Things You Won't Say

by Sarah Pekkanen

  The Mercedes probably cost as much as J.H. would charge them. How could Christie be so thoughtless?

  Jamie sighed and slumped down to sit on the curb, energy leaching out of her body. She’d felt so righteous and strong after the terrible experience at the mall the other day. After Lou had treated them to lunch, she’d driven to the pool and had searched through the lost and found bin until she’d found a bathing suit that looked newish and would fit Emily. She’d washed it out with hand soap in the bathroom sink, then convinced Emily to wear it, saying the pool kept extra suits on hand for kids who’d forgotten theirs. Lou had taken Eloise into the shallow end while Jamie had gone with Sam and Emily to the slide and diving board.

  “Are you going to do it?” Sam had asked when Jamie began climbing the ladder to the slide.

  “I sure am,” she’d said. She’d forgotten how good it felt to whoosh down the slippery plastic and splash into deliciously cool water.

  They’d stayed at the pool for two hours, and Jamie had only gotten out of the water to check her cell phone every fifteen minutes or so in case Mike called. But he didn’t, and she found it was surprisingly easy to block out what was happening, to keep her world limited to the narrow confines of games of Marco Polo and diving contests.

  Everyone had eaten a Choco Taco or Popsicle from the concession stand, then they’d driven home still in their bathing suits. (“Don’t I have to give the suit back?” Emily had asked. “Not for two weeks,” Jamie had said. “That’s the pool’s rule.”)

  She’d passed a farm stand and had picked up a half dozen ears of fresh corn and a few tomatoes, and she’d pulled out hamburger meat and hot dogs for dinner. She wanted Mike to come home to the smell of good food and the sound of happy children.

  He’d walked through the door less than ten minutes after they arrived, as if they’d synchronized it. Jamie had approached him with a question in her eyes, but he’d lifted up a hand like a stop sign. He hadn’t said a word; he’d just gone upstairs, changed, and come back down. He’d put on shorts, and Jamie was relieved to see his ankles were bare.

  “Smells good,” he’d said, watching as Jamie flipped burgers on the small gas grill just outside their kitchen door. That’s when she knew he was laying down the ground rules: They weren’t to talk about what had happened to him today. Maybe they never would.

  She’d thought that it was too painful for him to discuss, but hearing about Mike and Christie together made her wonder. Maybe he was letting other people in.

  Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to her.

  •••

  As she stepped out of the bathroom, Lou heard a woman yelling. She looked out the window and saw Jamie standing on the edge of the lawn as a shiny red car peeled away. Lou ran downstairs, through the open front door, calling her sister’s name. She wondered if Jamie had had an altercation with a reporter. A few had followed Mike home from superior court after his arraignment the other day, but they’d left after an hour or so.

  Jamie was sitting on the curb, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Sadie’s gone,” she said.

  “Which way did she go?” Lou asked.

  Jamie pointed.

  “I’ll go find her,” Lou promised. “Was that who you were yelling at? Sadie?”

  Jamie gave a half laugh. “No,” she said. “Christie.”

  “She’s here?” Lou asked.

  Jamie shook her head. “Not any longer.”

  “I’ll find Sadie,” Lou promised. She ran to get her flip-flops and the keys to the minivan and her cell phone. “Call me if she comes back,” she said, then she headed off in the direction Jamie had indicated, calling Sadie’s name through the van’s open windows.

  She drove slowly, her eyes sweeping both sides of the street. As she pulled up to a stop sign a block away, she noticed a car parked to her right. It was the same fancy car that had peeled away from Jamie’s house. Lou saw a flash of familiar blond hair and she squinted, trying to get a better look. Christie was in the driver’s seat, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving.

  “Are you okay?” Lou called out, and Christie looked up. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara and her eyes were swollen.

  “Did you follow me?” Christie asked.

  Lou shook her head. “I’m looking for Sadie,” she said.

  “Well, she’s not here,” Christie said. She picked up a yellow envelope and began shredding it, letting the pieces fall out her window.

