Things You Won't Say

by Sarah Pekkanen

  But it didn’t work.

  Christie blasted her favorite Rihanna CD to chase away her bad mood, but that didn’t help, either. She’d had the Mercedes for less than a day, and somehow Jamie had managed to steal away every bit of its triumph.

  It was five o’clock, so Christie poured herself a gin and tonic and took it with her into her bedroom. Her new dress was hanging on her closet door, and she tore away the plastic wrapper so she could admire it. But all she could think about was the fact that she’d spent more than five hundred dollars on an outfit she didn’t have anyplace to wear.

  She slipped into the dress and shoes, hoping to recapture the magic she’d felt in the store. As she clasped the gold bracelet around her wrist, her doorbell rang. Perfect, she thought. She’d wear the dress for Henry. Maybe she’d suggest that they go out for dinner. First, though, she’d slip Lou the card for her old salon and suggest she request an emergency appointment. But when she opened the door, Lou wasn’t there.

  Instead, it was Mike who’d brought Henry.

  “Wow,” he said, looking Christie up and down. She felt her skin tingling under his scrutiny.

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  “You look great, Mom,” Henry said. He kicked off his giant shoes—puppy feet, she always thought when she saw them—and dropped a plastic Sports Authority bag by the closet, then headed straight for the refrigerator.

  “I’ve got turkey and French bread if you want to make a sub,” Christie called.

  “A little predinner snack?” Mike asked, and she laughed. She was aware he hadn’t answered her question, but his double take had revealed enough.

  “I thought Lou was going to bring him over?” she asked.

  “She had something come up at the zoo,” Mike said. “She had to take off.”

  “Did you want to come in for a second?” she asked. “I actually need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said.

  She led him into the living room, then went to the kitchen and fixed another gin and tonic. Mike didn’t like most hard liquors—he was a beer man—but she knew he enjoyed an occasional G and T on a hot summer day.

  “That looks like a Dagwood sub,” she told Henry, who was piling turkey and cheese and something else—yuck, potato chips—on the French bread.

  “Who?” Henry asked.

  “This cartoon character who— Never mind, you’re making me feel old.”

  Henry shrugged, picked up his sandwich, seemed to eat a quarter of it in one bite, and headed toward his room.

  Christie squeezed lime into Mike’s drink, then went into the living room, handed him the glass, and sat down across from him.

  “So what’s up?” he asked.

  “I talked to Elroy,” she said. “My boss. And he wants to help with the investigation.”

  “Really?” Mike said. He leaned back with a sigh and took a sip of his drink. Christie could see his shoulders relax. “That’s great.”

  “He’s going to check things out with his police sources and get back to me,” Christie said. “Maybe we can meet up with him to talk about a plan.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mike said. “Whatever he needs. So he’s going to talk to the cops?”

  “He wants to see what they have,” Christie said.

  “Seems like all they’ve really got is the testimony of Jay—he’s the idiot I was paired with that day,” Mike said. “Apparently that’s the thing that could screw me.”

  “So we’ve got to discredit him,” Christie said. “Maybe Elroy can dig into his past. Does he have a history of telling lies? If he does, you can be sure ex-girlfriends will be lining up to testify. I mean, maybe he’s hoping to get a movie deal out of this or something.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “Worth a shot.”

  “Oh, I just thought of something!” Christie said. “Does he wear glasses?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Maybe his prescription changed and he didn’t know it!” Christie said. “I bet we could subpoena his optometrist.”

  At Mike’s surprised look she confessed: “I watch a lot of CSI.”

  “No, this is good,” he said. He leaned forward and put the drink on the table and rested his elbows on his knees. “You’re on fire.” For the second time that evening, she felt a little thrilled by his reaction to her.

