Things You Won't Say (20 page)

“Does your sister live nearby?” Lou asked Kaitlin. She was rewarded with a huge smile, as if Kaitlin had been worried Lou would end the conversation.

“Yeah, she’s in Virginia,” Kaitlin said.

“Mine, too!” Lou said.

“So we’ve both got older sisters who live in Virginia,” Kaitlin said. “But you like your brother-in-law and I don’t. Did you like him right away? Because my sister’s been married only a year, so I’m thinking maybe it’ll get better.”

Lou sipped her coffee, thinking back. “The first time I met him it was kind of weird, because his ex was supposed to have his son that day, and she didn’t show up. My sister thought it was because she and Mike—that’s her husband’s name—had tickets to a concert and the ex was trying to mess things up for them.”

“Wow!” Kaitlin said. She pulled her chair a bit closer to Lou’s, grimacing when it made a screeching noise against the floor. “So Mike was angry?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lou said. “My sister sure was! But then they called me to come over and babysit Henry, and that’s how I met Mike.”

“So they went to the concert after all,” Kaitlin said.

“Yep,” Lou said.

“So your sister and Mike’s ex don’t get along,” Kaitlin said. “I guess that’s normal, though.”

Lou could almost hear Jamie’s voice in her ear, telling her
to ask Kaitlin something about herself.
People like it when you show interest in them,
Jamie had told Lou countless times.
If you can’t think of a question, try to compliment them
.

“So what kind of art do you do?” Lou asked.

“Hmm? Oh, watercolors,” Kaitlin said. Lou waited for her to go on, but she didn’t.

“Sounds nice,” Lou offered.

“Yeah,” Kaitlin said flatly.

Lou wondered if she’d done something wrong. Maybe Kaitlin felt her art was private—but then, she’d been the one to bring it up. Her break was over, so Lou finished her latte and stood up. “I need to get back to work,” she said.

“Oh, sure,” Kaitlin said. She stood up, too.

“Thanks for the cookies,” Lou said.

“Anytime,” Kaitlin said.

“The manager’s here, if you want to talk to him about a job,” Lou said.

“What?” Kaitlin said. “Oh, maybe next time. But thanks.”

Lou walked behind the counter and began filling a blender with ice to make Frappuccinos. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Lou glanced toward the glass doors that she spotted Kaitlin, still outside but now talking on her phone.

It was strange. Kaitlin was staring straight at her, but once Kaitlin caught Lou’s eye, she spun around, as if she hadn’t been looking at all.

•••

Christie sat in the driver’s seat of a sweet red Mercedes with a tobacco-colored interior and a Bose sound system. She reached for a lever and the sunroof rolled back soundlessly. Classic rock blared from the stereo and the smell of rich leather filled her nose.

It was as if this car had been custom-made for her. Even the seat seemed molded around her body, a perfect fit.

She turned the key in the ignition, feeling the vehicle leap
to life. She could turn right and head toward the Eastern Shore, or drive straight and head to New York . . . this car could take her anywhere in style.

“Have fun on your test drive. See you in a week?” the salesman joked.

Christie just revved the engine and drove off, feeling the warm rush of wind through her open window. There wasn’t any comparison between this vehicle and her Miata. She loved her sporty little convertible, but the Mercedes was a woman’s car, and Christie was turning over a new leaf. For the first time in her life, she had a real job, a sense of direction. She’d been thinking about buying an actual business suit to wear to her meetings with Elroy. Nothing boxy or in navy blue—she hadn’t completely gone over to the dark side—but something that represented her new role. Maybe down the line she’d even purchase her own home.

Back in high school, no one had ever expected her to amount to much more than homecoming princess or head cheerleader. She could dance, draw on eyeliner without a single smudge, and expertly forge her mother’s handwriting on notes to get her out of school—talents that didn’t hold their value during the transition to the real world.

But now things were turning around. She’d pick up her first paycheck from Elroy this week, and she already knew what she wanted to do with some of it. She was going to add to the college account Mike had created for Henry. She didn’t want Henry to end up saddled with debt, to have to work the kinds of crap jobs she’d started at sixteen. She imagined popping by Mike’s house, a generous check in hand. Jamie would look like she’d swallowed a lemon.

