When Jack was done cleaning up, he would get back in his car and stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts for some hot coffee. He’d go home and take a hot shower himself. He would sit with Sophie on the couch most of the night, if she was still there when he got back, and they would not sleep together. He might regret that some day when he was an old man with a raspy cough. He might regret a lot of things. But as he bent over, picking up the pulpy mess of the newspapers on his dad’s thirty-year-old front lawn, he knew this would not be one of them.
Every Now and Then
David reinstates pizza and movie night, and he even volunteers to run down to the shopping center to pick it all up. “Do you want mushrooms?” He squeezes my side, all playful, none of the darkness flickering in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll get a Disney movie for Seely.”
“If you can tear her away from Cinderella,” I say. It is playing for about the two hundredth time since we bought it a few months ago.
“And maybe another movie for us later,” he says, fishing through his wallet for the card. “A thriller? You like those serial killer movies, right?”
***
Seely likes to run to the edge of the sand and watch the water come in, squealing and doubling back when the waves send shoots of spray she isn’t expecting. She’s three, her first time seeing the ocean. I am surprised she isn’t afraid.
She gets sick of the surf and comes back to me, falling asleep curled up in the curve of my belly. David is helping one of the other kids on the beach build some kind of sand fortress with plastic molds. The air smells good, and the sand is warm in my hands. In a bit, we will pack up to shower off and head to the crab shack across the street for dinner. I love the business of eating hard shells—the hammering, the digging, working for your meat.
The squeal comes across the wind, a high cry of a boy in distress. He runs across the sand back toward his parents. David is following, holding his hands out from his side like he has something on them he needs to wash off.
The boy buries his head in his mother’s shoulder. I get up, careful not to wake Seely. The wind turns sharp, snaps, as the sun hides behind a cloud.
***
I check out the window again. The air trembles just over our driveway where the heat bounces off the asphalt, hovering like a warning. The mailbox sits at the end of the drive, empty ever since the mail carrier Benita, fiddling with the crucifix around her neck, told me she was going to stop delivering to our house.
It wasn’t surprising. She’d reported the Spencers for the slippery cherry blossoms on their sidewalk. And told Mr. Cratchet she didn’t approve of his Playboy subscription.
“I just don’t think it’s right,” she said to me. “It’s been three times now. I’ve warned him. And with the school bus stopping right here on this street.”
“What are you talking about?”
She shook her head, thrust the mail at me. “Maybe you should ask your husband.”
***
“Is everything okay?” I look at David. His red swimsuit has flecks of sand on it, and I can see a line around his stomach where he’s been sunburned.
The boy is babbling, his voice muffled by his mother’s arm. “Castle…hurt.” Then, “touched my ding ding.”
“What did you do?” the father asks David sharply. The mother stands slightly away from all of us, shushing the boy. She throws me a dirty look, and I feel myself getting angry.
***
So I did ask him. That night while we were making dinner I said to David, “What did you do to Benita? She’s freaking out.”
“Oh no, now what?” David was cutting a tomato and I couldn’t see his face. I told him about the conversation. It took him awhile to answer, just a little too long, and I began to feel my shoulders prick. Then he laughed. “Oh god. It’s probably that one time I was walking past the front window in my boxers. You know what a prude she is. No wonder why she won’t look at me anymore.” He touched my arm, laughed again. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
***
“Nothing, Jesus. Nothing. I…we were just playing in the sand and I reached over for one of the shovels and he jumped up like he was on fire.” David looks more distressed than I’ve ever seen him.
The father shakes his head. He looks at me, confused, uncertain. His Hawaiian shirt flaps in the breeze like a flag. He looks at his wife and kid, then back at us, his face both defensive and embarrassed. “Nathan’s been…well, he’s been oversensitive lately, and…well.”
“I’m really sorry, sir,” David says. “I don’t know what just happened.”
“Paul,” his wife says. An order. She says to us, “Just stay away from him.” Then she walks off, and the husband follows, leaving behind their blanket and other things. It bothers me that they are abandoning their stuff.
