The Things We Wish Were True

by Marybeth Mayhew Whalen

  “So, right,” he spoke up. “Zell will take Cailey home with her. I’m right next door, so maybe Alec and Lilah can check in on her, or I can answer any questions she may have or . . . whatever. And we’ll just wait for news from the mother and go from there?”

  “That sounds like as good a plan as any.” Zell’s voice was less hearty than usual. She went over to get Cailey. Lance heard her say, her voice comforting, “Your mom needs to drive to the hospital now, honey. She needs to get off the phone so she can drive safely, OK?”

  He looked around at the pool, the water now still and empty. The lifeguards were in panic mode, calling their bosses and filling out forms, unaware that anyone else was there. The music was still off, and the place had cleared out. Their own children spoke in hushed tones, huddled off to the side to process what had happened without the aid of an adult perspective. They probably thought the boy was dead. Lance wasn’t sure he wasn’t.

  He looked back at Jencey and her friend.

  “This is Lance,” Jencey said to her friend. “The hero.” She gave him a smile, one that was genuine but fleeting. He missed it as soon as it was gone.

  CAILEY

  When the snooty girl talked to me, I thought she thought I was someone else. When she smiled at me, I looked over my shoulder to see who she was looking at. I know my face looked shocked when I realized she was talking to me. We’d been coming up to the pool for almost a whole month, played a few feet away from each other in the water many times, and stood next to each other in line for the diving board more than once. But she’d never acted like she knew I was alive. So I’d stuck with Cutter, keeping an eye on him like I was supposed to, and pretended I didn’t notice that the girls my own age didn’t care two flips about talking to me.

  What was different about that day? I don’t know. I was in the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time. It was one way, then it was another. The two things switched like how one minute the sun is there, the next minute it’s the moon and you’re not quite sure how it happened. Why did she decide to pay attention to me, and why did I have to respond? If I’d ignored her, everything might’ve been different. But I didn’t. She asked me my name. I told her. She told me hers (I already knew; I’d heard her sister shout it about a hundred times by then), and we started playing Cross Pool. Everything that came after that was irreversible. It just was.

  Once when Mom was between both jobs and boyfriends, she sent us to stay with her aunt Ruby, who lived on a farm out in the country. We stayed there for a long time, though Mom says it wasn’t that long. I’m not sure that’s true, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that while we were there, I saw two things I’ll never forget: a calf get born and then, a few days later, that calf dying. I still remember how we found it, cold and stiff in a corner of the stall. Aunt Ruby didn’t know what happened to the calf. She said that sometimes things just aren’t strong enough to make it in this world.

  Standing there with those strangers at the pool all looking at me, I thought of that calf, and about Cutter splashing around all desperate-like every time he got in the water. He wasn’t strong enough, either. But I was supposed to be strong for him. I thought of all the times I’d been cruel to him, ignored him, said awful things to him. I hoped he knew I didn’t mean any of it. I felt the tears sliding down my face, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I didn’t care if those strangers saw me cry.

  The adults held a little meeting and decided I should go to the old lady’s house, the one who always brought Alec and Lilah up to the pool. She always had good snacks, so I figured it wouldn’t be awful to go with her, even if she was a stranger and my mom told me never to go with strangers. My mom also told me to keep an eye on Cutter at all times, and I didn’t do that, so maybe I deserved whatever happened to me at a stranger’s house.

  But when we got there, nothing terrible happened. The old lady—who told me to call her Zell—made me a glass of Coke in a bright turquoise metal cup that turned as cold as the ice she put in it. My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow the Coke, so I just held the cup in my hand until it got too cold to stand, then I put it on the coffee table and watched the condensation drip down the sides while the old lady—Zell—went to find me a coaster.

