She Poured Out Her Heart

by Jean Thompson

  “Like, meditation,” Eric suggested.

  “Yes, I suppose. A lot like meditation.” Why did he think everything had to have a name, an explanation?

  “Sure you don’t want to try some?” He offered her the half-eaten crème brûlée, and when Jane shook her head, went back to eating it.

  He was glad to have this part of things over with, and having avoided more distress or complication. She guessed she was too. They had both admitted fault and pledged to do better. But there were things that neither of them had said. Perhaps what they had really agreed to was that they could each keep their secrets.

  She had become a responsibility to him. One more thing he needed to take care of.

  You could say that there were times he was a million miles away too.

  The check came and Eric paid it and they walked down from the terrace to the pool deck and the beach beyond. It was nearly dark. The pool and the little thatched roof bar were lit by colored lights, red and green and blue. A steel drum band was playing, a chiming sound like a carnival or an old-fashioned ice cream truck. They stopped to listen. Eric said they could sit for a while if she wanted.

  “No, let’s just go on back.” It was all so bright and hectic. She felt bleached out just standing next to it.

  “You’re still tired. Come on, we can walk back on the beach.” He put an arm around her. She allowed this. They were, after all, celebrating her return to their shared life.

  They turned their backs on the resort and walked toward the ocean. “Nobody’s out here,” Jane said, wonderingly. It was true, they had the stretch of sand to themselves. Everyone seemed to be at the bars, revving up for a night of fun. The hotels and villas were lit, but once you walked toward the water’s edge, there was only the deep blue evening sky and the white sand and the dark rolling ocean. The nub of a quarter moon had risen.

  Eric said, “Finally, my fantasy comes true. Walking on the beach with a pretty girl. Is that a smile I see? Yes it is!”

  So much lived beneath the surface of the ocean. A kingdom of weaving, waving plants, grottos of coral, schools of silvery, darting fish. And other fish in colors beyond imagining, and creatures that hid their softness within shells, or burrowed into the ocean floor. Cruising sharks. Beyond them, in the deepest ocean, whales. Undersea flowers, blind worms, translucent creatures sending out tentacles.

  So much that could not be seen and yet it was as real as anything you could. In this different sky was the same snow-moon that had pierced her with its white beauty and bestowed on her an ecstasy of knowing, even as her body had given way to the cold and fallen, even as that same body now walked, hand in hand with the man who was her husband, toward their hotel.

  but how are you really?

  But how are you really?”

  “All right. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”

  “I have this new medication, it’s helping. It keeps me from stressing. Everybody says I need to manage my stress.”

  “So do you agree with everybody?”

  “Stress is bad for you.”

  Bonnie waited on her end of the phone, but Jane didn’t go on. Bonnie said, “I guess if you feel you’re moving in the right direction. Doing something positive for yourself.”

  “Everybody,” Jane said, “is encouraging me to think positively.”

  There was a flatness to her voice rather than the shades of humor Bonnie might have expected, even Jane’s trademark weary, knowing humor. Medication, maybe. Bonnie said, “Well, so I’m everybody. Be positive. Do as I say, not as I do.” A space of silence. “Did I tell you I found a new apartment?”

  “I didn’t know you were looking.”

  “It kind of came up around Christmas.”

  “Then I guess I wouldn’t remember. No, it’s OK, there’s all kinds of stuff I missed.” Mild interest on Jane’s part. “Where is it?”

  “North. In Norwood Park, south of Foster. Lots of cops and firefighters live around there because it’s just inside the city limits. Very pleasant, safe. It’s practically the suburbs.”

  “But you’ve been in your place forever,” Jane said, making it sound funereal, as if Bonnie might be moving into senior living.

  “Yeah, well, it seemed like a good time to clean up my act.”

  “I guess you’ll be closer to us.”

