“I cannot do this,” she said aloud. “I cannot tell my family, and I cannot hide it any longer. And I cannot continue to do both at the same time.” She got up from the table and walked to the far end of the family room for a tissue from the box that sat on the shelf below the television. As she blew her nose, her eyes found the rifles on the wall, sitting in their locked, wood and glass case. She could see her reflection in the front pane, the guns lined up behind it. She looked at them for what must have been several minutes, even though she’d lost track of time. She’d lost track of everything but the guns. A pronounced stillness had entered her body, like a mist through the pores in her skin, magically drying her tears and calming her overworked heart. Her muddled thinking was clearing; here was another option. She walked back into the kitchen and then into the hallway that led to the staircase. She climbed the stairs, two at a time, and then walked quickly to the bedroom she shared with her husband. In the drawer of his bedside table, she opened the leather box that held the keys to the case. She picked them up and looked at them and then closed her fingers around them; she walked back down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the family room.
She unlocked the case and carefully removed one of the rifles, the one Chris used. These actions were automatic, requiring no thought on Ellie’s part, no hesitation in their execution, like auto summing a column of numbers in Excel. She sat on the arm of the couch, put the butt of the rifle on the floor, and then leaned over, so that the muzzle of the rifle was under her chin. She opened her mouth and tilted her head forward, so she was able to put two inches of the rifle barrel in her mouth, tasting the metal and the cleaning oil, the scent of which filled the house after her husband and sons’ annual hunting trip, when they cleaned the guns at the kitchen table, all the while talking about their strategies for the following year’s boys’ weekend. The muzzle was cold and hard against the roof of her mouth. She closed her eyes.
SEPTEMBER
CHAPTER 48
Monday of Labor Day weekend dawned sunny and cool after a thunderstorm in the middle of the night had cleared out the humidity. Joan was up early, drinking coffee and thinking about what she needed to do to get ready for the three o’clock arrival of her guests. She’d cleaned up from the night before, after a quiet dinner with just the four of them—well, five with Jay. And it had been one of the most enjoyable evenings in Joan’s recent memory. Cassie and Jay seemed much more than simply happy with each other; they appeared to be comfortable with each other—more valuable, in Joan’s mind, than happiness, an overrated sentiment, an overused word. Wasn’t it more important to be content? Semantics to some, but not to Joan.
Joan had bought all the food the day before, so setting up the backyard, which Stephen had promised to do, and making the pasta salad and the green salad topped the list. Alice had offered to bring three dozen cookies and enough guacamole for a crowd, and Ellie had promised to bring her grandmother’s famous baked beans, which, she told Joan, she would transport in a Crock-Pot, so Joan would not feel obligated to clean a very dirty dish at the end of the evening. Ellie also insisted on bringing classy paper goods so the general cleanup would be easier. Finishing her second cup of coffee, Joan stood and walked to the cupboard that held her large pots. She filled one with water from the sink and set it on the stove top to boil. Just as she grabbed two boxes of rotini pasta from the pantry, Stephen walked into the room. “Hello, mister,” she said, giving him her best smile.
“You could not have chosen a better day for a cookout,” he said, walking to the coffeepot and filling the mug that Joan had set out for him.
“It was your brilliant idea.”
Coffee in hand, Stephen kissed his wife on the cheek and then headed for the door to the back deck. “I’m going to set things up outside. What time are they coming again?”
“Three,” said Joan. “You’ve got all day.”
“I’m going to get this done—and then head out to do a few errands. I need some gas for the grill and an oil change. Do you need anything?”
“Lightbulbs,” Joan said. “If you’re going to the hardware store, I could use some fluorescents for the family room lamps.”
This banal banter was comforting to Joan. It was an indication of their shared experience, this easygoing conversation. She and Stephen were not discussing gambling, casinos, afternoon drinking, panicked job searches, or challenging syllabus prep; they were talking about gas, oil, and lightbulbs, routine things, letting her know that everything was, at that very moment, okay in their thirty-year marriage. Alice and Dave and Ellie and Chris, she knew, did not enjoy this same level of comfort—Alice and Dave having grown apart instead of together, and Ellie and Chris heading for separate universes.
