When We First Met

by Norma Fox Mazer

  “Don’t try to second-guess me. Just tell.”

  She took a sip of water. “It was a long time ago, maybe nine years ago. We were at Blue Lake and Gail and I were in the water, and—I tried to drown her.”

  “Why?” Rob said.

  She shook her head. “We were fighting over a rubber tire. We were always fighting. Gail pushed me under. When I came up, I jumped on her and pushed her under and—I remember distinctly—I wanted to keep her down. I wanted to drown her.”

  “You were just a kid. Kids think things like that. You didn’t do anything.”

  “I did,” Jenny said. “I tried. And now she’s dead.”

  “Jenny, you didn’t kill her,” he said, and then, apparently hearing himself, picked up the plastic fork and dug into the box of chicken. A silence fell between them. They ate with their eyes down. Are we always going to blunder this way? Jenny thought.

  “Hi, over there.” Rob pushed her foot with his. “You haven’t eaten very much.”

  “I ate at home. Here, you can have the rest.” She pushed her box across to him.

  “You’ll make me fat again.”

  “I’ll still love you.”

  They smiled at each other. Jenny sighed. The crisis was over.

  It wasn’t always that easy. A few days later, leaving school, Rob said, “I want to ask you something. The night Gail went out, was there a reflector on her bike?”

  Jenny stiffened. “Yes,” she said briefly. Let it drop, Rob. But their ESP wasn’t working: he kept after it.

  “Was she—Gail—wearing dark clothes?”

  “Jeans, a red shirt. What’s the point?”

  “It was dark, rainy. She must have been hard to see.”

  “She wore a yellow half slicker over her jeans.”

  “I wish you’d meet my mother,” he said abruptly. “You’d see she’s not a monster.” The weather had turned cool. All the new leaves were turning and shivering in the cool wind. Jenny buttoned her jacket. “Come up to the house,” he said. “Let’s visit Carl.”

  “Rob, I don’t want to meet your mother.”

  “She’s not home, Jen. She works, remember? I’m not talking about meeting her today. Just sometime. Will you come up?”

  “All right,” she said reluctantly.

  Walking into his home, the first thing Jenny saw was a straw knitting basket with a half-finished sock hanging out. On a table, a vase of silk flowers and framed pictures of Rob and Jade. “Is this your sister?” The same forehead, the same nose. He nodded. “She’s really beautiful.”

  She followed him through the apartment. Pictures on the walls, magazines scattered around, colorful little rugs everywhere. A warm feeling. The house of a woman, a mother; the house of Rob’s mother.

  “Here’s my room,” he said. Drumsticks lay on top of a wicker basket heaped with clothes. On the floor were magazines, records, and a bowl filled with apple cores. “A little messy.” He picked up a jersey and pitched it into the basket. Jenny looked at the books stacked on a table near his bed. 36 Children. Why Children Fail. A Very Special Child.

  “Come sit with me.” He patted his lap.

  She smiled, hung in the doorway, couldn’t escape the thought that this was his mother’s house. All the things they didn’t want to talk about were, in this place, too close to the surface. What if his mother walked in now? What would Jenny say? How could she even face this woman who had run down Gail? She grew more and more uncomfortable. “Rob, I’ll wait for you outside.” Before he could answer, she was out the door, down the steps.

  A few minutes later, he came out. “I had to feed Carl.”

  She looked at him closely. “Mad?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I ran out.”

  He shrugged. “I pushed you into coming up. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.” Now she defended him to himself. “I just didn’t feel at ease.”

  “Let’s forget it. It’s okay.”

  Chapter 12

  “This is my friend, Jenny, that I’ve told you about,” Rob said.

  “Hello,” Jenny said, smiling. Art and Margie Chapin sat across from each other at a round table, their heads identically yellow-white, working on papier mâché vases. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Chapin.”

  “Call me Art.” A small, compact man, he showed purple gums in a brilliant smile.

  “Do you see anything you like, darling?” Margie was taller, thin, with bright brown eyes.

