by T. Greenwood
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I just have a few more things to pick up.”
I bet you do, Crystal thought as the lady disappeared down the grocery aisle, the girl down now and trailing behind her, skipping.
They’d been taught at the Walgreens new member orientation how to handle shoplifters. Basically, they were told not to apprehend the shoplifter for smaller items. (And that’s what most shoplifters took anyway: nothing of real consequence.) The theory behind this was that employee safety was Priority One, and that it simply wasn’t worth it to lose your life over a candy bar. Crystal was pretty sure it wasn’t really the employees that Walgreens was worried about so much as a potential lawsuit if some employee got killed over a pack of gum. Or, today, a plastic egg filled with Silly Putty.
Crystal watched the woman slip the red plastic egg out of its package and into her pocket, discarding the cardboard and plastic next on a shelf in the toy aisle. The little girl, oblivious, sat on the floor Indian style, thumbing through a Princess and the Frog sticker book, her unknowing little partner in crime. Crystal knew her modus operandi. She stole the little crap and then bought something else to make it seem like she wasn’t doing anything wrong. As expected, the woman arrived at her counter a few minutes later with a six-pack of Pepsi and the sticker book. “Thanks again for your help with the film,” she said, smiling at Crystal. There was something shifty about the woman’s eyes. Nervous. It felt strange knowing that she had the power to bust her any second; she could have the cops taking her away in handcuffs if she wanted to. She could wreck this woman’s life.
The little girl was twirling in front of the chips rack, her pink tutu twirling around her like a puff of cotton candy. She had dirty feet and ragged flip-flops, a T-shirt that said Daddy’s Little Monster. Something about all of this, the stolen Silly Putty, the tutu, made Crystal’s heart ache. What would happen to her if her mother got caught? She probably stole stuff from places other than the Walgreens, Crystal thought. A place with a less tolerant policy.
The lady paid for her stuff and then hoisted the little girl back up onto her hip. But rather than taking her bag and leaving, she stood staring awkwardly at Crystal. And suddenly, with her free hand, she reached out and touched Crystal’s arm, tentatively, as if she were afraid Crystal might bite or lash out. Crystal’s breath caught in her throat at the woman’s touch.
“You look great,” the lady said softly. “It took me like a year to lose the weight. No one would ever guess you just had a baby.”
Crystal’s eyes stung as she watched the lady walk through the security gate and out into the sunlit afternoon, the little girl clinging to her for dear life.
At home, she locked both doors to the bathroom. Angie had been using the counter for an art project again; there was paint splattered all over the sink. Soggy painted paper towels all along the edge of the sink. Her messes drove Crystal crazy. Angie was the kind of kid that grown-ups love. Creative and smart. She wanted to be an artist when she grew up; she’d known this since she was six years old. Her room was a chaotic disaster, and she didn’t care at all about the way she looked; half the time she left the house wearing mismatched clothes. Other kids teased her, but she didn’t seem to care. She got straight As at school. She was the star of every elementary school play. She won every coloring contest, every poster contest, every spelling bee. She was twelve years old, but she already knew exactly who she was, who she was meant to be. Crystal envied this single-minded certainty.
Crystal cleaned up Angie’s mess, shaking her head, and then undressed in front of the full-length mirror. Angie was just on the other side of the door, she could hear her humming along to her iPod. She looked at this strange body, this stranger’s body in the mirror. She touched the loose skin of her belly; it was odd to see the flesh there so flaccid and pale, like the belly of a fish. Before she got pregnant, she’d been proud of her strong stomach, flat and hard as a rock. This felt like an alien’s body. Like she was living inside someone else’s flesh.
On Gracy’s birthday, Trevor pleaded with Kurt and Elsbeth to let him stay home, but Story Land was three hours away in New Hampshire, and Kurt was worried about leaving Trevor to his own devices for a whole day.
“Story Land is for babies,” Trevor said. “What if I see somebody from school?”
“Then they’ll be just as embarrassed as you are,” Elsbeth reasoned. “Come on, it will be fun.”
