“Oh, Jen,” she said.
“You have two boys,” I said. “Two beautiful boys, who desperately need you. More than you know.”
“Need me?” She let out a dry laugh. “They need the Wii, and their Razor scooters.”
“They need their mother,” I said. “They need their mother.” My voice cracked on the word mother, and I felt tears forming in my own eyes.
“They need their mother,” Lisa whispered back. She squeezed my hand.
“Barry really wants to come in,” I said. “You should talk to him, tell him.”
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.
“Lis, he’s not going to blame you.”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
She was right, I didn’t know for sure, but I knew that the way Barry had looked, sitting in the waiting room, said something, that despite any differences or distance the two of them had, Barry still loved her. Barry did not want to lose her.
Twenty-four
When we got back from the hospital, Will showered and left for work, and I decided to take a nap. My head ached and my mouth was dry, and I wished I’d just taken the stupid herb instead of drinking so much scotch.
I took one now, with a bathroom cup full of water, and then I crawled into bed. As I closed my eyes, I thought about Lisa, lying in the hospital bed, an island, not wanting to let Barry in. And then I thought about the way I’d felt last night, drunk and exhausted and lying on top of Will. I had to let him in. I didn’t want to be Lisa. I didn’t want Will to feel like Barry, just standing there, from a distance, watching, so undeniably helpless.
I was sitting at my desk, staring at the piles of paper in
front of me, staring at them, but not really seeing them.
It was late, already pitch dark, and the only light shiningin the office was the moonlight and the tiny halogen lamp on my desk.
I picked up the Post-it note that Janice had handed me before she left. The Brew—nine P.M., it read, in Janice’s neat curlicue handwriting.
“Do you know where this place is?” I’d asked her.
She’d shrugged. She hadn’t. “I can Google it for you, Judge,” she offered.
“No.” I held up my hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Everything all right?” she asked, resting her hand on her pregnant belly and cocking her head to the side.
“Of course.” I forced a smile.
“Are you sure? You look a little pale.”
I shook my head. “Now don’t you worry about me. You go home and get some rest.”
“Judge, I—”
I held up my hand. “Janice, really. That’s all for today.”
And now the office was quiet. So quiet. And dark. I fingered the Post-it note and checked my watch. Eight-thirty. I felt the bile rising in my throat, my palms sweating, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
Time to go.
Time to go, I thought, opening my eyes. I was expecting it to be dark, but it wasn’t. The midday sun streamed into the room, hurting my eyes, the brightness nearly blinding me, making the room feel white and shapeless, and reminding me again that I should never drink that much scotch. Time to go where? I wondered. Where had Will been going, and what hadmade him so anxious? I knew exactly where the Brew was, a bar not too far from where I’d grown up. But why would Will have been going there?
I got up and took a shower and got dressed. Then I made some coffee. But I still couldn’t shake the dream, get the feeling of Will, of the depth of his anxiety, out of my head. Why hadn’t I ever asked? Why hadn’t I ever just talked to him? But then I realized that someone else had. So I finished my coffee, grabbed my car keys, and started driving toward Janice.
I’d been to Janice’s home only one other time. Will and I had stopped there once, on the way to the club for a Friday night dinner when Will had been picking up something he’d left at the office.
She lived in a townhouse, just on the edge of Oak Glen, the identical-looking brick units a stark contrast to the neighborhoods of McMansions where we were. Luckily she lived in an end unit, in the first row, so I had no trouble remembering which one it was.
I parked out front, and then waited in the car for a moment. I’d never liked Janice. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with her, but it had always been clear to me that she’d had a crush on Will. It was there in her eyes, every time I saw her, in the dopey way she looked at him, and looked away from me, never wanting to meet my gaze. It was there in her mousy little voice when she called him Judge, like he was the king of her universe. I closed my eyes and thought about Will, about lying against him last night, wanting him, his hands skimming my waistband. Will. I sighed and got out of the car.
I stood on her porch for a minute before ringing the bell. I knew it was rude, to show up here like this. I should’ve called—though I didn’t have her number, and I certainly didn’t want to ask Will. So I took a deep breath, and I hit the doorbell.
“Mrs. Levenworth,” she said when she saw me, unable to hide her surprise.
“Are you busy?” I asked. “Can we talk?”
She opened the door for me to come inside.
The inside of the townhouse was sparsely decorated, very minimalist and plain, which, I thought, reflected Janice’s personality nicely: beige walls, beige furniture, oak shelving. “Can I get you some coffee?” Janice asked, seeming oddly eager to please.
“No.” I shook my head. “I won’t stay long. And I’m sorry I didn’t call first.”
She gestured for me to sit down. “It’s okay. Rose is sleeping.”
Rose. I’d nearly forgotten about the baby. Cute. With pudgy cheeks, as Will had said that night that felt so long ago. “How’s she doing?” I asked.
“Good, getting big. She’s rolling over on her own now, and smiling. She has the cutest smile—” She stopped talking and smiled at me. “I’m sorry. Listen to me going on. I’m sure you don’t care.”