  Jenny went around the room, looking, touching, admiring. Every available surface was covered with papier mâché vases, boxes, lamp bases, and bowls, all painted in bright primary colors and glazed with varnish. Margie and Art supplemented their Social Security selling their handiwork.

  “Don’t buy anything just because you’re here,” Art said when Jenny picked out a small diamond-shaped box painted Chinese red.

  “Oh, no, I love it.” Fleetingly she thought of buying a box for her mother. It would lead to questions, though. The Chapins? Who are they? How did you happen to meet them? And of course Rob’s name would have to come in. Robin? Is this the Robin you mentioned? What did you say her last name was? (Her? Last name?)

  “I like your friends,” she said when she and Rob left the Chapins. “Let’s go see them again.”

  They did go visit Margie and Art again, and then, since it was just across the street from Rob’s house, they ran up to see Carl the kitten as well. Each time she was in Rob’s house, it was easier for Jenny, easier to stay there, to stay longer.

  It was a good time, a time when everything seemed nearly perfect, when every day began and ended for Jenny with the thought of Rob. “I feel left out,” Rhoda said one day. A comic wail of deprivation, but serious, too. “I want to be in love, too!”

  They were in Rhoda’s room, sitting on a bench in front of the dressing table. “Half the guys in school are in love with you,” Jenny said, “and you say that.”

  “Oh, they’re idiots. I don’t ask them to follow me around. I’d rather feel the way you do.” Her hand hovered over the lineup of tubes, pots, and jars of makeup. “How did you choose so right?”

  Jenny worked on the left side of her face: mascara, eye shadow, blusher, lip gloss. “You know very well I didn’t choose. The first moment I saw him—”

  “Yes, it’s so perfect. Really fairy-tale stuff, and even better that you’re star-crossed, that your families hate each other.”

  Jenny stared at her face, the left side glamorous, the right side familiar and usual. “I’ll give you star-crossed,” she said, sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes.

  One night when Jenny’s father was home, Mimi came for dinner, and everything was somehow lovely. Because of Mimi, Jenny thought. She brought a calmness to their family circle. She wore big tortoise-shell glasses and had silky, wheat-colored hair. She had eased into their family in a natural way, and came and went without fuss.

  After supper, Jenny and Mimi did the dishes. “Gail and I always used to fight when we did the dishes,” Jenny said, getting a fresh dish towel. “Do you and your brother fight a lot?”

  “Well … yes and no. It really seems ridiculous for me to fight with him. I’m twenty years old; it’s crazy to fight with my little brother, but there are times … He’s the prince of the house, you know,” she said in her calm, accepting way. “It’s not his fault. My mother doesn’t let him do anything. No, Jenny, don’t let me get started on that. Really, it brings out the worst in me when I talk about my family.” She scrubbed a dish with the orange sponge. “Does that sound awful? You’re very lucky with your family, you know. I can’t talk to my mother the way I can to your mother. She’s so much under my father’s thumb.”

  Jenny was silent for a moment. Did everyone look at other families and see them as better than their own?

  “Cat got your tongue?” Mimi smiled at her. “You know what, you look different. I can’t figure out what it is. Are you doing something different with you
r hair?”

  “No, it’s just the same.” She had a strong desire to tell Mimi, I’m in love; I’m in love, too, just like you. “Mimi, did you fall in love right away with Frankie?”

  “You mean when I met him at Irene Ramsey’s party? No, no. I didn’t really get to know him that night. He hung around me, saying how much he liked my green dress and how pretty I was, and—”

  “Frankie said that?” Jenny laughed. “I can’t imagine Frankie—”

  “Oh, he was really coming on to me. You should have heard him. He actually said something like I was the girl he’d been waiting for all his life.”

  “Oh, no. What a corny line!”

  “I thought so, too. I thought, Big act! Just goes to show how wrong you can be about people.”

  When they joined the rest of the family in the living room, Jenny’s father started asking Mimi about her plans. “What’ll you do when you finish community college?”

  “Well, that’s just a two-year degree. I want to go on and get a regular four-year degree. Probably a Bachelor of Science.”

  “You have ambition. I like that.”