Kurt could see Trevor’s eyes flashing in the way that they did when he was on the verge of losing it. There hadn’t been any more fights at school, no more notices from Mrs. Cross, and he’d been a big help at the yard. But Trevor seemed anxious lately. Always with his guard up. Defensive, and keyed up.
“It’s your sister’s birthday,” Kurt said, knowing that there was a soft quiet place in Trevor’s heart for his sister. “For Christ’s sake.”
And so they drove to Story Land, Trevor sulking in the backseat. They didn’t tell Gracy where they were headed until they got to the amusement park entrance. And luckily, even Trevor had to smile at her delight when she realized the surprise.
It was a gorgeous day for May, warm and sunny, offering a glimpse at better days ahead. After some coaxing from Elsbeth, Trevor reluctantly got on the Teacups and the Antique Cars with Gracy, who squealed with glee. Elsbeth was so happy, she held Kurt’s hand, even kissed him sweetly on the cheek as they rode side by side in one of the swan boats. There was a candy color to the day, a sort of sweet overlay that bathed every moment in a cotton candy pink glow.
Elsbeth leaned against him as they stood by the carousel, watching Gracy and Trevor go around and around, up and down on the painted horses. She rested her head on his shoulder. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a tight white tank top. Kurt could feel the warmth of her skin through his T-shirt.
“You’re getting sunburned,” he said, gingerly touching her shoulder, which was bare and pink.
“Kurt, baby, isn’t this nice? All of us together, as a family?” she asked. “Look how much fun the kids are having.”
He nodded. It was nice.
“We should go to Disney World or something. To the beach!”
Kurt scowled; he couldn’t help it. He thought about the credit card, just a hundred dollars or so from being maxed out. He thought about his futile calls to his mortgage company, the prick on the phone who just kept saying, “I’m very sorry, sir, there’s nothing we can do.” He thought about the calls he’d been making to his friends who had businesses. The excruciating interview for the cashier opening at the 76 station. He was still waiting to hear back from the acne-riddled manager in whose hands his future lay.
“It wouldn’t have to cost a lot,” Elsbeth said. “You can bid on hotels and airfare on the Internet. Twig got a whole weekend in Vegas for a hundred bucks on Priceline.” As she spoke, and he shook his head, he could feel her body stiffening, a little pulling away from him. He hated that her affection was in direct proportion to his ability to give her things. It killed him.
“We can talk about it,” he said, as sincerely as he could. They could. Talk about it. They could talk and talk in those endless circles they always seemed to spin with their words. Elsbeth’s asking and his denying. Ask, deny, ask, deny.
Kurt watched as Trevor helped Gracy down off the horse, holding her hand as she climbed off the ride. He didn’t understand how someone so gentle could be capable of such violence at school. He wished Mrs. Cross could see this. Evidence that he was a good boy. A good kid. Suddenly it struck him that maybe this was the solution to Trevor’s problems. To all of their problems. Maybe they just needed this. Time together. A little adventure. Something other than the endless routine of work, work, work. There would be enough of that soon if he got the job at the 76. Maybe Trevor was just crying out for more attention at home. Kurt knew he had been so wrapped up in work, in the state of their finances, maybe it was possible this was his fault.
Gracy
ran to him and reached for his hand. “This is the best birthday of my whole life, Daddy.” Her eyes were bright, her hair in two pigtails, tethered with happy pink ribbons. She’d had her face painted with a bright rainbow-maned unicorn on one cheek.
And something about the sunlight, the warmth Kurt could still feel from where Elsbeth’s cheek had been on his chest, the warmth of Trevor’s smile and Gracy’s little hand as it clung to his, overwhelmed him.
“Let’s,” he said to Elsbeth as she started to pull away. “Why not? Let’s do it.”
The rest of the day held the dreamy scent of possibility. It was amazing what a simple promise could do. Elsbeth opened up to him like a flower seeking the sun, her face checking his constantly for affirmation. Her body carried the heat of the sun, and she pressed into him, sharing that incredible warmth. He even allowed himself the distant but distinct hope that if he was careful, she would let him undress her tonight. She would turn toward him instead of away. Open her heart (and her long, beautiful legs) for him instead of close them.