“No,” I said. “I do.” I noticed that Janice seemed more animated than I’d ever seen her—when she was talking about Rose, her entire body seemed to light up, and she went from a beige to a red, or at least a soft pink. “It’s nice to see you so happy,” I added.
“Motherhood agrees with me,” she said. I nodded. “But anyway, what do you want to talk about?” She averted her eyes again, and I knew she knew that there was only one reason for me to come here, one person I would want to talk about. I nodded again in response. “How is he doing?” she asked softly.
I thought about the way he’d needed to drink that scotch, the way he’d whispered to me almost on the brink of sleep that he hated his life as a weed control salesman. “He’s been better,” I said, being more honest than I’d meant to be walking in here.
“I heard he’s working in landscaping now.” I nodded. “Judge Levenworth.”
She seemed to be blinking back tears, and I felt this strange need to comfort her, so I put my hand on top of hers. “He’ll be okay, Janice.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“But I just wanted to ask you one thing.” I paused. “Was Will happy as a judge?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused, as if really truly thinking about it for the first time. “He was a good judge.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But that’s not the same thing, is it?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think it is.”
“He had a lot of Tums,” she said. “And coffee.” She thought about it some more. “And he did seem a little sad, near the end. A little anxious, maybe.”
I wished I could go back in time to that moment, that I could stay awake and wait for him to walk in after a long day, that I could go to him and ask him how he was feeling and what he was thinking, that I could go to him, loosen his tie, and start kissing him, the way I’d kissed him last night.
I swallowed hard, and then choked out, in barely a whisper, “Do you think he actually did something wrong?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Absolutely not.”
I nodded. “Of course he didn’t.”
“I’ve been racking my brain about it for months. How did it happen? Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong?”
“You didn’t,” I assured her, though I had no idea if this was true.
“He’s just such a good person. He doesn’t deserve this.” She paused. “Did he ever tell you about my morning sickness?” I shook my head. “It was terrible. And you know a lot of bosses wouldn’t care how you’re feeling, they’d just want you to do your job. But not him. Whenever I was sick he told me to go home and rest, and then he did my work and his own. I’d ask him about it the next day, but he’d just tell me to take care of myself. Not to worry about it.”
We were interrupted by the sound of a baby crying, amplified, though somewhat far away. She held up the baby monitor, which I hadn’t noticed until then was clipped to the side of her sweatpants. “Rose is awake,” she said. “Wait here. I’ll go get her. You can meet her.”
“I—” But before I had time to choke out a no, she had left the room. I sat there, staring at the beige wall, thinking about her resounding no, in response to my question about Will. She had such absolute confidence in him. I thought about Will, doing her work for her when she was sick, and I felt guilty for even asking the question. But there had been something off, something not totally right. I’d felt it there in my dream, and I wondered if, in my dream world, I could see Will more clearly than Janice had been able to in real life. I wondered if Janice’s vision was more than a little clouded.
I looked up, and she was standing in front of me, holding on to the baby, her face illuminated, aglow with a wash of pride and love. I thought about the way Kelly had felt breastfeeding Hannah, and I smiled. “Do you want to hold her?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said, not sure where my response came from, because in my head, I’d been thinking no. She put the baby into my arms, and I felt her soft flesh against my own, smelled her baby powder smell. I brushed her fine hair from her face, and then without even thinking about it, I leaned down and stroked one of her pudgy little cheeks. Will had been right. “She’s beautiful,” I said.
Janice nodded. “This is what it’s all about,” she told me. “This, right here.”
When I got back in the car, I noticed I had a new voice mail. I hoped it was from Will, because I now really wanted to hear his voice. But as soon as I heard the annoying crackle, I knew it was from Sharon. “Hello, Jennifer. Your father and I are going to be in town in two weeks, and we’re going to have a little party. Call me back, and I’ll let you know the details.” She paused. “I hear you’re not talking to your sister. What’s that all about?”
None of your business, I thought, as I hit the delete button. There was no way I was going to that party. No way I was going to watch her and my father stare at me and Will, disappointment hanging so heavy in their faces that it would make me want to crumble.
I drove by Kelly’s house on the way home, tempted to get out of the car and ring the doorbell. I knew she was home. Her red minivan sat in the driveway, the hood dusted in snow that was now a few days old.
“So,” I imagined saying to her. “Dad and Sharon are having a party.” I tried to remember if my mother and father had ever had a party, and I couldn’t think of a time when they had.Once, before our grandparents died, our mother had thrown a surprise party for their anniversary, but I couldn’t remember our father being there. In fact, I think he might have been at work, missed the whole thing.
“I know,” Kelly might say back, rolling her eyes. “But of course we have to go.”
“Why of course?”
“Come on, Jen. Grow up.”
I wondered if maybe I’d just missed it, the obligation gene, the sense of duty Kelly felt to our father and Sharon, to Beverly, whereas I felt nothing. I was empty.
I heard a rumbling and looked up and saw the garage door starting to roll up, and then before she could see me, I hit the gas and sped away.
By the time I got home, Will was already there, lying on the love seat the way he’d been this morning when I’d awoken to the sound of the ambulance. He had his eyes closed, but when he heard me walk in, he said my name, softly.