  Her house was nice. Cozy. The kind of house you’d see on a TV show. Zell also seemed like she could be on a TV show, playing the plump neighbor who’s nice but kind of obnoxious, the one you just have to love because she means well. She stared at me while I took a polite sip of that Coke, and that’s what I told myself: She means well. She’d brought me there, hadn’t she? She’d taken me in when she didn’t have to. The whole lot of them could’ve left me there, crying and wailing like I was, all of them hoping I’d get myself together and get myself home eventually.

  But they didn’t leave me. They huddled like a football team and made a decision. Maybe they drew straws and Zell got the short one. But however they made it, she was the one elected. She told me I was going home with her as if it were the best news she’d ever heard. And when we left, the other people walked out with us, each of them promising to check in on me later, like they actually cared. Alec and Lilah’s dad said, “Feel better,” and looked really sad, and I wished I had a dad like him. I knew they didn’t have a mom, but sometimes I thought a dad would be better anyway. I mean, if you had to pick just one.

  As I drifted off to sleep on Zell’s couch underneath the afghan she put over me when I couldn’t stop shivering, I thought about the sign at the pool’s entrance that said: WE’RE ALL FAMILY HERE. Maybe, I decided, it wasn’t a lie.

  EVERETT

  Jencey Cabot was sitting at his kitchen table, looking for all the world like she belonged there. Like she’d just been by last week to drop off some blueberries she’d picked and was back to eat the muffins Bryte made from them, or whatever women did with one another when he was at work. He tried not to stare at her, taking in the changes that had occurred since the last time he’d seen her, which wasn’t nearly as long ago as Bryte thought. He couldn’t let on about that. So far Jencey was doing a good job of pretending it had never happened. Was it possible she’d forgotten?

  His gaze flickered back over her. Damn but she was still beautiful. Whether her hair was still the same color blonde as it had been in high school or she’d had some help keeping it that color didn’t matter. Except for the faintest lines around her eyes and a bit more wisdom in them, she looked just like the girl he’d loved first. He forced himself to look away and smile at Bryte, who was all revved up about what had happened at the pool that day. She’d talked of nearly nothing else.

  “So then what happened?” he asked, feigning the same level of interest, when all he wanted to do was grill Jencey about what she was doing back in town and ask her if she was mad at him. She had a right to be.

  “Well, they took him in the ambulance. But the saddest part”—Bryte and Jencey exchanged mournful glances—“the saddest part was his older sister. They didn’t take her with them, and it just broke her heart. So she’s falling apart and we’re all just standing there wondering what to do.” Bryte looked at Jencey again, and he could see the faintest bit of that old hero worship in her eyes as she did. “Jencey was really great with her.”

  Jencey shrugged. “She’s close in age to my daughters. I just talked to her the way I do with them when there’s a crisis.”

  Have you had a lot of crises in your life? He refrained from speaking the words aloud. He liked to think her life in Connecticut had been good, better than the one she’d left behind. The one that had once included him.

  “Well, you got her calmed down.” Bryte stood and began clearing the plates from dinner, shooing Jencey back into her place when she attempted to stand as well. “I was useless.”

  Everett didn’t like the tone this conversation was taking. His wife was regressing in front of his eyes. Where was the confident, capable woman she’d become in her twenties, sans Jencey? He wasn’t sure that Jenc
ey’s reappearance in their lives right on the heels of the infertility issues was the best thing. He’d been close to talking her into subjecting themselves to all of it again, shoring her up for battle. He couldn’t afford for Jencey to reduce her to that uncertain girl she’d been back when they were in high school. That girl could never have gone through all that his wife—grown-up, confident Bryte—had.

  “I’m sure you weren’t useless, honey,” he spoke up.

  He saw Jencey’s eyes cut over to him and away in a flash. So she didn’t like him calling Bryte “honey.” Interesting. Or maybe he was just reading too much into the situation. Projecting. Isn’t that what Bryte called it when he said things he wished were true as if they already were? Did he want Jencey to be bothered? To be jealous?

  Yes, he did. God help him, he did want Jencey to eat her heart out over how it had all turned out. Never mind the way things had gone down that last time. Never mind that things might’ve been different.