* * *
Just after 3 p.m., Ellie walked into Joan’s kitchen carrying a warm Crock-Pot. Joan took the pot from her, kissing Ellie on the cheek as she did. This was a new, undiscussed gesture that Joan offered her friend, partly because Joan, like all the Howard women, greeted guests to her home with convivial affection, and partly because she had become more aware of the closeness she shared with Ellie and Alice. Ellie’s quick smile only briefly masked the nervousness in her eyes. Had she said something to Chris? Chris, a six-pack of beer in each hand, had followed Ellie in, and was now standing next to her. Joan quickly turned her attention to him.
“It is so nice to meet you,” said Joan, taking the beer from him and setting it down on the counter. She put her hand out for Chris to shake it, but he wrapped his arms around her shoulders instead.
“You feel almost like family,” he said. “I’ve heard all kinds of wonderful things about Joan and Alice all year long—and here we are.”
Hair still wet from the shower, Liz appeared from the hallway. She strode over to Tim, who had walked into the kitchen and was now standing next to his dad with his hands in his pockets, and hugged him. Joan followed suit. “It’s so nice to see you again, Tim. I hear you’ve had an adventurous summer.”
“Summer choir camp is always an adventure, Mrs. Howard,” said Tim, laughing. “I had a blast, but I am more than ready to go back to school.”
“Is Brandon here?”
“He’s running a quick errand,” said Ellie. “I forgot napkins.”
“Like I don’t have napkins?” asked Joan, her smile trying to coax one from Ellie. “You must be so happy to have him home for the long weekend.”
“I am,” said Ellie. “He’ll be back in a moment.”
“Mom, what did you decide about the beer?” asked Liz, running her fingers through her long black hair, an effort, Joan had seen before, to pair casual behavior with a loaded question.
“Chris? Ellie? Stephen and I allow Liz to have a beer or two at home with us, if she is not driving anywhere afterward. I have soft drinks available, too, so whatever works for you works for us.”
“We allow the same thing,” said Chris.
“Great!” said Liz. She grabbed Tim’s hand and pulled him toward the sliding door to the deck.
“You can follow if you’d like, Chris. Both Stephen and the cooler are that way,” Joan said, using the index finger of her left hand to point to the back of the house. By the time Chris was out the door, Ellie was close to tears. Joan took her hand and walked her into the hallway off the kitchen. “What’s happening, El?”
“I have to tell him,” said Ellie. “I realized on the way over here that I cannot wait another second.”
Joan put her hands on Ellie’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell him here? Now? Alice and I can support you, if you want to do this today.”
“I have to do it myself, Joan,” said Ellie. “And I have to do it today, before I lose my nerve.”
“What can I do to help you?”
“I don’t know,” said Ellie. “I have to think for a moment.” She used her T-shirt sleeve to wipe a tear from her cheek.
Alice, with a basket of cookies, and Dave, a bottle of wine in each hand, walked through the back door, followed by Lin
da, Hilary, and Cathy, who was carrying her mother’s guacamole. Once introductions were done, Joan led everyone outside. Stephen got everyone what he or she wanted to drink and then suggested a game of croquet. He had earlier in the day borrowed two sets from neighbors, so all fourteen of them could play. The duplicate color players, he explained, would simply have to keep careful track of their balls. Everyone laughed when Chris said, “I always keep careful track of my balls!”
Just as they were getting ready to start, Ellie, who had ducked into the bathroom when Alice and her family arrived, emerged from the house and announced that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to go home. “I’ve got a really upset stomach,” she said.
The smile on Chris’s face faded. “Another stomachache? Oh boy. We can go with you, honey.”
“No,” said Ellie, shaking her head. “Please stay here and enjoy yourselves. I’m sorry to ruin this beautiful picnic.”