  Frankie put his legs across Mimi’s lap. They were sitting on the couch. “She’s really lazy, Dad. A good-for-nothing. She’s just buttering you up with all that talk about getting a degree. She’ll go to work on Mom next. Watch out, Mom!”

  Jenny’s father turned on the TV. There was a special on called Say Good-bye. “What now?” her father said. In a whispery, hoarse voice, Rod McKuen told them about all the animals that were disappearing from the earth because they didn’t have enough land and food. Halfway through the film were pictures of men clubbing fat white baby seals.

  “This is sick,” Mimi said. “I can’t watch!” But all of them sat there, watching the slaughter, until Jenny couldn’t stand it anymore and left the room.

  Chapter 13

  “Come on, Rob, let’s go.”

  “What’s your hurry, don’t you want part of this sandwich?”

  They were in his house, Carl on the table. Jenny bent over, dangling a strand of hair in front of the kitten. “You’ve already eaten two sandwiches. You’re going to get fat.”

  He moaned. “Jennifer!”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” She kissed him.

  “You meant it, Jenny.”

  “Didn’t.” Kissed him again.

  “Am I getting fat?”

  “Don’t be crazy. You’re not skinny, but—”

  “Oh, so I’m not skinny. What’s the opposite? Fat—”

  “Idiot. Fathead. Oops!”

  He pounced on her, wrapped his arms around her. “Say something else. Put your foot in your mouth a couple more times.”

  She struggled, stepped on his foot, and broke free. He chased her, and they ran through the house, screaming like a couple of kids. He caught her in the kitchen again. “I’ll tickle you,” she threatened. “I’ll tickle your fat belly.”

  “You know what I do to girls like you?”

  Flushed with laughter, half-kissing, half-struggling, neither heard the front door open.

  “Hello, what’s this?” A woman in dark pants and a striped tee shirt stood in the doorway.

  “What are you doing home so early, Mom?” Rob smoothed down his shirt.

  “My usual time.” She held out her hand to Jenny. “Hello. I’m Nell Montana.”

  Automatically, Jenny shook the offered hand. It was small, warm, covered with silver rings. More than once she had tried to imagine this moment, face-to-face with the woman her mother called Mrs. Killer. Tried to imagine what she would say, how she would act: proud, reserved, but articulate.

  “Mom, this is my friend, Jenny”—Rob hesitated and finished—“Jenny Pennoyer.”

  His mother looked straight at Jenny. The same blue eyes as Rob. “Pennoyer? Are you related to other Pennoyers?”

  Jenny’s mind failed her. Her arms felt limp. On the floor the kitten chased a bit of dust. “I’m Gail Pennoyer’s sister,” Jenny blurted.

  Nell Montana’s eyes grew larger, shone with shock and surprise. Jenny’s own eyes felt small, fuzzed over. She wanted to shut them, shut away the sight of this woman. “I better go.” She moved toward the door.

  “Don’t go.” Nell Montana put her hand on Jenny’s arm. “I want to talk to you. I want you to give your mother a message, tell her something for me. Will you do that? Your mother sends me things. She writes me letters. Sit down, please sit down, stay a moment.”

  Unwillingly, Jenny sank into a chair.

  Nell Montana dug a cigarette out of her pocket. “God, what a day. I need something to drink.”

  Jenny’s heart thumped erratically. This was unreal, a scene from a TV drama, but, somehow, she was in the middle of it. A drink … is that what you need? I’ve often wondered what sort of person you are. I can’t imagine my mother drunk. I won’t say she’s a saint, she certainly takes a drink now and then, but drunk? No, that’s something else entirely. I hear the girls at work talking about being bombed out of their minds, and I don’t think that’s so funny, either, but all the same they’re mostly girls. I mean, it’s not an excuse, but they are younger, and I guess they don’t think about some things, like someone coming along when you’re driving … but you’re a woman, and that’s the part I don’t understand. And you’re Rob’s mother. That’s the other part I don’t understand. Because Rob is so special, and he must be that way at least partly because of you.…

  “I better go,” she said again. But again Rob’s mother protested.

  “No, stay. Let’s talk. Let’s talk like people. I’m frazzled—end of day, end of work. I’m not always this hyper, am I, Rob? You kids want something? I’m going to have a cup of hot tea.”

