Things You Won't Say (29 page)

She looked at the price tag and blinked: $360. It was more than Christie had ever spent on an item of clothing in her entire life, including her prom dress and the wedding gown she’d worn for her brief marriage to the guy whose name she’d vowed never to utter again.

“Doing all right in there?” the salesgirl chirped. “Need a smaller size?”

She really was earning her commission.

“Doing great,” Christie said. She tried on the dresses she’d selected, but they looked too loud next to the beige—no, the
cream
—one. She put the dress on a hanger and walked out.

“Do you need shoes to go with it?” the salesgirl asked.

“What would you suggest?” Christie asked.

The salesgirl held up the dress and narrowed her eyes. “Something in bone,” she said. “It’ll make your legs look longer. Nothing too structured; I’d go with a simple sandal.”

Within an hour, Christie had not only new shoes but a hammered-gold cuff bracelet. She popped into a few other stores, making an impulsive purchase at a Hallmark card shop and picking up a smoothie for lunch, then she returned to her car and checked her iPhone, which showed two missed calls. Both were from Elroy.

She pressed the Return Call button and waited to hear his gentle voice. He picked up on the first ring.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Christie said. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I don’t want you to quit, but if you need to take off a
little time—” he began, but she cut him off. What she needed was to start making money before her first car payment arrived.

“I want a can of Mace,” she said. “Can you get me one?”

“Of course,” he said. “I should’ve thought of that sooner.”

“I’m ready to start again,” she said. “But first I have a favor to ask.”

She told him about Mike and the shooting—he’d heard about it already, but hadn’t known of her relationship to Mike—and Elroy promised to help. “Whatever I can do,” he said.

“Really?” Christie asked, a little suspicious. Most guys didn’t want to spend effort on you unless they were getting something in return.

“Sure,” Elroy said. “You know I used to be a cop, right?”

Christie hadn’t, actually.

“I’ve still got a few contacts in the department. Let me see what’s going on and I’ll call you back.”

After she hung up, Christie checked the dashboard clock. Even the numbers proclaiming it was a few minutes after noon looked elegant. She glanced down at the small Hallmark bag on the passenger’s seat and decided to head to Mike and Jamie’s house, so she could give it to them in person. It wasn’t much—just a hang-in-there card, but along with it she’d be delivering the news that Elroy was going to help Mike’s case. Henry was supposed to come over tonight, so maybe she’d save them a trip by picking him up early, if he was home. She couldn’t wait to see his face when he glimpsed the Mercedes. He’d be so proud of her.

She put the Mercedes in drive and set up the GPS, even though she knew the way, because she’d never had a GPS before. She preset the radio buttons to her favorite stations, too. She made it to Mike and Jamie’s in record time—or maybe it just felt that way because the ride was so pleasant. She pulled up to the curb and listened to the end of John Legend’s “All of Me.”

She wondered how many times she’d waited in front of this house for Henry to come to her. Thousands, probably. When he’d been a baby, picking him up or dropping him off had also required handing off his diaper bag and ratty stuffed dog and stroller, which was a hassle. Then he’d gone through a phase as a toddler in which he hadn’t wanted to leave Mike, which wasn’t fun for anyone. Luckily it was short-lived. In a few years, she wouldn’t have to pick him up at all. He’d just drive over to her place himself.

As the final, sweet notes of the song faded, Christie saw phantom Henrys running toward her—a little tyke in overalls with sticky hands; a self-conscious nine-year-old with a baseball glove; a tall, lanky teenager who was just a few years from running away from them for good. She shook her head, wondering how the time had evaporated as quickly as wet footprints on the hot pavement.

She picked up the car keys, opened the door, walked to the house, and rang the bell. One of Mike’s kids flung it open and ran away without a word.

“Hello?” Christie called.

“Christie?” Jamie came from the direction of the living room, a frown on her face. “Weren’t we supposed to drop off Henry tonight?”

“Yeah, but I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by and save you the trouble,” Christie said. “Hey, you got the AC fixed!”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Jamie said. Had she gotten thinner all of a sudden?

