The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  “At least we were all among friends.”

  Maryellen didn’t say anything, but patted her arm, turned, and reached into the bookcase.

  Within seconds, Hope held copies of A Sailor Went to Sea, Sea, Sea; Sailboats!; and Ahoy Landlubbers. “I’m afraid that’s about all we have.”

  Hope opened the first book. “Maybe all I need.”

  “One more thought,” Maryellen said. She was halfway across the room, swerving around another bucket before Hope could leaf through the next book.

  Hope followed her to the adult side of the library and into a narrow stack, stopping at the base of the ladder Maryellen had already scrambled atop.

  Maryellen handed down a coffee table book called Yachts of the World.

  “Perfect,” Hope said.

  “Oh, and there’s this.” She pulled a pamphlet-thin book and tossed it down.

  “A nautical knot manual?”

  A droplet of water fell from the ceiling and plinked into yet another bucket sitting at the end of the stack.

  “Might come in handy. You never know.”

  ***

  Laney logged on to the Denver Family Medical website and keyed in her name and password. Before she double-clicked on Patient Inbox, she called Sarah. “Swear to me you don’t think there’s something terribly wrong with me.”

  “We’ve been over this ten times,” Sarah said. “A patronizing bedside manner doesn’t mean the doctor thought you were terminal.”

  “Just very sick.”

  “Laney, read the test results.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Positive thoughts, remember?”

  A cold chill rattled down Laney’s spine. “Don’t have any.”

  “You’re not sick,” Sarah sighed, “but if you are, you’ll ask yourself how you allowed yourself to get away from the good health you desire and deserve. Then you’ll work on getting back into the proper mode of appreciation so you can receive all the blessings you’re blocking with your negativity.”

  “Okay,” Laney took a deep breath, “but if I have to have chemo or something, promise you’ll run the Mother’s Helpers parties I’ve scheduled for the next few months.”

  “Jesus, Laney, read the damn report already.”

  “Okay.” Laney’s temples, which hadn’t bothered her since her second cup of coffee, began to throb.

  A sound, like a box being pushed across the floor, filled Sarah’s end of the line.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning assorted crap out of my rec room,” she said.

  “While I’m reading my death sentence?”

  “Obviously, I’m not terribly worried.”

  Laney calmed her skyrocketing blood pressure with the deepest breath she could take, and double-clicked:

  Ms. Estridge:

  Her imminent need to pass out disappeared with the first four words of the doctor’s note:

  I am pleased to report…

  “Laney?” Sarah asked. “What is it?”

  Laney took a deep breath and read the first sentence aloud:

  I am pleased to report there were no abnormalities in your blood work, nor any significant changes in your levels relative to your last two blood workups.

  “Told ya,” Sarah said over the sound of cardboard sliding across concrete.

  Nearly blind from relief, Laney scanned the next paragraph:

  In consulting my colleague, and the primary practitioner in charge of your care, J. Marc Fendelman, MD, we concur that the symptoms you reported on your two most recent visits are the combined result of a food-borne gastrointestinal irritant and seasonal allergy symptoms. Please complete the course of prescribed allergy medications as indicated by your allergist, over the counter digestive aids as needed, and 400 mg Motrin every 6–8 hours for headache symptoms.

  “I’m waiting for my, ‘Sarah’s the most intuitive, smart, and beautiful friend ever,’” Sarah said.

  “You are,” Laney said, her eyes dropping to the paragraph below.

  As a secondary note, we examined your chart for signs of underlying pathology to connect your most recent symptoms with complaints of sinus pain, respiratory issues, fatigue, and irritability reported during the unusually high number of visits you’ve sustained in the past eight months. Any connections do in fact appear to be circumstantial and unremarkable.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Laney added.

  “That’s a start,” Sarah said.

  That said, in the absence of concrete pathology, it is my experience that chronic minor illness symptoms are best tackled in the long-term using a team approach. As you have already sought advice from an allergist and have a referral for a gastrointestinal specialist, the next step, in my opinion, will be to seek the help of a psychological professional.