***
Cinderella has found true love with her prince, and now Seely is hungry. “Where’s Daddy?” she asks me, her chin on the kitchen table, looking bored.
“I think Daddy got tied up with something, Sweetie. I’m sure he’ll call soon.”
“But he was supposed to come back with pizza,” she says.
“I know. I’m betting he’s getting you a special surprise,” I say.
“What kind of surprise?” she asks, picking up her head.
“One for princesses. One for very beautiful, special princesses.” I pick her up, put her on my lap, and run my fingers through her hair. The strands are thicker, plentiful near the roots, but the ends thin out, trail off into pale blond wisps past her shoulders. I press my face to her head and breathe in her smell. I don’t realize how tight I’m hugging her until Seely wiggles out of my grasp and slides to the floor.
“Mommy, you’re weird. I’m going to watch for Daddy,” she says, skipping out of the kitchen in her yellow socks.
It’s no good to check the clock again. It’s no good to call—David’s cell sits on the coffee table.
Twenty minutes later I pull a pizza out of the freezer and turn on the oven.
***
We walk the boardwalk. Seely wants an endless stream of quarters for candy, soda, rides on mechanical animals. She wants to press her own penny to say “Ocean City Forever.” She wants popcorn and neon colored t-shirts.
At the end of the night, she and David go in one final store while I stay outside, resting my feet on a bench. Next to me, a family of four is arguing. The two boys want to head in the direction of the Ferris Wheel, and the parents want food. “No, damn it,” the father says finally. “We’re a family. We stick together.”
A young teenage boy with one of those handheld cart trolleys rolls by me and points. “Lovely lady all alone!” he says in a thick Italian accent. “You come. I give you ride. Wherever you want to go.”
The family looks over. The father cracks a smile. I shake my head, embarrassed. “No, no. I’m waiting for my husband,” I say. “He’ll be here any minute.”
***
At about 10:00 p.m., when I am about to lose it, the phone rings. I hear the deep, stern male voice on the other end and my heart sinks. “Is this Mrs. Rivers?”
The officer’s voice washes over me. I catch every fourth or fifth word. “Your husband…pinball…parking lot…two boys…circling…” At first they thought it was a joke, a misunderstanding. Then they saw.
***
And then I see Seely, skipping towards me, her little body shaking with excitement. “Daddy bought me a pet!” she says, and then I see David behind her, carrying a small plastic cage with an orange lid.
“Hermit crab,” he says, shrugging. “They were five bucks. She liked its shell.”
“The shell is his house, Mommy. It’s where he lives. Daddy says he carries it around with him all the time, so he always has a place to stay.”
I give David a look, but really it doesn’t matter. W
e’re all happy. She names him Pepper Pants.
***
I grab a pink duffle bag from Seely’s closet and start shoving things into it, my hands steady with purpose. Seely mumbles something and tries to roll over. I let her go, zipping up the bag and heading to my bedroom. I change my shirt, put on fresh deodorant. I brush on powder like I’m preparing for a date.
“Mommy, what’s going on?”
I jump, turn. Seely’s standing there, her eyes squinting in the bright bathroom. “Jesus, you scared me sweetheart.”
“Why are my clothes on the floor?”
“We are going on an adventure.” I try to sound bright, positive, but it falls flat.
“Where’s Daddy?”
“He can’t come with us right now,” I say, kneeling down beside her.
Seely’s face scrunches up. I can see the tears already pooling. “I don’t want to go without Daddy.”
“He’ll see you later, honey. He just can’t come now.”
“No. I don’t want to go anywhere without him.” She starts wailing now, the kind of cry I haven’t heard since she was an infant. I pick her up, and she kicks, finding my stomach, and I nearly drop her. The pain comes fast, spreading through my gut. I bite my lip not to scream. I am amazed at how badly I want to slap her, pull her hair back, anything to get her to shut up.