  Us, Jane and Eric. She would, although damn that was not the main idea or even a good idea. “A little closer. Should be less city traffic. It’s a nice place, in a four flat. Two bedrooms, has its own washer and dryer. Off-street parking. Lots of windows, natural light, big kitchen. Well, pretty big.” Nothing from Jane. Bonnie guessed that compared to Jane’s aspirational real estate, it wasn’t much to brag about. Still, it would have been nice if Jane pretended excitement. Maybe the excitement had been dosed right out of her. “Anyway, some guys from work are going to help me move Saturday morning. Yes, I am freaking out, because I have lived here forever and the place is a total goat barn.”

  “Can I help? I can help you pack. Saturday? I could come over.”

  “Thanks, but no. There’s not a lot of packing involved. It’s more like illegal dumping.”

  The old, unmedicated Jane might have found that funny. Instead there was another silence. Bonnie was about to say good-bye and hang up when Jane spoke. “Eric’s disappointed that I don’t have some kind of brain disease.”

  “Is he,” Bonnie said, carefully.

  “I’m not diagnosable. I’m in a gray area, clinically speaking. Doctors don’t like gray areas.”

  “I’m sure he just wants to be able to help you.”

  “It scares him when things aren’t under control,” Jane said, suddenly chatty. “Because he’s afraid he might let himself lose control. And then who would he be?”

  “You know, Jane, I wouldn’t—”

  “I mean, who would any of us be, if we did something that was totally, totally out of character for us? What does that even mean, out of character? Are people supposed to be this fixed-for-all-time quantity? Is that a weird thing to think?”

  “No, it’s interesting, really.”

  “It’s how my medically suspect brain works nowadays.” Jane’s enthusiasm dropped off as quickly as it had risen. “OK, I should go start dinner. I’m trying to get us all on this low-sugar high-fiber diet. It’s going over just about as well as you’d imagine.”

  After they hung up, Bonnie sat down on her old swaybacked couch, which was not going to make the move along with her. The apartment had been upended and turned inside out. Every closet and drawer and shelf had disgorged its secret messes, like some perverse magic trick. Some of it had been packed and sealed into boxes, but a lot of it, old papers, old clothes, dishonored odds and ends, was only waiting to be declared trash and hauled out in black plastic garbage bags. She was buying new furniture from Ikea. She was going to start over clean in a clean new space.

  So many good intentions! Such an honorable fresh start! Rotten feelings toted out to the alley. Useless regrets for a moment of stupid weakness, never to be repeated. She and Jane would go on as before. Jane and Eric would struggle through this current crisis. Bonnie and Eric would keep their distance and observe the formalities. Don’t dwell on it. A closed chapter. One moved on, sadder but wiser. Good old fallible human beings, same old sordid story. Not that this made you feel any better about yourself.

  Eric said pretty much the same thing when he called. Of course he called her. He couldn’t let it be, had to try and make it, somehow, all right. He wasn’t someone who could tolerate being on bad terms with anyone. Jane said, “You remember how you used to say he looked like a Labrador retriever? That’s exactly what he is. Always shoving his nose under your hand.”

  When he called, Jane had still been in the hospital, although out of immediate danger. The kids had been deposited with the
grandparents, they’d have some sort of Christmas over there. But, he said, that was not why he wanted to talk to her. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right.” A few beats of silence went by. Bonnie shifted the phone to her other ear.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I thought you said something.”

  “No, just fumbling with the phone.”

  Eric sighed. “I guess, no way this wasn’t going to be awkward.”

  What did he want? Bonnie wasn’t inclined to help him out. She stayed silent and obstinate. It was good to hear that Jane was all right. But a combination of guilt and hurt feelings and general lowdown thoughts got in the way of any heartfelt concern. Which only made things worse.

  “So I feel bad,” Eric said, trying again, “I mean I feel bad all kinds of ways, but I wanted to apologize for practically kicking you out of the house. It was the middle of the night and it was freezing cold. Less than freezing, zero. I was a jerk.”

  “No, it’s OK.” She did understand that part. The kids, the panicky impulse. “No biggie. I got home all right.”

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, don’t start. It’s not necessary.” She spoke sternly because in spite of herself, she was remembering his face, his hands, and yes, his dick.