The sleek, purring Mercedes would be her good-luck charm, she decided. She wondered what Simon would think if he saw her pull up to a nice restaurant in this number. Simon would probably be dining with a woman named Beatrice or Kip who had a braying laugh and talked about nothing but
dressage. He’d remember what it felt like to be with a real woman when he saw Christie. She’d regard him coolly, thinking of how he’d reacted when she tied his wrists to her bedposts with silk scarves and tickled his bare chest with her hair. The wrist tying wasn’t so much a sexual move as it was one born of desperation—Simon had no technique and he pressed her clitoris like he was a teenager and it was a handheld gaming device. The next day a box containing four Hermès scarves had been delivered to her home. She’d never felt such glorious fabric.

She reluctantly turned back down the street to the car dealership. The salesman saw her pull in and was on her the moment she turned off the engine.

“So, do you love it, or do you love it?” he asked. His smile showed all his teeth.

“Not bad,” she said.

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll get you a bottle of water or some coffee?” he offered.

“I have an appointment,” she said.

She left quickly, without a backward glance. She’d never before noticed how loud her Miata sounded when it started up, or how low to the ground she felt. Her cell phone rang and she glanced down at the caller ID. Henry.

“Hey, baby,” she said.

“Mom?”

ABBA was blaring “Dancing Queen” over the radio so she didn’t catch the quaver in his voice until he said, “Can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At Josh’s,” he said, naming one of his best friends. “I left a message for Dad but he wasn’t there.”

“Sure,” Christie said. “Be there in fifteen.”

She wondered if he and Josh had had a fight. Unlikely, since they’d been best friends forever, and Henry was the most even-tempered person on the planet. He didn’t get that from
her, she thought as an idiot in a Honda tried to cut in front of her and Christie laid on her horn. Still, she pressed her foot a little harder on the gas and made it to Josh’s street in just over ten minutes.

She started to turn down the block, then she noticed a tall, thin figure standing on the corner, a good distance away from Josh’s house. She pulled over. “Hey, kiddo,” she said. “Need a ride?”

She was trying to make Henry smile. But he just climbed into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Just drive, okay?” he snapped.

She almost gave him a lecture about respecting one’s parents—which was pretty funny, considering that by the time she was Henry’s age she was sneaking out to meet boyfriends and smoking cigarettes and cursing back at her mother—but the look on his face stopped her.

“Do you want to go home?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I want to see Dad,” he said.

“I don’t know where he is,” Christie said. “Didn’t you say you tried to call him?”

“Let’s go to his house. I’ll wait.”

Christie felt the sting of rejection. She wondered why he could talk to Mike but not her. But Henry was acting so uncharacteristically that she decided not to press it. Jamie’s minivan was missing when they arrived at the house, but the red ball of sun was sinking low in the sky, pulling some of the heat of the day away with it, so Christie and Henry sat on the front steps. Henry didn’t check his phone, like he usually did during life’s lulls. When Christie asked if he wanted to use his key to go inside, he shook his head. “Stupid AC’s broken,” he said. “It’s too hot in there.”

For some reason, he looked especially like Mike tonight, Christie thought. She’d always been able to see bits of herself in her son—they had the same light skin tone, and his dim
ples were echoes of her own—but now she could see Mike’s features were the ones that would shape his adult face.

Mike had been the one to handle talking to Henry about sex, wet dreams, and drugs. Who better than a cop to drive home the dangers of marijuana use, or drunk driving? Christie had added to the conversation a bit—downplaying her own past flirtation with pot and mushrooms—but Mike was the one who took the reins when it came to hard conversations. She wasn’t good at this stuff. Still, she should try.

“Is this about a girl?” she asked.

“Can we just sit here?” Henry snapped.

“Sure,” Christie said. She turned away so he couldn’t see her face. She knew teenagers could be rough on their parents, but this was the first time it had happened with Henry.

A half hour later, Jamie’s minivan came down the street and pulled into the driveway. The side doors slid open, and kids piled out.

“Henry!” Eloise shouted, launching herself at her half brother. Henry picked her up and gave her a hug as the other kids swarmed around him. He was like Harry Styles in this house, Christie thought.