  “Everett?” Bryte asked. “Would you mind getting Christopher out of his seat?” Without waiting for his reply, Bryte handed him a wet washcloth. And why not? This is what they did every night. This is who they were. This was the choice they’d all made.

  He used the washcloth to attempt to remove the remnants of dinner from his son’s face as Christopher squirmed and whined his disapproval. Jencey watched the domestic scene silently, and Everett wondered what she was thinking. Satisfied with his cleaning job—the rest would come off in the bath—Everett released the booster-seat tray and helped him down. Christopher immediately went to Jencey, sidling up to her with a charming grin as he thrust a toy car in her face to impress her. Like father, like son, he thought, and suppressed a grin of his own.

  “You’re quite the little charmer,” Jencey said, and pulled Christopher onto her lap.

  Bryte turned around and looked at the three of them there at the table—the boy in Jencey’s lap, Everett sitting beside them. He could only wonder what Jencey’s thoughts were, but he could take one look at his wife to know what hers were. He caught her eye and winked. I love you. You’re my wife. This is our son. I wouldn’t want it any different. Bryte smiled and turned back to the dishes.

  “So where’s the little girl now?” he asked, circling back to the most innocuous topic of conversation he could find. It was awful of him, but he was actually glad for the scene at the pool today. It had given them all something to talk about, allowed them to detour away from the land mines that lay in any other conversational territory.

  “Well, she’s with Zell. Remember Mrs. Boyette? JJ’s mom?” Bryte started loading the dishwasher, speaking without turning around.

  Everett laughed, thinking of big, lumbering JJ Boyette, the quintessential jock. Everett hadn’t thought about him in years. “Yeah,” he said, thinking of the time JJ had chased him and his friends through the woods by the lake. People said those woods were haunted, and as a child he’d been terrified of going into them. Later, he’d come to love those woods.

  He forced himself not to look over at Jencey, not to think of their hideaway. At some point he wanted to talk to her alone, to make sure she wasn’t ever going to mention anything to Bryte, who still had no idea what had happened in New York. He couldn’t afford for anything to knock them off course, not when he’d laid so much groundwork for attempting a second child. Bryte would use any excuse to postpone another round of fertility treatments.

  He understood—last time was hell—but he also knew that in the end the treatments had worked. He glanced over at Christopher, whose eyes were growing heavy as he sat on Jencey’s lap. He didn’t want his boy to be an only child. He’d been an only child. His world had been lonely until Jencey and Bryte had come into his life when he moved to Sycamore Glen at ten years old. He’d thought of them like sisters, until he didn’t.

  “Have you heard anything?” Jencey piped up. “From Zell?”

  Bryte shook her head and shut the dishwasher door with a thud, the glasses inside clinking loudly against one another as she did. “Tell you what, I’ll go call her. I’ve got a neighborhood directory around here somewhere.” She strode out of the room, leaving Jencey and Everett alone.

  “I’m sorry.” Jencey waited a moment, then spoke quietly, knowing they had precious few moments alone. “If this is awkward.”

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal, not letting on how desperate he’d been to cover his bases, to beg her not to mention anything that could damage his marriage. And yet, with Jencey sitting there, he didn’t want to bring up that awkward and embarrassing night. From the back bedroom they used as an office, he heard Bryte using her telephone voice, slightly louder and more formal than her normal speaking voice.

  “It’s just weird,” he brought himself to say. “Seeing you again.” He gestured to Christopher. “Here.”

  “I’ll never bring up . . . the past,” she said. She looked over at him and their eyes held. “I wouldn’t do that,” she added.

  He looked away, focusing his gaze on Christopher’s face, but he could still feel her eyes on him. “Thanks,” he mumbled as relief flooded his body. Bryte returned to the room, talking a mile a minute.