  “I accept responsibility,” he said, in a formal tone, as if signing a treaty. “And I hope we can go back to the way things were without damaging any friendships. Yours and Jane’s. Yours and mine. That’s important to me.”

  “Sure.”

  “It was a mistake. But I hope we can keep it, you know, between ourselves.”

  “I’m not going to rat you out, Eric. For God’s sake, why would I do that? Don’t worry.”

  “It wasn’t a rational fear,” he admitted. “More like, I deserve to get caught, so I probably will.”

  “Sorry. You probably won’t.”

  Another silence. He said, “Not that it wasn’t really . . . Not that you aren’t . . .”

  “Thanks.” She wanted to get off the phone now. Talk wasn’t helping anything.

  “Because you’re a wonderful girl. Woman. Broad? Chickadee?”

  “No, just don’t. You don’t have to shine me up. Why don’t you worry about Jane instead? She’s the one who needs you.”

  “All right” he said. “I’m not doing a great job here. You’re mad and hurt and whatever else. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to call, but I had to. Because I do care about you. We crossed a line. That doesn’t have to ruin everything from now on. So don’t shut me out. Yes, I will take care of Jane. I don’t need reminding. But who’s supposed to take care of you?”

  He hung up the phone, and Bonnie burst into tears.

  She didn’t need to feel sorry for herself. She didn’t need to feel like she was alone in the world, even if she was. Even if it was so largely her own choice to be alone in the world. She didn’t need to be made pitiful.

  That was just before Christmas, the only time they’d spoken, although Eric had included her in an e-mail to friends, telling everyone that Jane was out of the hospital and back home, and Bonnie had sent Jane a get-well card, a funny one, with a puppy wearing one of those cones around its head. “Hope you’re back on all fours soon!” Or maybe it wasn’t all that funny. She didn’t trust her judgment anymore about such things. Either everything was funny, or more likely, nothing was.

  Moving day came, a bright, cold February Saturday. Her friends from work were these younger guys, Ian and Derek, two of the mechanics who serviced the cop fleet. Bonnie had met them when her Ford Escort had an oil leak. They did side jobs at Ian’s cousin’s North Side garage and did them cheap. The two of them smoked a lot of pot and memorized old comedy albums from the ’70s, so that they were always cracking each other up with routines that nobody else but them understood.

  Bonnie had promised them beer and pizza for helping. They didn’t show up until ten, and only after she’d called them twice, but they got the heavy stuff, books and her bed frame and mattress, stowed away in short order. Bonnie kept finding more things to throw out rather than move. She wasn’t sure they could make it in one load, even with her own car packed with houseplants and clothes on hangers. She planned on sleeping in the new place tonight and coming back to clean tomorrow.

  The apartment was simultaneously emptying out and becoming more disheveled. “It looks sort of like a crack house,” Derek said helpfully. “You know, where they’ve gotten rid of all the furniture and just throw everything on the floor.”

  “That’s nice. How much room’s left in the van?”

  “Ian’s being totally anal about loading, so there’s still space for some stuff. Are you keeping this?” He picked up a lava lamp, something else that at one time Bonnie had thought was funny.

  “It’s yours if you want it.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Feet on the stairs. The door was standing open. “Knock knock,” Jane said, then she came into view, followed by Eric.

  “Oh, hey. Wow.” Bonnie spouting monosyllables. “Wow. You guys.” What would a normal person do? She crossed the room and hugged Jane. “Hey,” she said eloquently to Eric, who said Hey back. Crap. Jane held out a plastic wrapped plate.

  “Oh, what’s this?”

  “Cookies, for you.”

  “Cookies,” Bonnie echoed. They were red and green star shapes decked with silver trim, clearly refugees from the Christmas party.

  “Don’t worry, they’re fresh. I had some extra dough in the freezer.”

  “That’s great, thanks.” Bonnie tried to calibrate her enthusiasm. She held the plate out to Derek, who was always a reliable consumer of munchies. “Guys, this is Derek. Derek, Jane and Eric.”

