The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  “I know, right,” Laney said, like one of the teenagers.

  “I’m more into the lemon bars,” Sarah said.

  “You’ll change your mind if you try one of these,” Laney said.

  Maryellen coveted a large crumb clinging to the plate’s border.

  “Already hit my dessert limit,” Sarah said.

  “Your loss,” Laney winked and helped herself to yet another before turning back toward the dessert table.

  Had she not been so busy sampling everything as it arrived, she might have realized sooner that they only had a small stack of disposable plates left over from last year’s party.

  And no knives.

  Maryellen pinched herself lightly for thinking what felt like free-flowing unpleasant thoughts. She offered the remaining brownie to Hope.

  Hope held up her drink. “I’m good.”

  “I’m good, too,” Frank said, grabbing the last one, splitting it in half and giving it to Hope. “But a little of this will only make you better.”

  The photographer appeared and pointed his camera in Maryellen’s direction. “Can you scoot closer to the couple next to you? The three of you are so well-coordinated.”

  “So funny,” Sarah said looking at Hope and Frank. “You guys really do all match.”

  Maryellen laughed along, even though she didn’t find anything particularly funny about Hope’s blue, yellow, and red floral dress coordinating with her yellow top and jean skirt and matching Frank’s multistriped polo.

  Frank put his arm around both her and Hope. “Have to immortalize this lucky moment.”

  The photographer snapped the picture.

  “Got a problem that may not be so lucky.” Larry Miller or Barry Stiller, she couldn’t pull up the name and Frank usually referred to him as Mr. Know-it-all, appeared as the photographer turned for his next subjects. “Borrow your rec center keys, Frank?”

  “For?”

  “I thought I’d take a peek into the mechanical room.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I notice there’s water pooling on the lower patio.”

  Frank glanced out toward the lower level and back toward Hope. “Can’t it wait?”

  “If it gets worse and someone drinks too much and slips…”

  “Better go with you—restricted keys and all.” Before following whatever his name was, Frank whispered, “Mel, keep an eye on Hope.”

  Maryellen nodded and watched him walk away.

  Then she watched Hope head for the bar.

  The next thing she knew she found herself headed back to the dessert table where Tim Trautman had materialized beside Laney.

  “So the brownies are the ticket, you say?” he asked.

  “Definitely.” Laney stood so close to him, her cleavage was practically touching his shoulder. “That is, as far as dessert goes.”

  “I see.” He helped himself to a peek at her goodies while she leaned toward the now almost empty platter.

  “They’re especially delicious,” she placed the last three squares on a napkin and handed it to him. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Excellent,” he said, turning toward the bar. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  ***

  Tim removed the plastic tumbler Hope held in one hand and replaced the icy remnants of her drink with a fresh vodka and cranberry with a lime.

  “Thanks,” she said. “How’d you know?”

  “Exactly.” He grasped her free hand and began to lead her away from the pool area.

  “Where are we going?” Her eyes twinkled with alcohol-fueled enthusiasm.

  “Somewhere I should have taken you a while ago.”

  She looked confused, but followed along willingly enough. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

  “No chance of that.” Which, despite his best efforts, took all day. After keeping his distance while champagne restored Hope’s nonmaternal but otherwise lovely glow, he’d taken the boys to the pool thinking maybe she’d be there. She wasn’t. He’d texted her while they splashed around in the water and, once he found out she was going to the potluck, planned to feed the kids at the party and send them home with Lauren. When he got home, Theresa had pizza waiting for dinner. He finally coaxed her into bed and got to the party, but then had to convince Gerry Miller something was wrong with the sump pump to get Frank away from Hope’s side. “Theresa wasn’t feeling perfect, so I hung around until she was settled in enough for me to stop by the party.”

  “Such a good husband,” Hope said wistfully, drunkenly.

  “Better friend.” He led her around the back of the rec center and stopped at a secluded picnic table set in a grove of pine trees.

  “Here?” she asked with a slight slur.

  The cocktail and half a brownie he’d downed before locating Hope already had him feeling pleasantly buzzed.

  “Time to unveil my ancient Chinese fertility weapon.” He held her hand, helped her climb atop the picnic table, and joined her. “One of them, anyway.”

  She looked down at her drink. “How did you know I wasn’t—?”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her he knew she’d gotten her period at the pizza party through Theresa, via Lauren, who, in atypical teenage fashion, decided to actually share a few details of that particular day and recount Hope’s disappointed request in the rec center bathroom. Instead he said, “The cocktail I poured for you at ten in the morning was a dead giveaway.”

  Moonlit tears began to forge a path down her cheek. “Wasn’t my first.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “I’m surprised I’m still coherent.” She took a drink and the strap of her sundress slipped, revealing a fetching pink lace bra strap.

  And an even more attractive shoulder.

  “I really do think I might be able to help.”

  “After the last two weeks, I’m open to almost anything.”

  Her bare upper arm brushed against his bicep and “Tonight’s the Night” started up again in his head. “When Theresa and I were trying for Lauren, I finally came to the conclusion we weren’t succeeding because we were just way too uptight about the whole process.”