  She reached out and clinked her glass against his, then took a sip of her gin and tonic and let an ice cube swirl around in her mouth. It brought forth another memory: When she’d gone into labor (forget pacing and breathing and all the other crap the books said would manage the pain; her labor sent her rushing for the hospital after the first contraction, ready to sue the authors of her pregnancy book) Mike had shown up in his uniform. He’d looked so handsome and strong and solid that she’d almost changed her mind and told him she’d accept his proposal. Of course an hour later, as agony mounted in her body, he’d tried to give her an ice chip and she’d spat it back at him and cursed.

  He’d hidden a smile—that had made her even more furious—and had gone to consult with the nurse about getting her epidural turned up.

  “It’s already pretty high,” the nurse had said. She’d shrugged. “Sometimes they just don’t take.”

  “Don’t take?” Christie had felt like her head could do an Exorcist-style swivel.

  “We’ll give you a refund after the baby comes,” the nurse had joked, and it was only another contraction that kept Christie from lunging out of bed at her.

  But Mike had been wonderful. He’d rubbed her lower back with the perfect amount of firm pressure until she decided she couldn’t stand to have him touching her, and then he’d distracted her with stupid criminal stories. He’d lied and told her she was almost ready to push a dozen times, and when the doctor had finally come into the room and snapped on gloves, Mike had leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Thank you,” he’d said.

  “Your fault,” she’d muttered at him through clenched teeth. Her hair was sticking to her sweaty face, and the guttural groan that emerged from her mouth seemed to have been loosened from her very soul.

  Then the pain was gone, just like that.

  “It’s a boy!” Mike had shouted, and from the pride in his voice, she knew he’d secretly wanted one, even though he’d insisted he didn’t have a preference. She’d heard a reedy, birdlike cry, and she’d fallen back against the pillows, tears of exhaustion streaming from her eyes. Never again, she’d thought.

  They’d already decided on Henry for a boy. That was Christie’s idea; the name sounded like it would belong to a smart, nice kid, someone who might play a musical instrument and do well in school and get a good job. She didn’t have much to give her son, but at least she could give him the best possible start.

  Mike had gone with the nurse to give Henry a bath, and Christie had fallen asleep. When she’d awoken, Mike was sitting in a chair next to her bed, staring down at the blanket-­wrapped bundle in his arms.

  At that moment, she knew she’d made the right decision in turning down his proposal. Mike had never once looked at her the way he was looking at Henry.

  “Do you have any other ideas?” Mike asked. She blinked and focused on him again.

  “Not yet, but I’ll come up with some,” she promised. She swallowed the ice chip and smiled. “I was just thinking about the day Henry was born.”

  “Or the night, since it was two A.M.,” Mike said.

  “Best and worst night of my life,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “You were a trouper.”

  Another compliment from him, she thought. The alcohol emboldened her to ask a question. “Did you ever resent giving me child support?” she asked.

  Mike shook his head so quickly that she knew he was telling the truth. “Nope,” he said. “It was our deal. And you had to get a two-bedroom so
Henry would have space . . .”

  “And I had to drop out of beauty school,” she reminded him. “I couldn’t stand the smell of the chemicals.” She’d been on track to get her aesthetician’s certificate two months before Henry would have been born. She would’ve been able to earn more money with it, maybe even do freelance facials for rich women who tipped well. But once she’d left school and forfeited her tuition, she hadn’t felt able to go back. Juggling work with partial custody of Henry and trying to have a life of her own consumed all her energy. There wasn’t any room for school and studying.

  Christie regarded Mike, knowing she might be about to cross a line. She’d complained about Jamie a few times, and Mike had put on his stoic cop face and nodded and said nothing, which had made the words dry up in her mouth. She’d always felt a little unclean afterward, denied the release she’d been seeking.

  “It’s just that Jamie said something today,” Christie said.

  Mike nodded impassively, as she’d expected him to.

  “She called me a mooch, actually.”

  Mike frowned. “You sure about that?”

  “Um, yeah,” Christie said. “She was screaming at me. It was kind of hard to miss it.”

  “Huh,” Mike said. He lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel that way,” Christie said. “We’ve always had a good relationship”—well, good might be a stretch but the glow of the alcohol and their recent camaraderie softened the rough edges of the past—“and I don’t want you to resent me.”