  “We came to help,” Jane said. “Tell us what we can do.” Jane looked all right, Bonnie decided. She always looked best in winter weather, like she’d just come from herding reindeer. She wore jeans and a puffy red jacket and a patterned wool scarf that had the look of a Christmas present. The cold had put some color in her face. She didn’t seem exactly mirthful or high-spirited, but she was at least normal Jane, that is, some combination of repressed and depressed. Bonnie was looking at Jane so she would not have to look at Eric. The last occasion she’d seen either of them, they had both been naked. Now why for God’s sake think such a thing.

  “Help? Oh, I don’t know, we were just getting ready to drive over with a load.” The wretched condition of the apartment embarrassed her. Dust billowed across the floor. The open hall closet held a few broken backed hangers and a dumpload of old shoes. Bonnie had been cleaning out the refrigerator and the kitchen counters held the last inedible contents: jars of pickle juice, bowls of petrified leftovers. Yes, welcome to the House of Crack. “So it’s not like I need a bunch of stuff packed or anything.”

  “We can take things in our car. See the new place,” Jane said. She turned to Eric. “Couldn’t we.”

  “Sure,” Eric said, with noticeably less excitement. “As long as we pick up the kids in time.” To Bonnie he explained, “They’re terrorizing my parents today.”

  “Ah.” Nodding, like this was some unheard of good idea. “OK, well, thanks. How about you take some of the lamps. Plant stands. Thanks.”

  There were a number of trips up and down stairs, with Ian and Derek arguing about where the center of gravity was in the load. (“Who are those people?” Jane asked, and Bonnie said they were stoner mechanics who worked for the cops.) Then Eric had to move the car seats to fit more in, which filled up their car, and Jane said that she would ride with Bonnie and Eric could follow them. Bonnie pulled away from the curb, watching Eric in the rearview mirror. It was hard to tell anything from this distance, and with the intervening layers of glass, but she didn’t think he looked happy about being part of the move.

  “He’s not happy,” Jane said from the pa
ssenger seat, making Bonnie jump. “He was supposed to go to Albuquerque for a conference but he decided to stay and lavish me with attention.”

  “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

  “Mm,” Jane said, meaning, what? That it was a bad thing? Bonnie navigated through intersections, up to the Kennedy entrance ramp. Her stomach hurt.

  “I don’t see Eric,” Bonnie said. “Do you want to call him?”

  “He has GPS, he’ll be all right. Besides”—Jane closed her eyes and yawned—“it’s nice to have a little time to myself. It’s funny isn’t it, you moving into a new place. I mean it makes me think about college, when we had the apartment. Ten years? Almost eleven. It seems like longer, doesn’t it? Like, when dinosaurs ruled the earth.”

  “Yeah.” Busy with traffic, and not inclined to disagree with anything Jane said. She had not realized how hard it would be to talk to Jane face to face, or rather, not to talk to her. Jane had always been the one person to whom she told everything, and now there was this weight to drag around. She had an impulse to blurt out a confession. But it wasn’t only her secret. And this was the real harm done, not that she had trespassed and made use of a body she was not entitled to, but that now and forever, there would be things not to say.

  Bonnie took the Foster Avenue exit, threading through the concrete overpasses, heading west, then south, through blocks of houses built of pinkish brick, square, utilitarian, each with its own small yard, past a Jewel and a Home Depot in an elderly shopping mall, home to a dry cleaners, an upholstery shop, a locksmith, more. Past a section of overgrown park land, bare branches hemmed in by a viaduct, down a street with some older limestone houses ornamented with small porches or peaked front gables, and here at the end, Bonnie’s building, also limestone, a flat-roofed cube with some staked saplings planted in the parkway out front.

  The street itself was quiet, though traffic noise rumbled nearby. There was a parking lot in back, and Bonnie pulled in. She and Jane got out, and Bonnie watched Jane take the place in. “Nothing fancy, but there’s a bus stop on the corner,” Bonnie said. “I only have to transfer once to get to work. Look around. These are people who keep up their properties. Make sure nobody leaves their garbage cans on the curb too long. There are standards here.”