“You are not ruining it,” said Joan, stepping onto the deck to take Ellie by the arm and lead her back into the house. Once inside, Joan said, “What can I do to help?” By this time, Ellie was crying again.
“I’m an idiot, Joan. I cannot tell my husband, and I cannot continue to live this life.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“No, no. I can drive myself home. Please, I’ve done enough.”
Joan hugged Ellie and watched her walk through the door to the garage and to the driveway, where Brandon, who had joined the others in the backyard, had parked Ellie’s Honda. When Joan turned around, Chris was standing in front of her. “Is she okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Joan.
“Do you think I should go home to be with her? She’s not been herself lately.” Chris looked concerned, helping Joan understand why it would be difficult to tell him, to leave him. “Has she said anything to you?”
Joan looked into Chris’s eyes and was tempted, for just a second, to tell him what Ellie could not. “Why don’t you follow her home,” she said instead, digging in her purse for her car keys. “Just to make sure she’s okay. We’re not going to eat for a couple hours. If she’s feeling better, you can both come back.”
“Good idea,” said Chris. “You don’t mind if I use your car?”
“Not at all. We’ll hope to see you later.”
As soon as Chris left, Joan took her phone out of her purse. Chris is coming home to make sure you are ok. Tell him, Ellie. Love you.
“What’s going on?” asked Alice, walking into the kitchen from the deck. “Is Ellie okay?”
“She’s sick with this secret, Alice. She has to let it out. I sent him after her, and I texted her that she should tell him. Was I wrong to do that?”
“No,” said Alice. “I wish things were different—but I can see that they aren’t. And I want Ellie to be happy. She is such a loving, giving person, Joan. She more than anyone else I know deserves to be happy.”
CHAPTER 49
Even though Ellie was not available because she and Chris had a meeting with a real estate agent that morning, Alice took Daisy to the dog park. And even though Alice liked to have company at the dog park, she was relieved that Ellie was busy; Alice had spent a lot of time on the phone and in person with Ellie in the last ten days, since she had told her husband and her sons on Labor Day about being a lesbian. Chris had initially taken it pretty well, according to Ellie. He told her he was sad, like she was, but that he was supportive of her and of her decision to come out. Several days later, however, the reality of what Ellie had said and meant must have sunk in; Ellie said he didn’t talk to her for two days. And that was not like him; he was not a grudge holder. His mood shifted again a couple days after that. He wanted to get the house on the market as soon as possible, so he could move ahead with his life. He wanted to find someone who would love him as, he said, he was “meant to be loved.”
His anger had surprised Ellie, who had thought the Kilcullen family would be her large but single problem. And she and Chris had fought bitterly one night, actually yelling at each other, which wasn’t characteristic of either of them or of their marriage. It was this argument, Ellie told Alice and Joan, that had resulted in Chris’s not speaking to Ellie. Now that they were talking again—not a lot, but at least some—Ellie knew that Chris was, as she described it, coming around. He was deeply hurt, which Ellie understood, but she also had a feeling he would be okay, because Brandon and Tim had told her that Chris had told them how important it was to be supportive of their mother. He had hidden his resentment from his sons. And for this Ellie was very grateful. Ellie would have to work at finding a new relationship with Chris, at having a friendship with her husband. But she thought he would eventually be open to it, if only for the sake of their boys.
Alice had a different opinion as to why Brandon and Tim were supportive of their mother. Yes, certainly their dad’s demeanor and instruction made a difference. But Alice suspected they were good to their mom because they loved her. Ellie had put their needs ahead of hers—Ellie put everyone’s needs ahead of her own—and the boys knew the time had come for her to think about herself and what she wanted. The younger generation was much better at embracing homosexuality than Alice and her peers. And, in spite of her reservations, Alice could see that Tim, Brandon, and the rest of the twenty-somethings were onto something. They knew that judging others was a very bad habit.