  Rob sat down next to Jenny, pressed his foot against hers. There was an awkward silence as Nell Montana poured a cup of tea. “You sure you don’t want something?”

  “Nothing. Thank you.” Above the table a framed motto read, “Keep on truckin’—around the corner it might be different.”

  “I’m not mad at Rob for bringing you here,” his mother said, sitting down across from them. “Maybe it’s even a good thing. I think I can talk to you, Jenny; you have sympathetic eyes. But do you know what I really wish? I wish that was your mother sitting there where you are. She has never let me talk to her. Oh, I don’t blame her. I understand. I’m the mother of a daughter, too. I know how I would feel if—” She added sugar to her tea and stirred it round and round. Her eyes became red-rimmed, and red splotches appeared on her cheeks. She lifted her teacup with shaking hands. “When is my life going to start again?” she said. “When is it going to be all right again?”

  Don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear this. Jenny’s nails curled into her palms.

  “Mom,” Rob said, “don’t get started—”

  “I will get started, Rob,” Nell Montana said in the same passionate way Jenny had heard him say things. “I will. Don’t say don’t to me. Here’s Jenny Pennoyer in my house! Here’s the daughter of the woman I need forgiveness from! Here’s the sister of that poor girl. Gail. You see, I know her name. Of course, I know it! I don’t forget. I don’t forget anything. I live with it. I live with what I did every day of my life. Do you understand?” She stroked Jenny’s arm, a soft touch that struck Jenny as unpleasant.

  “I suppose my son is right,” she said. “I shouldn’t get started. People don’t like emotion.”

  “Jenny’s not like that,” Rob said.

  “In my whole life I never willingly hurt anybody.” She bent forward. “Then one night, I’m driving home from a party, I’d had a drink, and I’m feeling good, I’m singing a little and thinking about things. Not much of anything, and then—”

  “Mom—” Rob said.

  “No, let me, let me talk. You want to know something, Jenny? You want to know the irony of it? Rob’s father is the one who likes to drink at parties. Oh, yes, he does. All the times I’ve said, ‘Pal, I better drive because you’re half-seas ove
r.’ And then that one time—I don’t drink. Not hard. Just a friendly drink or two at a party. I don’t get smasheroo. I wasn’t smasheroo that night. I had a drink, yes, maybe I had two drinks, but not smasheroo. It was just—the alcohol affected my timing, that’s what they told me. Just affected it, and it was dark and raining, and so I didn’t see her until the last—”

  Her voice dropped off. She put her head down on the table. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “Mom.” Rob rubbed his mother’s bent back. “Mom—”

  “I’m sorry.” Nell Montana sat up. Again she touched Jenny’s arm. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m sincerely sorry, but as Rob’s father would say, I’m nearly always sorry for one thing or another. My life seems to be a series of sorrys. Sometimes my entire life appears to me to be one big word in the sky—S-O-R-R-Y.”

  Jenny’s hands were freezing. All this emotion, all this talk. In her house there was emotion, all right, but it was reined in, tight, under the surface.

  “Are you okay?” Rob said to her in a low voice.

  She held out her hands to him, and he rubbed them between his own.

  “Hey—” Nell Montana put on a smile. “It’s real nice to see young people in love. Are you two in love?” She looked from one to the other and lifted her teacup. “I toast you. Rob and Jenny. Young love. It’s probably the best thing we have left in this mean old world. When I came home and saw the two of you it reminded me of days gone by when Rob’s father and I … Did I ever tell you, honey, the main reason I married your father?”

  “Sure you did,” Rob said.

  “Well, I’ll tell Jenny then. It was his name. Montana. I always wanted to stand out and it appeared to me that my name, Nell Smith, was an impossible barrier to achieving anything great in life. Please remember that I was fifteen. How old are you, Jenny?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen, and already quite wise. I see it in your eyes. Wise eyes—and they are judging me.”

  “No, no,” Jenny said, but it was true. She had never met anyone like Rob’s mother and sitting there, listening and watching, she was trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle that was this woman.