Jamie and Mike got out of the van and went around to the back to get bags of groceries out of the trunk. “Thanks for coming by,” Mike said to Henry as he passed by. “Grab a bag on your way in.”

Henry didn’t respond. Mike didn’t seem to notice the tension emanating from his son, but Christie watched as Jamie’s eyes flitted between Henry and Mike before landing on Christie. Christie shrugged. “He said he wanted to talk to his dad.”

“Okay,” Jamie said.

Henry reached out and took the groceries from Jamie’s arms and carried them inside without a word.

“What’s up?” Jamie asked.

“I have no idea,” Christie said. “But he’s really upset.”

“Is it something about the news conference?”

“What news conference?” Christie asked.

Jamie closed her eyes—actually shut her eyes, like she was dealing with an idiot and gathering her patience—before she spoke.

“How could you have missed it?” Jamie said, like everyone in the world was glued to the news constantly.

“If you’d told me, I would’ve watched it,” Christie said.

“I had a few other things going on,” Jamie said. She swallowed and continued in a softer voice. “The mother of the—the teenager held a news conference. She basically called Mike a racist. She said he shot Jose because her son was dark-skinned.”

“Are you serious?” Christie asked. “I mean, isn’t this all going to be dropped soon? Maybe she’s just trying to keep it in the news.”

She heard loud voices from inside the house. Jamie must’ve heard them, too, because she rushed inside. After a moment’s hesitation, Christie followed.

Henry was standing in the middle of the living room, his posture rigid. The house was steaming hot, and Henry’s face was red and sweaty.

“I didn’t know what she was going to say, okay?” Mike was saying. He wasn’t yelling, but just barely.

“She said you shot him on purpose!” Henry shouted. “Josh played it back on YouTube.”

Mike and Jamie had really screwed up, Christie thought. Henry shouldn’t have heard about this secondhand. She knew the anger on her face reflected her son’s.

“You think I did it on purpose? Because he was Hispanic?” Mike roared. He had a look on his face that Christie had never before seen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Henry had never spoken that way before—to anyone.

Mike’s face was a mottled red now, just like Henry’s. For the first time, Christie wondered if Mike was going to hit
their son. But before she could scream at them to stop, Jamie stepped forward. Christie thought Jamie would yell, or shove the guys apart. But instead Jamie put a gentle hand on Henry’s shoulder and she looked up at Mike.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t warn you, Henry,” she said, her voice as soft as a caress. “It must’ve been horrible for you to learn about this from your friends.”

“It was!” Henry’s voice was still loud, but Jamie’s words had drained away the venom from it.

“Your dad has been under so much stress, honey,” Jamie said. She was blinking hard now, seeming on the verge of tears. “We all have. You, too. We should have dealt with this better as a family. I’m so sorry you found out this way.”

Henry began to cry. “How could she say those things about you, Dad? And then people were writing stuff in the comments, saying they’d like to blow your head off.” Henry had morphed into a young boy again, his lips trembling and his shoulders shaking. He’d been scared, not angry, Christie realized belatedly. Just like his dad.

Mike moved closer and folded Henry into his arms. “Don’t read that stuff. Look, maybe you should stay at your mom’s for a while. Until all this is resolved.”

“I don’t want to!” Henry said. “I want to be with you!” Christie felt herself flinch.

“They can’t just say that stuff about you!” Henry continued. “It’s so unfair! I want to just . . .
hit
them and make them stop.”

“Trust me, I know,” Mike said.

Jamie moved closer and stroked Henry’s hair. “It’s going to be okay, honey,” she said.

They were a circle of three, linked together physically and emotionally, and they’d all forgotten she was here. They were a family, like snooty Simon surrounded by his mother and brother at the birthday lunch, and she was on the outside again.

Christie didn’t even realize she’d walked out of the house until she’d pulled the door shut behind her.

Chapter Nine

IT WAS STRANGE HOW
relentlessly life ticked along, demanding your participation without asking for your consent.

Eloise’s three-year pediatrician appointment was scheduled for today, and Jamie wanted to cancel it. But the doctor’s practice was so busy that she probably wouldn’t be able to reschedule for weeks, and who was to say their lives would be any less stressful then? Things could actually be worse. Jamie tried to banish that thought, but it lingered like a dark shadow.