s never felt like this.

  Then he’s away from us. Through the doors. The doors are closed. We’re left behind in a roomful of strangers who are trying not to act as if they’re watching our every move.

  “Why did they call Chris now?” I ask Alicia, keeping my voice low.

  Her brow is furrowed. “I’m not sure. They’ll have their own logic to what they’re doing, wanting to put together the puzzle in a particular way. As I’ve said, this isn’t going to be X said this, what do you have to say about that? They’ll ask their questions, and then make their argument to the grand jury. The questions themselves will be a type of argument. Building blocks. That’s why it’s important we stick to the strategy individually.”

  Building blocks. Shovels of dirt. Building a wall. I’ve heard her use all of these analogies and more. Instead of saying straight out what they want to do: bury us.

  “How did it go?” Alicia asks a still-silent Hanna.

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to say.”

  “Not the substance, but are you okay?”

  “I’ve been through worse.”

  Alicia puts her arm around Hanna’s shoulders. She tenses, then relaxes. I can’t help feeling jealous. I should be the one she leans on. The one she relaxes against.

  I was that person in the car this morning. Was it simply because there was no one else to fit the bill?