  As in, his diagnosis was Fucking Looney?

  Please refer to the list pasted in below of preferred providers.

  Health and Happiness,

  P. L. Williamson, MD

  “Shit!” Sarah said, as if reading her mind.

  “What is it?” Laney barely managed.

  “My laundry room floor is cracking.”

  According to P. L. Williamson, MD, so, apparently, was her best friend.

  ***

  “That wet spot Eva found in the basement carpet seems to be spreading,” Maryellen said.

  Frank didn’t turn from his computer. “I’ll call the warranty repair line later.”

  “Do you need me to call?”

  “What I need is a way to come up with eight grand by the end of the month.” He looked out the window at the downpour. “Rain’s killing church attendance.”

  “Everyone seems to be suffering the effects of this weather,” she said.

  “I doubt they stand to lose the land they’ve been dreaming of for years.”

  “Maybe you can get some sort of extension on the closing?”

  “I come up with the money or they sell it out from under me.” He put his head in his hands.

  “But—”

  “But nothing.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, she turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he said before she could. “Did Lisa Manning ever say what they made at the Harmony Hills church rummage sale?”

  “Around five,” she said.

  “Hundred?”

  “Thousand.”

  Frank looked up.

  She didn’t bother to mention that Lisa Manning tended to exaggerate more than the average minister’s wife.

  “How soon do you think it would take for you pull something like that together?”

  “Me?” The part of her that felt put upon was silenced by a proverbial hand to the mouth by the part of her that wanted nothing more than a chance to run something, maybe even save the day with a huge, successful yard sale. “I’m in the middle of a library cataloging project that’s probably going to have me working late and I need to get the party picture montage finished and up on the bulletin board before I can even—”

  “When were you planning to put it up?”

  “I hung part of it today.”

  He spun his chair around. “Why didn’t you tell me the photographer e-mailed the pictures?”

  “You’ve never wanted to see the pictures before.”

  “I did this year.” He looked down. “For obvious reasons.”

  In light of what was either a clear conscience, or no memory on Hope’s part, Maryellen went into her computer trash and reexamined the deleted photos one after another, re-scrutinizing the photo of Tim and Hope. They weren’t definitely kissing, only looking suspiciously like they could be. Meaning, they probably weren’t. And if something did transpire, even though Hope had been drinking, she’d also eaten those hash brownies. By association wasn’t Maryellen herself partially to blame? “Just like you said, there was really nothing to see but people having a good time.”

  “And you double-checked?”

  His righteous indigna
tion would blind him to just how circumstantial the picture was. “Triple-checked. There was nothing.”

  “I want you to forward everything to me before you put anything else up.”

  “No problem.”

  “Good enough, then.” Frank glanced at his desk calendar. “How about the twenty-third for the Melody Mountain Community Church yard sale spectacular?”

  “That’s not even three weeks from now.”

  “Way the weather’s been, we’ve gotta allow for a possible rain reschedule.”

  “I can’t possibly…”

  “Sweetie,” Frank flashed the charming smile she’d only seen directed at Laney, Hope, anyone but her, in years. “With your yard sale know-how, you’re the one person who absolutely, positively can.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Restrictions, Rules and Covenants: 5.7A. Garage doors. Garage doors may only remain open a maximum of one (1) hour.

  Hope awoke to the sound of the garage door rolling open.

  She’d bathed, brushed, and dabbed DKNY Delicious Night behind her ears. She’d turned down the sheets, climbed into bed, and turned on Saturday Night Live to stay awake while Jim made the drive from DIA.

  Then nodded off anyway.

  Given the twelve-hour days she’d been putting in, exhaustion was no particular surprise. But, she should have been able to stay awake while her husband, whom she hadn’t seen for nearly a month, made the drive from the airport.

  The garage door rumbled closed.