***
When we come back from the beach, the cage is empty. We search the room—under the bed, in the toilet, comb the dirty, busy-patterned carpet.
“Hermit crabs don’t move fast,” David says. “They don’t jump. They don’t do any damn thing. Where could it have gone?”
Seely is upset. She cries. She wants us to keep looking, even after an hour. She wants us to call the hotel manager to see if he’s seen him.
“We can go get another one,” I tell her. “Tomorrow morning. You can pick him out.”
“I want Pepper Pants,” she says. David puts his sandals on.
“I’ll go give the hotel guy a description,” he says. He comes back twenty minutes later with a paper bag tucked under his shirt. Five minutes later we find Pepper Pants in the shower. It is a miracle.
***
I tell Julie next door there’s a small emergency and she agrees to come over. Her hair is damp and she looks flushed, like she just got out of the shower. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, it’s fine,” I say. “David just got into a car accident. Really minor, but they’re telling him not to drive so I’ve got to go get him.”
She clucks. “Oh, David. He’s always got such bad luck, doesn’t he?”
***
Later that night, after we put Seely to sleep, it is a joke between us. David’s eyes glisten charmingly as he pulls me close. We lay in the dark on the king-size bed in the hotel laughing about all of it. “Hey Pepper Pants, I’m going to touch your ding ding,” I tell him, my hand fumbling under the covers.
Death Wish
Sandra’s manager sent people home early because of the murder. He told everyone that the in-house therapist was available for counseling sessions, but Sandra left at noon. She sat in her car in the parking lot of her apartment building, not really wanting to go inside. A young woman with short red hair walked a small beagle past Sandra’s car. The woman smiled at her, her hand full of mail. The dog was sniffing snow. It seemed so ordinary, so disrespectful.
It was hot in her apartment and the air smelled of meat and something else, maybe mold. Amy was playing Christian rock music loudly, and as Sandra walked past the kitchen, she turned around, spatula to her mouth.
“Do you want some meatloaf?” Amy held out the pan like a prize, a brownish lump inside.
“No thanks.” Sandra went to her room and closed the door. Amy was quiet and mousy, her thinning hair always greasy and tangled. She was thirty-two-years old and looked like she was fifty. Sandra had met her through craigslist when she moved to town, and the rent was cheap so she’d said what the hell. Amy was nice enough, but the religious thing kind of got to Sandra. Through the walls Sandra could hear little children singing on Amy’s stereo, “Call me if you need me, I’ll be doing work for the Lord.” It reminded her of a cult, of little kids with chains around their feet digging in unison.
Sandra got undressed and turned the shower water as hot as she could stand it, letting the water crash into her hair and down to her feet. She kept thinking of Debbie, who had been at work on Friday, doing her job as usual, and now was just a grainy picture in the newspaper, a covered body being carried away by officials, a right arm hanging limply off a stretcher. They hadn’t been friends, had only talked a few times, exchanged office jokes and occasionally took messages for each other, but now that Debbie was dead, it seemed that Sandra could only think of nice things about her. Debbie had sat in the cubicle right across from Sandra and had shared her portable heater. She bought Sandra a potted plant for Christmas last year. She had a nice smile and she always ordered candy from the PTA moms in the office.
They both had boyfriends named Dave, and when Debbie’s Dave came to pick her up for lunch sometimes, Debbie would point to the photo of Sandra’s Dave on her desk and joke about how their boyfriends even looked alike. They were the Doublemint Daves, like the twins on that silly gum commercial. Two Daves, both tall with brown hair and glasses. Debbie’s Dave was funnier than Sandra’s Dave, who usually only joked out of sullenness. Debbie’s Dave was funny and sweet. He brought Debbie things, fast food kid’s meal toys and candy that cluttered her desk. Debbie’s Dave had once told her she looked like Sandra Bullock. “Why, that’s her first name!” Debbie had said, and Sandra had blushed.
“See, there you go. It was meant to be.” Debbie’s Dave had laughed and winked at Sandra, pulling his hand through his already-ruffled hair.