  “That’s exactly what Jim said.” Hope took a gulp of her drink. “About me.”

  Tim reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the brownies. He owed Laney one for the tip-off that they seemed to contain ingredients more medicinal than just chocolate. Judging by her friendliness, the payback was going to pay off for both of them. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

  Disappointment clouded Hope’s face. “Aren’t those the brownies Maryellen was going on about with the chocolate chips and caramel and—?”

  “Maybe hash.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hash?”

  “Or really strong pot.”

  “That explains why I feel so. . .” She covered her mouth, but didn’t try to conceal her throaty giggle. “And, oh, my God, Maryellen’s been nibbling on them all evening.”

  “Explains why she was so reticent to let them out of her sight.”

  “Frank and Meg Pierce-Cohn are going to be—”

  “Feeling fairly excellent by about now.”

  “Do they know that they’ve been eating… ?”

  “If they don’t, they should suspect something by now.” The caramel drizzle glistened in the moonlight as he waved the brownie in her direction.

  “Shouldn’t we say something?”

  “Nah, they’re gone.”

  “Aren’t you worried that—?”

  “I’m only worried about you.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said.

  “So are these.” He handed her a brownie.

  “I can’t remember the last time I did anything like this. Isn’t it supposed to be bad for fertility?”

  “After Theresa’s miscarriage, I had her smoke a bowl or two to help her relax.” He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Next thing we knew…”

  She took a b
ite and began to chew.

  Swallowed.

  “What if we get caught?”

  “Eating dessert together?”

  She giggled.

  He took a bite of his.

  “What if word is out there’s hash in the brownies and someone sees us eating them?”

  “In your case, they’re medically necessary.”

  “Can’t argue with logic.” She took another bite. “Really are delicious.”

  “No kidding.” He licked stray caramel from his finger. “Mine always came out suspiciously sinewy.”

  “You’ve made them before?”

  He smiled. “I make a killer mushroom pizza, too.”

  “Sometimes I wish Jim were a little more…”

  Tim let his leg relax so his thigh grazed hers. “Handy in the kitchen and the garden?”

  “Interested in my interests.” She picked up her drink and took a sip, but didn’t move her leg away. “Interesting.”

  “You know…”

  “I know,” he said.

  She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I don’t usually do stuff like this—”

  Tim broke the remaining brownie in half. “I’m not the judgmental type.”

  “But, I went to a psychic.”

  “Really,” he managed, hoping he’d managed to temper the desperation from his voice.

  “She read my tea leaves.”

  Did she see that once Theresa had the babies he’d be too tired from helping out with night feedings to even think about seducing Hope properly?

  Hope’s skirt rode up ever so slightly as she crossed and uncrossed her legs.

  At least until things normalized, anyway.

  “Kinda ridiculous, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed anything she said, but I swear within days of her telling me she saw an anchor and a garden in the tea leaves, Frank asked me to consult on the playground.” She smiled. “And I ran into you in the garden section of Home Depot.”

  He gave her a pat, but allowed his hand to linger on her thigh. “And the next thing you knew, we were talking about a garden-themed nursery.”

  “So you don’t think I’m crazy for thinking the signs were clear?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thing is…” A tear rolled down her face. “I’m still not—”

  “Pregnant?”

  He wiped her cheek with his thumb. “You will be.”

  “Promise?”

  “Even if I have to offer myself up for the cause.” He gave his best just kidding smile so she wouldn’t have to worry that he wasn’t.

  Unless she wanted to.

  “You’re funny.” She smiled back. “And fun to be around and cute and

  …Theresa’s so lucky to have you.”

  “I am a happy, lucky man,” he said. “But…”

  “But, I’m dying for something salty,” she said.

  That, he could definitely provide.

  “I’m dying for—”

  For? For him to take her off to a secluded corner and ravage her?

  “Bugles.” She put her head on his shoulder.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his newly minted key to the rec center. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Guess I’m the lucky one, too,” she said.

  He ran his fingers through her hair.

  Confusion crossed her face then disappeared in the deep blue of her eyes.

  She leaned toward him, or maybe he leaned in first. One way or another, their lips neared each other’s at exactly the same time…

  ***

  Frank looped around the pool area checking every conversation cluster. He didn’t necessarily expect Maryellen to be standing right next to Hope, but why couldn’t he find either of them?

  Maryellen was probably cleaning up.

  With all Hope had to drink, she was probably in the bathroom.

  Hungry and far more lightheaded than a few cocktails usually left him, he grabbed a macaroon from the picked-over dessert table.

  He couldn’t remember the last time alcohol left him feeling so disconnected.

  Not in charge.

  Why hadn’t he just opened the damn door to the mechanical room and let Gerry Miller play sump pump expert by his lonesome? Instead of five minutes away, he played audience for forty-five while the man detailed intricacies of the system, pondered possible causes for malfunction, and ultimately decided the thing worked fine.

  Now Hope was gone.