I went and sat down next to him, on the edge of the love seat. I thought of my dream and Janice’s resolve. “How are you?” I whispered, wishing I’d asked him months ago, wishing I’d stopped to notice him the way Barry should’ve stopped to notice Lisa.
“My head hurts,” he whispered.
“I’ll get you a glass of water and some aspirin,” I said. I hesitated for a moment, and I touched his stubbly cheek with my thumb.
He opened his eyes, and sat up a little. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll get it in a little bit. Just lie with me,” he whispered. He moved toward the back of the love seat, making room for me. So I lay down next to him, turned on my side, and curled my body into his. He stroked my hair back, and after a few moments he said, “Crazy day, huh?”
I thought about Barry in the waiting room and Lisa in the hospital bed, Janice holding on to Rose, and Sharon’s acerbic voice. “Crazy,” I said, marveling at how the world felt so still, right here, lying in his arms.
“You feel so nice,” Will whispered into my neck. “Let’s just lie here forever.”
“Okay,” I agreed, and I leaned in closer to him, close enough so every inch of my body entwined with his.
Twenty-five
Lisa was in the hospital for a week, and when she returned home, I made sure to stop by and check on her every morning on my way to jogging in the park.
“Amber’s getting her tits done,” Lisa told me one morning, as I sat at her kitchen table and watched her empty her dishwasher. I was the only one to know what had really happened to Lisa, which, for some reason, made Lisa open up a little bit more about the other women.
The rest of them only knew what Lisa had told them, the story she’d concocted, that she’d simply been dehydrated, too much running around, too much stress, too much exercise (and I thought it was funny that they bought that last part). But why wouldn’t they? Apparently the women had been feeding one another bullshit for as long as I’d known them, probably longer, and maybe I had been a part of that, too, pretending like Will and I had had the perfect marriage, pretending like I was above having children, like I was the one doing something good in running the auction, when, really, all I was doing was passing the time.
“Barry’s doing it?” I asked.
“His partner,” she said. “Do you think life would be different as a D cup?”
“No.” I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine how that would solve anything. “Absolutely not.” Though I certainly had wondered how life would be different without breasts, how I would feel if I had them taken from me. And that seemed like it would make life eminently different for some reason.
“Barry suggested I get mine done a few weeks ago.” She laughed. “But he was really sweet last night. He apologized. He said he didn’t mean that I needed it, only that he was trying to help.” She paused. “He actually felt guilty about it, as if that were the reason …” She let her voice trail off.
I knew she hadn’t told him the truth, and I wondered if she ever would. It seemed clear to me, having visited her life in dreams, that telling Barry might be the only real way for her to break out of this. She blamed herself for so much, and I guessed that Barry would blame her for nothing, that Barry could make her understand that it wasn’t her fault. And then I thought about Will, about his life as a judge, and how we never told each other anything. “You have to talk to him,” I said. “You have to let him in.”
After my run, I had a splitting headache again, and when I got home, I took two ibuprofen. Then I saw the mail and a note that Will must’ve left on the table when he’d stopped home for lunch. CALL ME IF you WANT ME TO PICK UP DINNER. I LOVE you. I love you. Right there in all caps, so bold and so obvious, it made me want to cry.
I picked up the phone and dialed his number. You have to talk to him, I’d told Lisa. You have to let him in.
“Hi,” I said softly, when he answered. “You busy?”
“Sort of,” he said. “Just walking into an appointment.”
“I saw your note.”
“Do you want me to get something?”
“No,” I said. “I have a chicken.” I paused. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh,” he said. “Hi. Can I call you back in twenty minutes?”
“You don’t have to call me back. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not,” he said. “But I have to go.”
“Will.” I said his name forcefully, afraid he might hang up before I said it. I heard his breath, slow and steady on the other end of the line. “I love you, too.”
After we hung up, I noticed the mail on the table. Sitting on top of the pile was a thick manila envelope, the return address telling me it was from City Style. As I ripped open the package, I thought about Kat and Grant, pictured them having drinks at a bar, as she leaned into him. And then I wasn’t sure if it was something that I dreamed or something that I imagined, because the image in my mind felt foggy, unclear, which only made my head start throbbing more.
Inside the envelope were the handwritten brides’ forms, and a note written in Kat’s large scrawling handwriting—which simply read: Deadline: Feb. 14. I turned the piece of paper over, looking for answers, looking for something else, but that was absolutely all it said.
So she was still sending me work—she didn’t totally hate me. I knew if she wanted to, she could’ve easily asked the intern to write these up, so it sort of felt a little like an apology,or at least an opening. But an opening for what? I wondered. She obviously didn’t want my advice, and maybe she was over my friendship. In fact, maybe she just felt sorry for me.
I thought about Ara and Sarah Lynne, about Ara’s tiny little fingers on my watch, her warm body in my lap, and then I took the forms from Kat and went to the computer to type them up. I had over a week, but I knew finishing would give me an excuse to talk to her again. Still, I sat there for a while, staring at the blank screen until everything was blurry and my head was pounding again. But nothing came to me, no words at all.
The Transformation of Things Page 16