“Is Mike here?” Christie asked. She reached into her purse for the card in the bright yellow envelope.

Jamie started to answer, then she caught sight of the Mercedes.

Christie smiled broadly and stepped aside so Jamie could get a better look. “Do you like it?”

“It’s yours?” Jamie asked.

Christie nodded. “Come see,” she urged. She tucked the card back into her purse and led the way down the walk.

Jamie followed her without shutting the front door, and the dog escaped and raced down the street.

“Is she going to run away?” Christie asked, but Jamie didn’t answer.

“It has leather seats,” Christie said. “And a sunroof! Here.” Christie opened the door and pulled the Nordstrom bag off the passenger’s seat. “You can get in if you want.”

Jamie turned to look at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Christie blinked. “What?”

“Mike was just indicted and you bought a Mercedes? He might go to jail and we’ll lose everything. And I’m driving a nine-year-old minivan and sitting up at night trying to figure out how to pay the grocery bill and you buy a goddamn Mercedes with the child support money we give you?”

“I didn’t—” Christie began, but Jamie cut her off. Her face was turning bright red and her voice kept getting louder.

“You didn’t what? Think? Maybe you’re not that bright, Christie, but it shouldn’t be hard to figure out!” Jamie said. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met.”

Jamie hated her. She’d tried to mask it for years, but now it was so clear. The way she was looking at Christie, her face twisting . . .

Fury and hurt swelled inside of Christie. “Screw you!” she shouted. “You don’t think I deserve this car? I’m paying for it! I got a new job, a good one . . .”

“Doing what? Another modeling job?” Scorn seeped into every word.

“No!” Christie bellowed. “Why don’t you ask Mike? I told him about it when he came over the other night for pizza and beer.”

That hit its mark. Apparently Mike hadn’t told his perfect little wife about their visit. Jamie staggered back a step. “What?” she said.

“Oh, I guess he didn’t want you to know,” Christie said. “Oops!”

Jamie looked like she wanted to hit her. She actually raised her hand, then she dropped it to her side. “Why don’t you go back to school, get a real job, and stop mooching off us. I’m sick of it,” she said. Her voice dropped, but Christie still caught her last words. “I’m sick of
you
.”

Christie got into her car and roared off, her body trembling.
Not that bright. Mooch. Selfish
. So that was what Jamie really thought of her, even though she pretended to pray for Christie.

She made it one block away before the tears came.

•••

Mike had gone to Christie’s for beer and pizza?

Jamie’s mind cast back over the previous days and nights, wondering when it had happened. The truth was, she and Mike were spending so little time together that she had no idea when he’d done it. What she’d give to have an easy, companionable night like that with her husband. But Christie was the one Mike had chosen to spend time with.

Jamie thought about how she and Mike had wanted to transfer Sam to private school, because he was so bright and anxious, and Jamie knew boys like him sometimes had a tough time in public school. But they couldn’t afford it. She’d resented Christie for that. She felt the burn every time she saw Christie in a new outfit. She’d thought she’d pushed it down, but it had just been tamped more tightly into a small space, like explosive powder awaiting a spark.

Jamie dropped her head into her hands. Maybe she’d been too hard on Christie just now—she’d seen pain flash across Christie’s face, and she wasn’t proud of causing it—but what was she thinking, driving up in that car so soon after Mike had been indicted?

Christie’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Just this morning, Jamie had had to phone her father to ask if she could bor
row money, since Mike was no longer drawing a salary. “I don’t know when we can pay you back,” Jamie had said, her voice catching. “It might be a while.”

“Don’t even worry about that,” her father had said immediately, and two fat tears had squeezed out from her eyes. He’d probably take it out of his retirement account. “I’ll send a check today.”

At least they’d be able to pay the mortgage—for now. The indictment meant Mike could be represented for free by a public defender, but Jamie wasn’t sure if it would be better to stick with J.H., who seemed to know what he was doing.

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.