Daisy had been to the park a few times. She was playful and submissive, qualities that had attracted other dogs. She made friends quickly. On this particular day, Alice and Daisy followed a pack of humans and dogs around the short loop, and then they returned to the meadow. After ten minutes of nonstop jumping, running, and playing, Daisy was exhausted. Alice scooped her up in her arms, kissed her nose, and then set her back down on the ground and clipped on her leash. As they were walking toward the gate to the parking lot, Alice saw Kelly Shulz, James’s mother, getting out of her car. A moment later, Kelly’s eager yellow labs were jumping at the gate. Alice’s smile was met by a blank stare. And then Kelly said, “I read about your encounter in the newspaper.”
“Oh?” said Alice, not sure she wanted to have a conversation with Kelly Shulz about Greg Anderson, guns, or anything else.
“I know what happened,” said Kelly, unlatching the gate and letting her dogs through. They immediately crowded around Daisy, all tails madly wagging.
“You do?”
“Yes,” said Kelly. “You could have killed him, and you didn’t.”
Alice tilted her head, Kelly’s words sitting in the front of her mind. “How do you know that?”
Kelly started walking toward the meadow, and Alice followed her, even though she had only a moment ago been on her way out of the park.
“Because you’re a conscientious person,” said Kelly. “When the kids were in high school, whatever task you were assigned by the head of the drama department, you did well.”
“Thank you,” said Alice, responding to the compliment.
“And,” said Kelly, “conscientious people who own guns learn how to use them properly. They go to target practice until they can hit a soup can off a fence post at fifty yards—and then they continue to practice.” Alice smiled at the scenario Kelly presented. One of the targets at the range actually was the image of a soup can. And Alice had nailed it at seventy-five yards. “So, I know you could have killed him.”
Alice chose to join the conversation. “Yes,” she said. “I could have killed him.”
Their presence in the middle of the meadow—Kelly and her dogs and Alice and Daisy—had scattered the others. Most people in town, Alice guessed, were still uncomfortable with facing or talking to Kelly Shulz. She and Kelly were alone.
“So why didn’t you? I heard he tried to rape you.”
“He did try to rape me,” said Alice. “And I was certainly angry enough to kill him.”
The women were walking now, heading for the path near the brook.
“Was it that you had a split second to conside
r what your life would be like if you did?” asked Kelly.
Alice hesitated only a moment before responding. “Yes,” she said. “I think that’s exactly why I didn’t kill him.”
Kelly nodded her head. “I think my James had that same thought,” she said. “Only he had that thought after he shot Emmanuel Sanchez and not before.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean by that,” said Alice.
“Well,” said Kelly, “if you think killing someone might have a negative impact on your life and you have just killed someone, then you have little choice other than to kill yourself alongside your victim. If my James had thought about it beforehand, like you, both he and Emmanuel might be alive right now.”
Tears formed at the corners of Alice’s eyes. And, to her surprise, Kelly gave her a quick hug. “Don’t fret,” Kelly said. “I’ve done nothing but worry and mourn each and every day since the shooting, and it hasn’t helped anything.” It was Alice’s turn to hug Kelly. “I’ve gotten rid of my guns,” she said. “I’m not really sure why I had them. They were a substitute, I think, for the love my lousy husband never gave me. They were also a sign to him that I would tolerate his cruelty no longer.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you or done anything to help you.”
Kelly stepped out of the hug and away from Alice. “It’s okay,” she said. “No one knows what to say or do in this kind of situation. I don’t blame anyone but myself.” Alice said nothing. Even though this short conversation had helped her to understand Kelly and James Shulz more than she ever had, Alice couldn’t help but blame someone for what had happened, and she chose, still, to blame Kelly. “I’m moving away,” said Kelly. “It’s becoming harder rather than easier for me to live here as the months pass.”
“Where will you go?” asked Alice. It didn’t occur to her to ask Kelly to stay.
“I have a sister in Ohio,” Kelly said. “She’s divorced too.”
Every Other Wednesday Page 27