  He’d managed to keep an eye on her from that first tentative step out her front door. Hope had perked up, like he knew she would, with all the accolades. He’d counted her champagne refills—three—and distracted her from finishing Trautman’s contribution of a fourth, even if the plastic flutes were equal to less than half a drink. He escorted her home afterward for a nap and confirmed she didn’t need a ride to the evening party since she was only planning to make a cameo.

  He glanced over the fence, out toward the parking lot.

  Her silver Volvo was parked safely in the lot.

  “Have you seen Hope Jordan?” he asked on his way toward the pool bathrooms.

  “Not for a while,” someone said.

  “Nope,” someone else said. “But I’ve been standing here talking for some time now.”

  He tapped Jane Hunt on her way into the restrooms and asked her to see if Hope had somehow slid by unnoticed.

  She hadn’t.

  “How about Maryellen?” he asked Jane before she headed back toward the bar area.

  She pointed to an out-of-the-way nook. “Over there.”

  Maryellen was standing with Laney where Jane pointed, but blocked from view by Roseanne Goldberg. He didn’t see Hope, but maybe Roseanne was harboring her behind that ample backside.

  He started across the pool deck.

  “You really should set up an appointment with my naturopath, Laney,” Roseanne’s phlegmy voice bubbled in his ears as he joined them, standing together by the lost and found. “You never seem to be feeling right these days.”

  No Hope.

  “He’s great with nonspecific—”

  “Frank,” Maryellen sounded slurry. “Laney’s not feeling so well. Overdone it, maybe.”

  “Go on home, Laney,” he said, and hopefully with less impatience than he felt. “Maryellen and the kids will finish things up.”

  “But I let the kids off early so they could enjoy the party,” Maryellen said.

  “Shouldn’t have,” Frank said. “Where’s Hope?”

  Maryellen looked guiltily past him toward the other side of the pool. “She was right over there last I looked.”

  “There’s no one over there now,” he said.

  Maryellen looked confused. “Must have disappeared.”

  “She did.” Laney did look pale, especially under the pool lights. “With a fresh cocktail and Tim Trautman.”

  ***

  Bitch.

  How could that bitch pick up those giant scissors without ever saying a word?

  Meg certainly had a word to say when she came back from the ribbon cutting. Two of them: Man up.

  He’d rolled that little phrase around all afternoon along with how disappointed she was he’d quit the HOB, that no one respected a quitter, that his brooding was anything but sexy.

  Long after she left for the potluck to break bread with her constituents, recongratulate Griffin on behalf of not only the community, but the Pierce-Cohn family, and go on to make excuses for her husband’s glaring, embarrassing absence, he still couldn’t figure out why Hope never bothered to mention she was consulting on the playground.

  Why she was kissing up to Frank Griffin like he really did have a direct line to the Big Guy upstairs?

  One thing Will knew for sure, Bitch needed to provide some answers.

  He polished off his beer.

  He didn’t deposit the empty bottle in the recycle bin, or even rinse it out and leave it in the sink. He didn�
��t even bother to clear it from the coffee table.

  Time to man up.

  ***

  Frank found her on the bottom step of the main stairwell by the vending machines.

  She was glassy-eyed and clearly intoxicated, but alone.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Hope readjusted the strap of her sundress atop her shoulder. “Here I am.”

  “I was worried that you—” He looked down the hall, but didn’t see that slime Trautman.

  He hadn’t seen him at the party, but the guy must have been lurking, watching, waiting for him to let his guard down and leave Hope’s side. For all he knew, Gerry had gone to him first and, knowing the keys weren’t supposed to be out of a board member’s sight, pretended he didn’t have his and sent him on to Frank to take the bait. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  Glad Trautman wasn’t by her side. Or worse.

  “I needed something.” Hope straightened her skirt. “To eat.”

  “There’s food out by the pool.” He tried to, but couldn’t completely focus on what exactly was left beyond half-eaten pies and soggy chips.

  “What I wanted—” She dropped some quarters into the machine, fumbled with the buttons. “Not Doritos.” She watched intently as a bag of something twisted and fell with a dull thump. “Bugles.”

  “Bugles?”

  She tore open the bag, popped one into his mouth, and popped one into her own.

  The waffle-y, salty, oily, never-realized-how-delicious-they-were-ness of them was momentarily distracting until the hum of the vending machines grew too loud to ignore. “This area was supposed to be locked up.”

  “Tim let me in.” She popped a Bugle in her mouth.

  “Tim.” The bright red of the Coke machine reflected his anger.

  She scrunched her face. “You’re mad.”

  “Tim wasn’t supposed to open this area. Leave you down here alone.”

  “He’s sorry.” She giggled. “He just wanted me to give me some…”

  “Some?”

  “Bugles.” She smiled. “He gave me change.”

  “Nice of him.”

  “He’s a good friend.”

  How good? “You know—”

  “Know what?”

  He paused for the right words. “Men like Tim sometimes have ulterior motives.”

  “Usually.”

  He felt his face flush. Of course she knew. Women as beautiful as Hope always knew. “I just wanted to make sure—”