  “I don’t,” Mike said.

  “Okay,” Christie said. “And I know I told you I don’t need any more child support. I mean it, Mike.”

  “Yeah,” he said. He drained his drink before speaking again. “About that. I’m not getting paid any longer, because of the indictment.”

  “Assholes,” Christie said. “They know how to kick a guy when he’s down.”

  “So if you’re sure, it would . . . help,” he said.

  She knew what it cost him to say those words. His pride was being stripped away in huge swaths, like sheets of old wallpaper.

  “Hey,” she said softly. She stood up and moved to sit next to him. “They’re going to learn they were wrong. I bet you could even sue the city or something.”

  Mike nodded but didn’t look convinced. “One thing I wanted to ask your guy Elroy is for some advice,” he said. “I have to choose between a public defender and the lawyer I’ve got now.”

  “Do you like the guy you already have?” Christie asked.

  “Like is a little strong,” Mike said. “But he seems like he knows what he’s doing. And the public defender would be a crapshoot. Most of them are really good, but what if the one I get isn’t? I mean, what do you think?”

  “I’ll ask Elroy right away,” Christie said. “But I’d say if the guy you already have is good, you should stick with him.” She was surprised that Mike was asking her advice, since people didn’t usually come to her for it.

  “He’s expensive, though,” Mike said. “Maybe it’s not worth it.”

  “Hey!” she said. “You deserve the best, Mike, no matter what it costs!” She reached out and put a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling the hard muscles beneath her touch. He had a heavy five o’clock shadow, and she wondered if he still shaved twice a day, like he used to when they were together. He’d been too macho to use the Calvin Klein cologne she’d given him for his birthday long ago, but whatever drugstore body wash he was using now smelled really good.

  “Anyway,” he said, getting up, “I should get going.”

  “Okay,” she said. She pushed herself to a standing position, noticing the couch under her hand still felt warm from Mike’s body heat. He’d always seemed to run a degree or so hotter than other people. It used to drive her crazy when he slept over; she’d end up kicking off all the covers to compensate.

  She walked him to the door, but before he opened it, she impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Get the best lawyer,” she said. “Whatever it costs. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re innocent!”

  His eyes met hers, and she felt something arc between them. She held his gaze, leaning forward slightly, feeling her lips part.

  “Mom?”

  Mike turned away from her as Henry called out from his bedroom.

  “Could you get me a glass of milk?” Henry asked.

  “He’s old enough to get it himself,” Mike said. He cleared his throat. “Let me know when your boss wants to meet, okay?”

  Christie nodded. She felt a little dazed. Had she really been about to kiss Mike?

  “And remember David’s mom is coming to pick Henry up tomorrow morning,” Mike said. “They’re going to baseball camp this week. You should remind him to pack tonight. Tell him not to forget his new cleats.”

  “Right,” Christie said absently.

  Mike gave her a little wave and stepped out, shutting the door behind him. Christie stayed in place for a moment. She couldn’t hear his footsteps going down the hallway and she wondered if he was standing just outside the door, gathering himself. She stayed very still, afraid of disturbing whatever thought process he was in the midst of.

  She’d been too young and immature to appreciate him when they’d first met. But you sometimes heard stories about couples reuniting after years or decades apart. It could happen.

  She could tell Mike’s marriage was in trouble. On the night that they’d shared pizza, Mike had indicated Jamie wasn’t supporting him—at least that’s what Christie had thought he’d been going to say before he cut himself off. Christie wondered if that was the only reason he’d begun to open up to her, or if there were deeper fault lines in his marriage, a hidden volcano on the verge of eruption. With so many kids running around, it would be tough to ever have sex. And Mike had always liked sex—when they were together, he’d wanted her every time he saw her.

