Not That I Could Tell: A Novel

by Jessica Strawser

  “Oh. I know.” Penny laughed as if this were the greatest lark of her life.

  “Seriously, though. You used to say it a lot. Like every time you saw a kid.”

  “I know! But that was before, obviously. I mean, I never could picture it, myself as a mom, but then I found Josh, and I realized I just could, you know?”

  “And Josh, he’s excited? Because he also—”

  “Okay, so the full story.” Penny’s voice was so breezy she might have been explaining why she’d decided to give country music a try after years of singular punk rock devotion. “We met this older couple on our honeymoon. Those all-inclusive places, you end up seeing the same people all week at meals and stuff, and … anyway, they were great. Pushing sixty, but they were there to party. They figured out we could order top-shelf margaritas even though they weren’t on the bar menu, and man, could they dance. People don’t dance like that anymore! It’s like in those old movies you love.”

  So Penny had managed to meet a modern-day Cary Grant on her honeymoon. She really did have all the luck.

  “Anyway. One night we started teasing them that our goal is to be them when we grow up. And they started telling us more about themselves, how they’ve just become grandparents … and when we said we didn’t plan to have kids, they were crestfallen. Like, it was almost weird. But then Sheri—that was the woman’s name—she said it seems like the people who would be the most amazing parents are the people who decide not to have kids. And how sad that is, what a waste.”

  Stay out of it, Sheri, Izzy thought. Go dance with Cary.

  “We both woke up the next day still thinking about it, and we decided they were right. I mean, we have so much to offer. We’d be fun parents, right?”

  “Fun,” Izzy repeated, numb.

  “I guess it was meant to be. We pulled the goalie last month and scored on our first try!”

  “Wow.” This was where Izzy was meant to switch over to something genuine. She’d asked her questions. She’d gotten the answers. On to the happy part.

  And yet.

  This was why Penny had been trying to reach her. Izzy realized too late that while she’d been smugly dodging her sister’s calls, a part of her had been feeling relieved that Penny had finally noticed her absence. She hadn’t, though. This was the sisterly equivalent of those obligatory calls she’d gotten for years after college, from friend after friend whom she hadn’t heard from in months phoning under the guise of catching up only to announce her engagement. Izzy had minded those calls more than she should have. “What do you want them to do, not tell you?” Josh had asked one day.

  Of course she hadn’t wanted that. She just wanted to be the one with the happy reason for making the call.

  “Well! Congratulations. Yeah, that was … it was fast, for sure. Good job.”

  “Good job—ha! That’s what I told Josh! Listen, Mom and Dad are beside themselves. I know it’s overkill, but they’re hosting a thing at their condo’s clubhouse next Tuesday. Nothing official, no gifts. Just cocktails—mocktails for me, of course—hot hors d’oeuvres, desserts—they’re inviting the whole extended family, and friends. Say you’ll be there?”

  Izzy stalled. “Tuesday, you said?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s a weird day. The clubhouse was booked weekends. They just didn’t want to wait to get everyone together, I think. Seems like they’re sort of empty nesting all over again now that they’re alone in their condo, with all new neighbors, and you’ve left town, and … well, dad had this health scare.”

  “Health scare?”

  “They didn’t want to worry you. Thought you were already under enough stress, with the house and the move. You’re lucky you didn’t know. Josh said I was impossible to live with that whole week we were waiting for the test results! He was so sweet, though, taking care of me as if I were the one being tested and—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Anyway, don’t worry. It was a false alarm. He’s fine. But I think it made them a little trigger-happy with their party hats.”

  Izzy wondered how she’d come to this point where she felt so utterly outside of her own family. Surely they hadn’t pushed her out. At least not intentionally. Maybe an accidental nudge. And then … well, then she’d left of her own volition. That much she had to take responsibility for. Once her parents became grandparents, she’d be even more … extraneous? Forgotten?

  No. She’d be an aunt.

  “Of course I’ll be there,” she said weakly.

  Penny let out a squeal. “Great! And seriously, we really want to get out there and see what the house looks like now that you’ve got it all set up. Not that it wasn’t cute to begin with, but you know what I mean.”

  “Sure.”

  “I have an ultrasound Saturday, and then Josh’s parents are having us over, but—

  “We’ll pick a day soon.”

  “Right. See you Tuesday, okay? So glad I finally got hold of you! It was like it wasn’t going to feel real until you knew. And now it does!”

  Izzy knew how she felt.

  Please, tell me that didn’t just happen, she thought, staring at the silent phone in her hand. Please, God, I can’t—

  There was a rap on the door, and Sonny burst through. “Good! You’re off!” he said, diving for the tiny television on her desk and switching on the local twelve o’clock news. “This proves my point.”

  Izzy wiped away the tears that had escaped his notice as the anchor’s voice filled the room. “Much has been made about this million dollars of life insurance money that’s unaccounted for, so I’m here with Todd Davis, a wealth manager with Bank of Ohio. I know this situation has raised a lot of questions among our viewers. Mr. Davis, thanks for agreeing to answer a few.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Izzy might have screamed at Sonny to get out of her office, but it was easier to just sit there, numb to his rudeness, numb to Penny’s excitement, numb to the newscast.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” the anchor continued. “Dr. Kirkland claims his wife vanished with the life insurance payout from her first husband, in part because she was worried she’d lose half of it in the divorce. Is it really possible the courts would have awarded Dr. Kirkland a share?”