  “Littering is illegal,” Lou said, in case Christie didn’t know.

  Christie’s face screwed up and she began crying harder. “Just go away!”

  Lou sat there, unsure of what to do. Then she caught sight of Sadie in the next yard over. She put the car in park, got out, and crept toward the dog. She grabbed Sadie’s collar just as the dog tried to bolt and steered her into the minivan. As she walked around to the driver’s side, she looked over at Christie again.

  Lou hesitated. Jamie always talked about how important it was for her and Christie to be on friendly terms, for Henry’s sake. That was why she invited Christie over for Thanksgiving dinner every year, even though Christie usually didn’t come.

  “Can I do anything?” Lou asked.

  “No,” Christie said, but some of the anger had disappeared from her voice and she began to hiccup. She had a ­funny-sounding hiccup—kind of a gulp followed by a little squeal.

  Lou thought of the time a golden-headed lion tamarin monkey had been injured at the zoo—no one was quite sure how, but they suspected its leg had gotten ensnared when it tried to jump from tree limb to tree limb. At first the monkey had bared its teeth at anyone who came close to it, but then one of the keepers had approached it slowly, making soothing sounds, and the monkey had succumbed to treatment. The look in the monkey’s eyes—half-threatening, half-wounded—reminded her of Christie’s expression right now.

  “I’m really sorry you’re so sad,” Lou said. Christie hiccuped twice more.

  “Whatever,” Christie said. “I didn’t get Henry and I’m not going back there.”

  “Do you want me to bring him to you?” Lou offered.

  Christie looked as if she thought Lou was trying to trick her. “Fine,” she finally said. “But he’s not supposed to come over until tonight, and I need to get myself together anyway. Bring him around five.”

  “Okay,” Lou said. Christie was being a little bossy, but Lou decided that was okay, because she’d stopped crying.

  “And I already told Mike I don’t need child support any longer,” Christie said. “You can tell your sister!”

  Lou nodded. She knew better than to get in the middle of that conversation.

  Christie stared at her for a moment. “You desperately need a better haircut,” she said.

  The comment was so unexpected that Lou burst into laughter. “I know,” she said. “But I only paid fifteen bucks for this one. Including tip.”

  “You tipped for that?” Christie said.

  Lou laughed again. She wasn’t insulted; it was refreshing to hear someone else say exactly what they thought.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m sure Jamie is sorry you fought.”

  “I doubt it,” Christie said. “Considering she started it.”

  “She’s under a lot of stress right now,” Lou said. “I don’t think she’s sleeping much.”

  “Whatever,” Christie said, her hand flapping away Lou’s words. “Do you remember where I live?”

  Lou had been there for a few of Henry’s birthday parties. She nodded. “Once I go somewhere once, I can always drive there again. By the way, that’s a gorgeous car.”

  Christie narrowed her eyes at Lou.

  “So I’ll see you soon,” Lou said.

  She got into the minivan, gave Sadie a pat, and headed back to Jamie’s. She’d tell Jamie that Christie had been crying. Maybe
that would make Jamie forgive Christie for whatever she’d done.

  But she hadn’t even finished leading Sadie through Jamie’s front door when a text came in on her phone: Tabby’s progesterone just dropped. Baby’s coming!

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  JAMIE HAD NEVER FLAT-OUT lied to Mike before.

  After her fight with Christie, she’d felt an almost uncontrollable urge to put into place a plan she’d been secretly turning over in her mind. Lou had raced off to the zoo by then, so Jamie told Mike she’d forgotten she had a gynecologist’s appointment that afternoon. “Can you watch the children? I’ll be back in an hour and a half.”

  Then she’d gotten into her van and driven in the opposite direction from her doctor’s office, to a large red-brick building she’d entered only once before. She parked in the visitors’ lot and signed in at the security guard’s desk, then took the elevator to the third floor and hurried down the long hallway, inhaling the ammonia smell of disinfectant.

  She found the correct room and gently rapped her knuckles against the partly open door before stepping inside. Her palms felt sweaty and her heart throbbed in her chest. What would unfold in the next few minutes was vitally important.