But then the day came to a slow end, the sun descending behind them as they drove back home, and Kurt felt the realization of what he’d done slowly sinking in. Gracy was in a snow-cone coma in the backseat, her mouth rimmed in a terrifying blue. Trevor was lost in his own quiet reverie but finally smiling, and
Elsbeth was squeezing his hand expectantly. He should have been happy. He should have been content. But as he pulled into the driveway in front of their house (that goddamned house), he could feel his anxiety bubbling to the surface like a drowning man suddenly surging with a will to live. Fighting. Relentless and breathless.
“Come to bed?” Elsbeth said later after the kids had both passed out.
As he turned out the lights, she stood in the bedroom doorway wearing his old Zeppelin T-shirt, her sunburned thighs exposed. Still strong. Still sexy as hell.
Kurt went to her, closed and locked the bedroom door behind them, and dropped to his knees. He buried his face in her thighs, breathing the thick musky smell of her. He grabbed the tight flesh of her small ass with his hands and pressed his cheek into the warmth between her legs. He felt her body tremble, and he could barely stand it.
He stood up and they moved together toward the bed, amazed by the way their bodies remembered. The way she knew exactly where and when and how to touch him. The soft moans, the shudder, the quivering between her legs as familiar and reliable as rain.
“I love you,” he whispered into her ear, tasting the salty flavor of her earlobe.
But as he made love to her, as he pushed into her and into her, he also had to push away the thoughts that all of this—the taste of her skin, the smell of her hair, the crippling thrill of it—was not his to keep. That it was all stolen, bought with promises he couldn’t keep, making him the worst kind of thief.
Elsbeth went into the salon early, before Carly had even shown up, and sat down at the computer. They didn’t have a computer at home; Kurt said they didn’t need one. Trevor could use the ones at school, Kurt had the one at work, and Gracy was too young. She couldn’t help but think that maybe Kurt just didn’t trust her. Then again, why should he? Because here she was now, before she’d even put on the coffee in the break room, typing in www.victoriassecret.com and pulling the credit card, the one Kurt didn’t know she had, out of her wallet. The model wearing her swimsuit on the screen was different than the one in the catalogue. This one had blond hair and even bigger breasts. She was standing on a beach, holding a cocktail in her hand. It was the color of a sunset and had a bright yellow umbrella in it.
After Elsbeth had selected her size, not her fantasy size but her real size, clicked the color she knew would look best on her (green), and clicked Add to Cart, her heart started to race. By the time she’d entered the credit card number, secret code, and expiration date, she thought she might be having a heart attack. She’d never felt like this before. Not in all the times she snuck Kurt in or out through her window, not the times she’d had a beer too many and driven home, tailed by a cop. Not even when she set off the alarm at the Walgreens, her pockets full of lip gloss, and had to wait for the counter girl to wave her through. It felt exhilarating. Amazing.
And so she went to Zappos next, found a pair of flip-flops with fake turquoise along the straps. She went to Old Navy for some new shorts, Target for four brand-new beach towels. She calculated the total in her head, but the numbers felt abstract; and really, weren’t they? Numbers, just numbers. One hundred, two hundred. Three hundred. By the time she got to the Disney website and started looking at travel packages, she realized she’d been holding her breath. And when Carly came in, Elsbeth almost swooned as she stood up from her seat.
“Morning!” Carly said. Carly had just graduated from high school but was taking a year off to save money for college. Elsbeth liked to listen to her talk about her plans.
“Morning.” Elsbeth smiled. “I was just doing some shopping.”
Carly threw her purse underneath the reception desk and sighed. “Oh, I never buy anything online. I don’t trust the Internet. Identity theft. All that.”
“Really?” Elsbeth said. This wasn’t anything she’d ever thought about before. “You mean like somebody stealing your credit card number?”