  She also suspected Jamie was a little jealous of her. She’d seen the way Jamie looked at her at one of Henry’s birthday parties several years back. They’d just cut the cake when one of the balloons tied to Henry’s chair popped. At the sudden noise, Christie had clutched Mike’s biceps and given a little shriek. Jamie had been pregnant with Eloise, and wearing one of those shapeless shift dresses, while Christie was in a tank top and tight jeans, and Jamie’s eyes had run over her from head to toe when Christie walked in.

  Jamie had shot her a look, and Christie had let go of Mike’s biceps.

  A moment later Jamie was fluttering around, cleaning up wrapping paper from the presents Henry had opened and serving ice cream. Jamie sure put on a sweet face in public, but now Christie knew what she was really like. Jamie had pushed her out of the house the night Mike came home after the shooting, and when Mike and Henry had had their fight, Jamie had wrapped her arms around them, deliberately leaving Christie standing alone. And at the Christmas pageant when Christie had worn the leather skirt, Jamie had probably been gossiping about her with the other snooty wives.

  Who knew what Jamie said to Mike when they were alone? Christie thought, feeling her face grow hot. Maybe Jamie was whispering in his ear, poisoning Mike’s feelings toward her. Maybe that was why Mike had always kept her at arm’s length. Until now.

  Christie reached for the phone and called Elroy. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Listen, about the case against Mike . . .” she began, but Elroy cut her off.

  “I was about to call you,” he said.

  “Do you have something already?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But first I want to go back to the scene with Mike and have him walk us through it.”

  “Is tomorrow good?” Christie suggested.

  “Sure,” Elroy said. “Three o’clock?”

  Christie thought for a moment. “How about six?”
she countered.

  “We just need to wrap up before it gets dark,” Elroy said. “But that’s fine.”

  If they met at 6:00 it would be natural to suggest she and Mike grab a beer afterward. They could talk about the case. Henry would be at sleepover camp, so her apartment would be empty. Maybe she’d ask Elroy for a ride downtown and Mike could drive her home.

  Jamie’s angry, red face flashed in her mind, but Christie thought, You don’t deserve him.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  WHERE WAS MIKE? HE’D left two hours ago to take Henry out to buy new baseball cleats, since Henry had outgrown his old ones, before dropping him at Christie’s. He should have been back by now.

  The buzzer on the oven sounded, and Jamie grabbed a pot holder and pulled out the tray of sizzling pork chops, then left the pan to cool on the stovetop. The kids were busy at the kitchen table, pulling apart rolls that came out of a can and arranging them on a baking sheet. And miracle of miracles, they were working in harmony.

  “Remember to leave a little space between them,” Jamie said.

  She put on a pot of water to boil for mac ’n’ cheese and pulled a bag of salad out of the refrigerator. Tonight they’d have a real family dinner, their first in a while. A shrink would probably say she was acting like one of those women who compulsively cleaned or exercised as a way of creating a pleasing superficial picture and avoiding dealing with their inner turmoil. But she didn’t care. One nice dinner with her family, that was all she wanted. Mike at the head of the table, bowing his head and saying grace in his deep voice. The children pink-cheeked from the sun, their hair combed and hands folded. A basket of hot rolls being passed. An hour of normalcy. Was that too much to ask?

  She’d been overly ambitious today. After her fight with Christie and the visit with Ritchie and Sandy, she’d bundled the kids into the minivan and headed to the store. Jamie had always been a careful shopper, clipping coupons and substituting generic for name brands, but today she’d splurged on three perfect pork chops—one for Mike, one for her, and one for the kids to take turns rejecting—from the butcher. At the last minute she’d added a six-pack of Budweiser to the shopping cart, so she and Mike could have a beer or two together. She’d turn on the sprinklers for the kids to run through, and they could catch fireflies. She and Mike could sit on the front steps, and she’d tell him how lonely she’d felt lately. She’d be the one to reach out, to try to break down whatever had arisen between them. Maybe they’d even make love for the first time in weeks, and he’d move out of the basement and back into their bed. She missed looking into Mike’s eyes. She missed holding his hand, and dozing in his lap while he watched television.