  Ritchie was in bed, looking through a photo album, Sandy by his side. Sandy was pointing at a picture and her tone was low and intimate. The twins were sitting on the floor, playing Connect Four.

  “Surprise!” Jamie said.

  Sandy glanced up, then quickly got to her feet and hurried over to hug Jamie.

  “I’m so glad you came!” she said.

  Ritchie’s smile had always spread the width of his face—it was like a kid’s grin, open and unguarded. At least that hadn’t changed, Jamie thought as she leaned over to kiss his cheek, then bent down to greet the children.

  “Hey,” Ritchie said. “You here . . . with Mike?”

  “Just me this time,” Jamie said. “I was out running a few errands, and I thought I’d stop by.”

  “I’m so glad you did. It’s been a while,” Sandy said, her voice containing no judgment. She perched on the edge of Ritchie’s bed, by his feet, and gestured for Jamie to take the chair. “We were just looking at pictures from our trip to the beach.”

  Memories slammed into Jamie. They’d gone to the Delaware shore for a week two years ago. No, a lifetime ago. Ritchie and Mike had taught the older kids to boogie-board, and she and Sandy had brought along pails and shovels so everyone could compete in sand-castle-building contests. They’d eaten steamed crabs with hot melted butter at a restaurant with picnic tables set outside, and stayed in a hotel that gave guests marshmallows to roast by a giant fire pit at night. She and Sandy had woken up early one morning and taken a long sunrise walk on the beach, and she’d talked to Sandy about her mother’s death, while Sandy had shared the story of the two miscarriages she’d had before getting pregnant with the twins. One night they’d all gone to a little tiki bar where she and Sandy had gotten tipsy on piña coladas and Mike and Ritchie had gotten tipsier on beer and sung karaoke, badly, with the little paper umbrellas from their wives’ drinks tucked behind their ears. Jamie hadn’t been able to clean the sand out of the cracks in her minivan for weeks, and her nose had gotten so sunburned it had peeled. It had been the singular vacation of her life.

  “We should . . . do it again soon,” Ritchie said.

  Jamie saw sadness flicker in Sandy’s eyes before she erased it. “Sure. Maybe at the end of the summer,” Sandy said.

  “How’s . . . Mike?” Ritchie asked.

  “He’s, um, well, he’s dealing with everything,” Jamie said. She forced a smile. “Hanging in there.” Another lie. She could tell Sandy saw straight through it, just as she’d known Ritchie wouldn’t be in any shape to go to the beach this year. But they were cops’ wives, so they were used to putting on a strong front, no matter how much they ached beneath it. For a moment, Jamie felt their old connection flicker.

  “If you two need a date night, you can bring the kids over,” Sandy offered.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. How like Sandy to offer help, when she probably could use some herself. Sandy and Ritchie thought she was here as a friend. She needed to let them know she’d come to ask them to save her husband. She hoped they wouldn’t be angry when they realized it.

  “I was wondering,” Jamie began. “When the trial begins . . . would you testify on behalf of Mike?”

  Ritchie began nodding even before she’d finished the sentence.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said. “I just think seeing you up on the stand, and having you tell everyone how close you and Mike are . . . They can’t accuse him of being a racist if you’re there!”

  Sandy got up and moved closer to Jamie and put her hands on Jamie’s shoulders. “If you need me, I’ll testify, too,” she said.

  Jamie felt it then, the release of a great boulder of guilt that had been weighing her down. It coursed through her, weakening her knees, making her glad for the chair. She’d pushed Sandy away when the two women should’ve been supporting each other, and Sandy probably knew exactly why, because she was a smart woman, but somehow Sandy didn’t blame her. Maybe Sandy had even experienced some of the same feelings when Ritchie was in the hospital and Mike was whole and healthy, but had been better at hiding them.

  “We’ll get an ambulance to take you,” Jamie said. She’d find a way to pay for it. “And we can have a doctor there, too . . . Whatever you need. We can find out exactly when the lawyer wants you to testify and we can just zip you down there and back.”