  “It’s not likely. To some extent it would depend on whether she’d commingled the assets—put the money into joint accounts. In that case it obviously becomes hard to determine what portion of that money has and hasn’t already been spent by the parties with access to those accounts, even if she were to then withdraw the same amount later.”

  Sonny caught sight of Day walking past and gestured wildly. “Day! This is what you were saying!” She stopped in the doorway.

  “I see. But it’s been reported that we’re talking about a separate account that she allegedly was setting aside for the children.”

  The wealth manager frowned. “I saw that, though I’m not clear on where these details are coming from—”

  “So what Dr. Kirkland is stating as his wife’s motive for taking the money and disappearing is simply not plausible. Because those funds would not have been split in the divorce settlement.”

  “I wouldn’t call it implausible.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “I have clients all the time who make odd decisions about their money simply because they don’t understand the law.” He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the fact that someone was interested in the topic for a change. “It’s like those people who lived through the Depression and now store cash under their mattresses because somehow they feel that’s safer than a bank. Obviously, in today’s world with more fiscal safeguards in place, the bigger danger to your savings is that your house could catch fire, or you could be robbed, or you could pass away unexpectedly without having told your family where to find it. But that doesn’t mean those people don’t have, in their minds, a valid motive for stashing their money that way.”

  “So in this case…” Izzy couldn’t help thinking the reporter seemed a little slow o
n the uptake.

  “If he threatened her that he was going to make a play for the funds in court—regardless of whether that play would have been successful—she might have been scared enough to take the money and run.”

  “Because it does seem unfair that your second husband would be able to take the life insurance money your first husband left you.”

  “It does, and that’s why the law is the way it is. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “If that second husband raised the first husband’s kids largely with his own money, while all that life insurance money that was intended for them sat untouched in a bank, he might argue that he was entitled to something of a refund.” He chuckled as if this were the most fun he’d had in months.

  “The plot thickens. Mr. Davis, thanks so much for your time.”

  “If any of your viewers have concerns with their own finances they’d like addressed—”

  Sonny switched it off triumphantly. “So, obviously we’re going with the divorce stories segment,” he said. “Money, custody, cheating—it’ll be great.”

  He smiled easily at Izzy. “I know what you’re thinking, I could produce this show myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you stay. I’m no good at paperwork.”

  * * *

  The wind whipped Izzy’s hair as she ran to her car and slammed the door shut against the chaos outside. Summer and autumn seemed to be colliding in the sky, as if it couldn’t make up its mind between the two. The humidity was tangible, the heat a twenty-degree leap from this morning, but the wind carried oddly icier blasts that warned of bone-chilling days ahead.

  Izzy started the engine, and instantly the front and back windshields fogged, a smattering of supersized raindrops dotting them as if on cue. She looked in the direction of home, where the sky was brighter in the distance. She had to get out ahead of the storm. She did not want her coworkers to see her marooned in the parking lot, sobbing pathetically over what was ostensibly her baby sister’s happy news. Which she was about to be. Any second now.

  Her phone buzzed into the car’s Bluetooth system, and Izzy glanced down at the display. Her mother. She couldn’t talk to her, not like this.

  She flipped the vents on full blast, and the bottom few inches of fog faded. Good enough. Blinking back tears, she whipped backward out of the parking space and heard a sickening crunch.

  In the rearview mirror the culprit loomed—a light pole with a large concrete base. The very one, in fact, that she looked at almost every morning thinking, One of these days I’m going to end up hitting that. Swiping angrily at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she looked around and didn’t see anyone. What were the odds that no one inside had witnessed her gaffe through a window? The thought of it pressed on top of the humiliation she was already feeling, and without even getting out to look at her car—she was confident the light pole was fine—she hit the gas.

  Penny and Josh were married. Married. It wasn’t as if throwing a baby into the mix was what made him officially and forever off-limits.

  So why did she feel as if the sky were caving in on her all over again?

  “Auntie Izzy!” Her mother’s ecstatic voice mail message was auto-playing through the car stereo now. “I’m so excited Penny finally got through to you with the news! I just called to gush. You’re going to be such a great aunt. Not like those other aunts.” The notes of her laugh were a giddy song, and real tears were trailing down Izzy’s cheeks now, fast and hot. This was not how this was supposed to be. She should be just as happy as her mother was. She deserved to share in this happiness. Josh had ruined everything. “Don’t tell your father’s sisters I said that,” her mother was whispering now. “Call only if you want. Can’t wait to see you soon!”

  The rain teased her throughout the drive, as if someone were aiming a garden hose over her car in brief intervals, but the downpour never came. By the time she pulled onto her block, her hands still shaking, a patch of bright blue showed itself in the blustery clouds, and she knew with certainty that it was mocking her. Had she actually thought she was doing better, here on her own? She’d only been fooling herself.