“No, I mean like stealing your whole life. My cousin in Rutland got her identity stolen. Screwed up her credit. She can’t even get a car loan now. Somebody in Idaho got a hold of her numbers and went crazy.”
“That’s awful,” Elsbeth said. “But that doesn’t really happen very often, does it?”
“She says it happens all the time.”
All day long, while she cut and colored hair, while she shampooed and blew-dry and swept up all that discarded hair, Elsbeth thought about somebody stealing her life. About somebody slipping in through the cracks in cyberspace and taking her identity. Stealing her name, her money, her credit. Then she pictured that poor sucker, thinking they were stealing something good and winding up with this. Her debt, her bad credit, her worries, her life. Go on and take it, she thought. I dare you.
Then she thought about the life she might steal, as if it were something that might just be hanging on a rack at Walgreens. She pictured herself browsing the shelves, choosing from the shiny selections in their glossy packages. She felt the tug and thrill as she slipped the new life in her pocket, as she carried its weight next to her hip. She felt it shift and wriggle inside as she made her way through the security detector, across the threshold and out into the world outside.
When she got back from her lunch break, she was surprised to see a man sitting in her chair. Most of her clients were women, and most of her clients knew enough to wait in the plastic chairs by the front door.
She raised her eyebrow at Carly. “What’s he want?” she whispered.
“I’m guessing a haircut,” she said, not looking up from her magazine.
Elsbeth took a deep breath and put on a smile as she made her way to her station. “Hi there,” she said, and the man spun himself around. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” he said. He had cocoa-colored skin, probably mixed, Elsbeth thought; he reminded her of a guy Twig dated once who had a white mother and a Jamaican daddy. But this man’s eyes were bright, bright blue. It was startling, that combination of dark and light. He looked to be about her age or so. His legs were long, and his fingers were also long when he reached out his hand to shake hers.
“My name’s Wilder,” he said.
“That your first name or your last name?” Elsbeth asked, going to the sink and setting down her soda that she’d brought back from lunch.
“First. Montgomery’s my last.”
“You’re not from Two Rivers,” Elsbeth said. Of this she was certain.
“Well, technically, I am,” he said, his slow mouth creeping to a smile.
Elsbeth scowled. “Two Rivers is a small town. I think I know pretty much everybody from around here.”
The man spun around to face the mirror
and studied his reflection. Elsbeth stood behind him doing the same. He was good-looking. Really good-looking. She felt herself blush and then a hot rush of guilt.
“You cut black hair before?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, though this was a lie. But really, how hard could it be? His hair was only about a quarter inch long all around. She pulled her clippers out.
“You want a shampoo too?” she asked.
“Why don’t you give me the whole treatment,” he said, his reflection smiling at hers.
“Sure thing,” she said and was grateful to get to work.
After she was finished and she’d removed the bib from around his neck, he stood up and reached in his pocket for his wallet. “You can just pay the receptionist,” Elsbeth said.
“Well, I’d like to tip you,” he said, handing her a five. “And this is my card. I’m hoping I might take you out for coffee and ask you some questions.”
Elsbeth opened her eyes wide. She didn’t wear her wedding band to work because she was so afraid of losing it in one of the sinks, but she was also pretty sure she hadn’t done anything to give this guy any ideas. She could feel her skin grow hot, the tips of her ears burning. She self-consciously pulled her hair over her hot ears. “Some questions about what?” she asked.
“About Two Rivers, actually. I was born here.”
“So?” she said. “Lots of people were born here and don’t ask to take me out to coffee to talk about it.”
“I mean here,” he said, gesturing across the street. “My father lived upstairs in that building. And his wife’s father owned this shop. I think that might be her right there,” he said, walking to the photo of the girl, Betsy Parker, on the wall.
“No kidding! But you don’t look ...” She felt herself blush again.
“I’m kind of adopted,” he said. “I’m a journalist, but I’m working on a memoir. I’m here doing some research. It’s a long story, but pretty great actually. I’ll tell it to you if you meet me for coffee.”