  “So, Cailey is still with Zell, and it looks like she’s going to be there for a while. Terrible situation. Cutter has—hang on, let me make sure I say this right—acute respiratory distress syndrome. He’s in intensive care, and the mom basically can’t miss work because she’s the sole breadwinner for the family. They’re monitoring Cutter for possible brain damage because he was under the water for who knows how long. I’d like to string those lifeguards up for not paying attention!” Bryte said, her voice growing more animated. “I told you, didn’t I, honey?” She didn’t wait for an assent from him before continuing. “I told you how those lifeguards are not doing their jobs. I hope they fire every one of them. I mean, what would’ve happened if Lance didn’t see him and jump in?”

  “I shudder to think,” Jencey agreed, nodding vigorously. She took another gulp of wine. Everett noticed she was knocking the wine back. And Bryte, ever the hostess, kept her glass filled. He didn’t exactly blame Jencey. If he didn’t have to get up early for work, he’d definitely get hammered.

  Christopher yawned and reached for him. “Come on, buddy,” he said, lifting him into the air as he stood and settled him on his hip. “Let’s get you into the tub.”

  “Oh, let me get him some clean pj’s,” Bryte piped up, scuttling back out of the room.

  “It looks good on you,” Jencey said to him before he could follow his wife.

  He turned back to her. “What does?” he asked.

  She held her hands out to indicate the room, the house, the wife, the child. “All of it, Ev.”

  He nodded his understanding, then quickly walked away.

  BRYTE

  She’d had to walk away from the two of them. She’d seen it. Of course she had. The way he couldn’t look at Jencey for very long. The way he snuck glances at her when he thought no one noticed. She’d spent her formative years studying Everett Lewis with the devotion of a scholar. She knew his mannerisms by heart; his face spoke as loudly as his voice. He still thought Jencey was beautiful. Bryte couldn’t blame him. She did, too. And the truth was, she somehow wanted to see them together, wanted to subject herself to the pain of it, as if that would make them even.

  But she hadn’t anticipated the intensity of her own pain. The idea of punishing herself had been appealing in concept, but the reality of it was too much to be contained in their small kitchen amid the scraps of the dinner she’d cooked, the scent of barbecue chicken mingling with Dawn dishwashing liquid. She’d run from the room, landing on the first excuse that came to mind. She ran straight to the drawer that, yes, contained the neighborhood directory to look up Zell’s number. But it also contained stray business cards. She’d added that business card to the rest years ago, hidden it in plain sight. As she left Jencey and Everett alone in the kitchen to say whatever it was they needed to say without her a
round, it was that card—and not the neighborhood directory—she had in mind.

  She tugged open the drawer and removed the directory first, just in case Everett followed her back there. But he wouldn’t. He would take the opportunity she’d given him. She rummaged through the haphazard pile, riffling through cards from the electrician and the plumber and the babysitter and, inexplicably, a baby-diaper service when she’d never used anything but disposables. She kept sorting through the cards, hearing the murmur of voices in the next room. She refused to think about what they might be saying. They had their secrets and she had hers.

  Her hand fell on the card she was there to find, and the pace of her heart picked up as she eyed the familiar lettering, the swirl and curve of the name printed on it: Trent Miller. She could picture his face as he handed it to her. “Promise me you’ll call if you’re ever in the market for a different position,” he’d said. “Someone like you I could place a thousand times over, for about a thousand times more money than you’re making now.” He’d given her that cocky, confident look. She’d gone to take the card from his hand, and he’d pulled it away, teasing her. “Promise me,” he’d intoned, holding the card out of reach.

  She’d promised, never thinking that would be the case. She was happy in the job she had at the time and wasn’t in the market to be recruited elsewhere. She cared about her clients, and they cared about her. She could solve the technical issues while relating to the human ones, making her invaluable in a field where people usually had one skill or the other but not both. In fact, it was at the specific request of a former client that her name had come back up again, causing her employer to come knocking. She thought of the e-mails waiting in her in-box from her old boss and coworker. And yet, maybe Trent knew of other, better opportunities. Could he offer options she hadn’t thought of that would give her more leverage now? Would it be the worst thing for her to call him?