  She hurried out of bed and ran into the bathroom to brush her hair and take a swig of mouthwash. There was no time to wash off the perfume that smelled bitter with her soap, shampoo, or whatever blip in her body chemistry caused it to smell like bitter almonds.

  Hope smiled with the sound of his suitcase rolling over the hardwood in the back hall. The familiar click of wheels transitioning to the tumbled stone front hall tile.

  She stepped onto the landing to greet him. “Welcome home, honey.”

  Jim abandoned his briefcase and suitcase, took the stairs two at a time, and scooped her into his arms.

  His clothes smelled of airplane.

  “Missed you,” he said, and kissed her passionately.

  His breath smelled of way too long a flight.

  “Missed you, too.” She held her breath and kissed him back as he

  carried her into the bedroom, deposited her on the bed, and began to tug at his belt.

  She’d been waiting for this moment for two long weeks, but the promise of the pillow was somehow more appealing than his not-quite-shower-fresh body atop hers.

  Hope closed her eyes along with her nose, ignored the heat of his breath in her ear, the mildly cloying tickle of his chest hair against her nipples, and the uneven edge of his right big toenail against the bottom of her foot.

  “You feel so good,” he whispered.

  The unexpected friction when he moved inside her.

  “Mmm,” she whispered back, fighting the urge to doze off.

  Pretended to come so he would.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  10.5. Yard Sales: Yard Sales must take place only in the yard, garage, and/or driveway of owner. Items for purchase must sit no closer than one foot from sidewalks or common thoroughfares.

  “Loved the Noah’s Ark theme.” Bruce Winters shook hands with Frank and turned to accept one of the donuts Maryellen offered.

  “And I love Maryellen’s marketing panache,” his wife, Lynne, added, reading the tag hanging from the ribbon tied around one of the cellophane wrapped donuts Maryellen spent the better part of Saturday night putting together. “Melody Mountain Ranch Community Church Rummage Extravaganza!”

  “Just wanted to make sure everyone knows so they can donate, sign up to help, or both.”

  “Mark me down to work sale day.”

  Maryellen took a satisfying breath of coffee infused air, wrote Lynne’s name on her committee clipboard.

  “Not so rainy today,” Stan Flint said.

  “I’m hopeful the storms have passed,” Frank said.

  So was she. Despite a little light drizzle, or maybe because of it, church was as well attended as Frank’s sermon was well received. With every greeting and subsequent plink of collection plate change, Frank’s good spirits improved. Better, Maryellen’s info donuts had them smiling together for the first time since…

  The potluck debacle already seemed to be fading from collective memory.

  “You had me at cream-filled,” Samantha Torgenson said. “Put me on the pricing committee so I get first dibs on anything good.”

  “What if we sell coffee in the morning and then cook up hot dogs?” the Orsons offered.

  “Let me know if you want to print up posters,” Katherine Powell, who owned a Jiffy Print franchise, said.

  “Bless you for your contribution.” Maryellen’s growing joy grew that much more watching Eva work her way through the crowd, handing out the donuts she’d not only helped wrap, but had done without a single obligatory sigh, eye roll, or hint of teenage apathy.

  To top it all off, Hope and Jim approached the greeting line, hand-in-hand, looking their usual relaxed, perfect selves.

  “Great to have you back, Jim.” Frank appeared at Maryellen’s side and offered his handshake and his extra-friendly voice.

  “Great to be back,” Jim said. “If only for a few days.”

  “You’ve certainly been missed around here,” Frank said to Jim.

  “Plan to spend the afternoon planting grass and whatever else Hope needs me to do to make up for my extended absence.”

  Frank patted him on the back. “Gotta keep your girl happy.”

  Hope smiled, picked up a donut, and read the info tag. “Where’s the sale going to be?”

  “Here, in the parking lot.”

  “Won’t that be logistically difficult?” Hope asked Maryellen.