Sandra rinsed the conditioner from her hair and stepped out, wrapping a robe around herself. In the kitchen, she got a glass of ice water and drank it quickly. Amy stood near the front door watching Sandra, hands shoved in the pockets of the hunting coat that was too big for her. She never carried a purse.
“Why are you home so early?” she asked.
Sandra sat down at the kitchen table and began combing through the knots in her hair, spraying water across the table and the newspaper. “Someone died,” Sandra said, staring straight at Amy.
“Oh.” Amy stepped back awkwardly, pressing against the door. “I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t really anyone I knew,” she said so that her roommate would leave. Amy nodded and turned, closed the door behind her without locking it. When she was gone, Sandra threw the deadbolt, pressing her cheek against the cold door. She could hear the wind whistling through the stairwell of the apartment complex like a spirit.
***
Her Dave called at work the next day to ask if she wanted to see a hockey game. “I got extra tickets from work for this Friday. Isn’t that great?” He got extremely excited over free stuff. He was disturbingly frugal, driving all around to find the best gas prices and stacking neatly clipped coupons, divided into categories, on the kitchen counter. She knew she would have to smuggle bags of candy in her purse.
“I’ve never been to a hockey game before,” she told him.
“Well, then all the more reason to be excited. It’s a great game. The fights are the best part.”
Dave lived on the other side of town, alone, so they often spent time there. She enjoyed his apartment because it was always so warm. “You have good heat,” she told him the first time she spent the night, a few months after they started dating. They’d met through an online dating service and she’d been relieved at how easy he was to talk to. She needed someone. It was hard being alone in a new city.
Sandra liked to take naps in Dave’s bed, but didn’t like it when he tried to cuddle up next to her for a kiss. Once the first kiss happened, he’d immediately start taking off her shirt. It was like
clockwork—she could time it. It disgusted her, really, and one time when she’d pulled away and asked him, “Haven’t you heard of foreplay?” he’d looked at her blankly and nipped at her ear.
This was the problem, she knew. She wanted Dave for the companionship. When she spent time with him she wanted to watch a movie or put a puzzle together—not fuck him silly. He was nice, if a bit immature, and when he looked at her with those glazed-over, desiring eyes, she didn’t know whether to giggle or gag.
Without Dave, there was only Amy and her coworker Beth, who she went out with occasionally but didn’t feel close to. Once they went to a small, country line dancing bar where everyone threw peanut shells on the floor. Beth wore a tight, button-down shirt with fringe, a miniskirt, and big boots, and yee-hawed to every song. No, Dave was better than being lonely. He was a stick in a big puddle of mud.
***
The gossip was in full swing at work. Sandra couldn’t walk down the halls without seeing people in huddles, whispering. At lunch, Beth told Sandra they’d arrested Debbie’s Dave. “I heard they found him in her house, that they took him out in handcuffs,” Beth said. “He was going through her stuff. Pictures and things. I think he was trying to cover his tracks.”
“I don’t really believe that. I don’t think it was someone she knew.” Sandra paused. She stabbed at her salad and remembered Debbie’s Dave’s laugh. “He was such a nice guy.”
“They might come in to investigate her cube—look at files on her computer. They do that, you know. They have all these ways of figuring out stuff.”
Sandra poured over the articles in the paper and examined the pictures of him as though they held a clue to what really happened. The Doublemint Dave—a murderer? She’d have known. She would have been able to see it in his eyes.
During the day, Sandra would look up and stare at the desk where Debbie used to work. The management had taken all her stuff away and cleaned it off. It was like they wanted to wash away the terribleness, sweep it under the plastic mat Debbie wheeled her computer chair on to keep the carpet from getting ruined. Only one trace of her remained—a small, circular green sticker she’d stuck in the corner of her computer monitor that read, “Love Me, I’m a Vegetarian!” the “i” dotted with a little red tomato. Sandra picked at it with her fingernail, but it was too sticky to come off without ripping so she left it there.
Bystanders Page 19