  The garage was still filled with the largest boxes from the move, the ones she wasn’t sure if she should throw away—the too-expensive-to-toss-too-colossal-to-keep wardrobe carriers with the hanger bars, the packaging from binge-ordered décor she still wasn’t sure she liked. She hadn’t missed the garage until this exact moment, when parking in the driveway meant bearing her scars for the neighborhood to see. She briefly considered backing in, but given the day’s track record, that didn’t seem wise. Maybe it’s not that bad, she told herself as she pulled the car up close to the house, cut the engine, and walked around to survey the back bumper.

  But it wasn’t just the bumper. The left taillight was smashed, surely inoperable, and ugly dents and scratches smeared the side rear panel. The metal of the trunk looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. No, something harder and bigger than that.

  Like a lamppost.

  “Damn it!” she yelled, kicking the tire. With her next kick came a fresh flood of tears, floating her fists into motion as well, and soon she was full-out whaling on the car, pummeling the trunk with the whole of her arms and the tire with the toes of her boots, letting out primal grunts of fury.

  Behind her, someone’s throat cleared loudly, and she stopped without turning around, heaving to catch her breath.

  “You look like I feel,” said the voice behind her. And she recognized it as Paul’s. “On behalf of me, thank you for doing that. It was quite satisfying to watch.”

  She barked out an ugly laugh. She couldn’t bear to turn.

  “Permission to approach the vehicle?” She heard his steps draw near, and a large hand appeared beside her and slid itself over the top of the trunk. “This one I could hammer out from the inside,” he said. “It’ll have crinkly spots, like used wrapping paper, but we can get the shape back.” He bent toward the taillight. “This one is just a trip to the hardware store. And the side panel…” He moved to examine the streaks. “Not an easy fix outside of a body shop, but you could make it less noticeable with touch-up paint.”

  “Thanks,” Izzy said. “Maybe I’ll—” She could think of no one she knew who was capable at this sort of thing. “Ask my dad,” she finished lamely, knowing he’d never touched a bottle of touch-up paint in his life. Though infinitely interested in getting his hands dirty in the natural world, he cared little for the man-made.

  “I could help,” Paul said. “You may have noticed I’m not doing much else. For some reason I feel like I can’t leave the house, yet every hour that goes by it seems less likely that I’m going to be throwing a welcome home party.”

  Discomfort washed over Izzy. “I can’t ask that of you,” she said. She still hadn’t looked at him. She knew she must appear wild, her eyes puffy, her hair blown into a tangle, her hands and forearms red and throbbing from their assault on the metal.

  “You didn’t,” he said. “In fact, I’m asking it of you. I need something to do with myself. I’m going crazy. And this is leaving the house without leaving it. I can see it from here.”

  Why was he being so nice? Fresh tears filled Izzy’s eyes. She shook her head again.

  “Please,” he said. “Just let me do something nice for someone today. You can stay inside if you want to. I just … I need this.”

  She knew she should be ashamed. If anyone here should be doing something for someone, it should be the other way around. She should fix him a meal. She should offer to help in some way—in any way. Where the hell was Team Paul?

  But she could conjure no genuine feelings. The stormy skies she’d dodged earlier were still raging in her brain.

  Reluctantly, she turned to face him. “Maybe just the taillight, so I don’t get pulled over?”

  He nodded, touched her arm so briefly she thought she might have imagined it, and was gone as quickly and silently as he came.

 
; She didn’t know anything, not really, about being married, or raising kids, or splitting up. But regret … regret, she knew. And his voice had been thick with it.

  10

  Did you make a new friend today?” At the start of each new school year, my mother would ask that question when I stepped off the bus every day until she was satisfied that I’d reached out to the whole class. I never quite understood why I needed to designate myself as the social chair or the goodwill ambassador of the elementary school. I had plenty of friends and wasn’t pining for more. But still, I complied … until I uncovered a hypocritical streak beneath her line of questioning. Because apparently her definition of a new “friend” had limitations.

  “I swear to God,” I overheard her telling someone on the phone one day, “you should see these ragamuffins she drags home. They’re like stray cats. I’m afraid that if I feed them a snack they might never go away.” Our neighborhood at that point was what some might politely call transitional. Only it was transitioning in the wrong direction. By the time I hit junior high, we were out of there.

  Evidently, though, I took my knack for finding choice companions with me.

  I’m not blaming my mom. I know I have no one to blame but myself. But I do wish she’d prepared me a bit better for the importance of judging character up front. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: She needn’t have worried so much about the strays. Sometimes the meanest, most feral cats of all are the ones with a pedigree.

  11

  There seems to be some confusion about our no-tattling rule. Let us be clear: We appreciate that certain things warrant being brought to the caregivers’ attention, for safety reasons. Children at this age, however, have difficulty distinguishing where that line is. Thus, let’s focus their energies on a more easily learned line—where the offending party recognizes the need to do the right thing. We stand by our policy: The ONLY tattling we will tolerate is from those who have the good judgment to tattle on themselves. Those who do will not be disciplined, but praised.