  “Setting up and taking down in one day’s definitely going to be tricky.” Maryellen smiled at Jim, allowing herself to appreciate for the briefest of seconds how Norse-god handsome he was. “But I think we can pull it off with a few strong volunteers.”

  “If everyone’s supposed to bring donations to your house, why don’t we just have it on our cul-de-sac instead?” Hope asked. “Jim will be gone again, but I’ll volunteer my yard and garage for storage, and I’m sure Laney will let you use hers.”

  Eva appeared with a nearly empty basket. “Donuts are decimated.”

  Maryellen put a hang-on-a-second arm around her daughter. “Doing the sale on our street would be ideal, especially with the playground, but the covenants don’t allow for—”

  “Have Daddy change them,” Eva said, watching her father accept a check from Mr. Jordan.

  “Doesn’t work that way, honey,” Maryellen said.

  “It is his yard sale,” Eva said.

  “But everyone knows your mom is the brains behind this operation.” Hope smiled.

  “True that,” Eva added.

  Hope’s compliment was more than enough, but Maryellen beamed from Eva’s endorsement. “Ready to refill our baskets, honey?”

  Before she had to add a Now, please or any of the catch phrases typically required for a response, Eva smiled. “Sure, Mom.”

  Jim slipped his arm around Hope and they headed for the cafeteria.

  Maryellen and her daughter started for the kitchen together.

  All was well.

  “It’s true, you know,” Eva said as reached the double doors.

  “What’s true?” Maryellen put the key into the lock.

  “I mean, Dad tells you to have a yard sale and, like, the next minute, you start organizing committees and have info donuts made up.”

  “You know I love yard sales.” Maryellen was beyond touched to have Eva acknowledging her hard work. “And your dad only needs a few more dollars and he’ll finally have the down payment money for land to build a real church.” She even had a lump in her throat. “Great, huh?”

  “Great w
e won’t have to have a bake sale every five minutes.”

  Maryellen clicked open the door and let her daughter in first. “Amen to that.”

  Eva flipped the lid on a donut box and began to refill her basket. “Mom?”

  “What, honey?”

  “Don’t you ever get sick of all the stuff he makes you do?”

  Maryellen didn’t dare look up for fear of what might show in her face, starting with exactly how sick she was of running bake sales. How much she hated wearing Sunday clothing to complement whatever Frank wore. . . How much she hated the way he made her talk. Tell me you want my big hard manhood inside your tight, shaved pussy… “What do you mean by that?”

  “I dunno,” Eva said. “Like this camp thing.”

  The sigh she’d anticipated from Eva fell from her own mouth instead. Why hadn’t she known from the first missed eye roll opportunity that altruism might have little to do with Eva’s unexpected spirit of service? That her compliments were likely as calculated as they were heartfelt? “You’re still anxious about going?”

  “I never wanted to go.” Tears began to run down her face. “I don’t want to go.”

  Could she blame her? It wasn’t like Frank had ever discussed other possibilities, asked Eva for her input, or so much as considered any of Maryellen’s own trepidations before writing the essay, filling out the paperwork, and signing his daughter’s name to the application. “You know,” Maryellen said, “I do understand.”

  Eva, whose face looked open and hopeful in a way she hadn’t seen since before Frank announced his big surprise, practically fell into her arms. “I knew it!”

  Frank was wrong to sign Eva up for camp without consulting her. More wrong for forging an essay in his daughter’s name. At times, his neglect of her feelings and needs could even be considered criminal. But, as she stroked Eva’s dark hair, the crystals shimmered on that odd charm necklace she always seemed to be wearing.

  Had taken off her first communion cross to wear it.

  “Mommy,” she sobbed, “you have to get me out of going to that camp.”

  Maryellen had cracked the door to the basement, smelled the burning incense, and taken a couple steps. Spotted Eva. Saw her eyes sparkle in the candlelight that bathed the room in shadowy light. “Eva, I don’t think I can—”