  “Hey, girl, slow down,” Sandy said gently. Her hands began to knead Jamie’s shoulders. “Your muscles are all tied up.”

  “I win!” Finn cried triumphantly, sliding a red piece into the board. “Dad, next game?”

  “Bring it . . . on,” Ritchie said, with that smile again.

  Jamie felt a painful knot in her shoulder succumb under Sandy’s strong fingertips, and she watched as Finn climbed onto Ritchie’s bed and began setting up the game. For the first time, she noticed that along with the family photographs on Ritchie’s nightstand was one of him with Mike, the two men in matching uniforms, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Each was making bunny ears behind the other’s head.

  I’m sorry, Jamie thought, her eyes filling. Sorry that Mike had nudged Ritchie out the door first, setting off this whole wretched series of events, sorry that neither of the men would probably ever wear those uniforms again, sorry that another mother was grieving, and sorry that she’d withdrawn from her friend.

  I missed you, she thought, and her hand reached up to squeeze Sandy’s.

  •••

  It could take hours, or days even, until Tabby gave birth. Lou’s bag of supplies, including PowerBars and apples and bottles of water, was stashed under a nearby tree. She didn’t want to leave the elephant’s side for a moment.

  The elephant exhibit had been closed to the public, even though the zoo would still be open for another two hours, and the other members of Tabby’s herd were being kept away. A videographer was setting up his equipment, and the zoo’s head veterinarian had texted that he was on his way in. A few other keepers and volunteers were milling around, too, clearly excited to watch.

  But Lou was focused only on Tabby. Keeping her calm and comfortable was Lou’s sole priority.

  Tabby was walking around quite a bit, and she wasn’t eating much. She wasn’t just walking—she was pacing, Lou thought as she leaned against the fence, her eyes moving in tandem with the mammal. It was as if Tabby was searching for something perpetually beyond her reach.

  Pacing . . . The word lodged in Lou’s brain, forcing her to circle back and reconsider it. Something kept tugging at the corner of her mind, then vanishing, like a firefly that briefly glowed before being swallowed up by the night. />
  Lou shrugged and gave up on the memory. Her back was a little sore from standing so long, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit tired. She’d bought caffeine pills at the drugstore and had packed them just in case, but she doubted she’d need them.

  She slid to the ground and settled into a comfortable position, wrapping her arms around her knees. In the wild, animals never showed signs of distress unless they were grievously ill, since doing so could invite attack by a predator. Tabby was camouflaging her discomfort well, but Lou knew it existed, and that it was going to worsen with the passing hours.

  “It’s okay, Tabby,” Lou called out, her voice floating through the soft warm air. “Good girl.”

  She wanted to remind Tabby that she was here, in case her presence provided comfort. She watched as the elephant walked over to the deep pool and stepped inside. What a smart creature, Lou thought. Jamie had sworn a bath had eased her pain during early labor. Lou hoped it did for Tabby, too.

  Dusk would fall in a few hours, but Lou had a flashlight and a sweatshirt in her bag in case it grew chilly. She could hear occasional grunts and screeches, and she smelled earth and sweet, fresh grass and, best of all, the scent of elephant.

  “I’m here, Tabby,” she called out again. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I won’t leave you.”

  •••

  Mike knew going onto the force that he might have to kill people, Christie thought as she began to freshen her makeup. His job was like a soldier’s in that way—violence was sometimes necessary to establish peace. Still, knowing you’d taken someone’s life . . . She wondered how it felt. It would have to change you in some irrevocable way, wouldn’t it?

  And yes, she got it that Jamie was under an incredible amount of stress. If Mike went to jail, it would be horrible for Henry, but at least he was old enough to understand. The other kids might not. Did Jamie really think Christie would ask for child support if Mike was convicted? The thought made her seethe, so she tried to temper it with the memory of Jamie’s thinness, and the dull look in her eyes—at least until she’d glimpsed the Mercedes.