A Little Hope

by Ethan Joella

  She and Addie drop balls of dough onto the greased cookie sheet. “Can we leave the oven light on?” Addie says. “Can we watch them?”

  “Well, sure.” Kay wants to hug her. She thinks of Greg changing into a hospital gown. She thinks of Iris rubbing her pregnant belly. Of Benny riding his bike that last day, of all the things he has missed. She thinks of the courage, win or lose, it takes to live. She wants to be more courageous. She closes her eyes for just a few seconds as they watch the heat in the clean oven slowly sizzle the dough and flatten it.

  What surprises Kay over the next few days:

  The smell of chocolate chip cookies renews her. The scent stays in the house for hours.

  Addie. She settles in so quickly. By the first evening, she is opening the refrigerator and carefully pouring herself some cranberry juice. She stays for days and days. She misses her parents, but she is fine with Alex and Kay. The Tylers are grateful. Freddie drives back and forth between Wharton and Boston. She looks tired as she eats Kay’s meat loaf. She tells them about the first part of the transplant: conditioning, almost done. The chemo has made Greg so sick, he has such a weakened immune system. He is almost finished with this part. A few days of radiation will follow, and then the transplant. Freddie says he is noble, a soldier.

  Alex. He is better than Kay even knew he’d be. He loves having Addie there. He ties her socks in knots while she’s wearing them. She giggles. He cuts her chicken for her. He makes her try asparagus. They sit on the couch and watch a show called Tiny Town that Addie loves. He helps her build a fort out of the sofa cushions. He leaves work early to get home. It is his idea to have Addie stay longer (Freddie was planning to bring her back and forth to Boston so she wouldn’t burden the Lionels). “But only if she wants to,” he says.

  The weather. It is one of the nicest springs she can remember. The sun is generous over the patio. A robin shakes itself off in the birdbath. Kay has never appreciated a season so much before.

  Homework. Addie’s teacher gives her assignments that first Monday. Not much. Some math. Some writing. Kay is surprised a seven-year-old gets homework, but she likes sitting at the kitchen table with her, sliding the completed work back into the folder.

  The dog. Addie worries about him in the kennel. His name is Wizard. Alex drives there to pick him up. The dog lies by the television and barks when the UPS man comes. He seems to wink at Kay when she walks by. She remembers how sad she was when Toby died, how he seemed to take more of Benny with him—her last connection to her son. Now Wizard stares at her in the same wise way. She thinks she will tell Alex they need a dog when things go back to normal (knock on wood).

  The cat. They stop by Freddie’s house to check on the cat, Kitty. She’s fine. Addie bends down to kiss the top of her head before they leave. Addie looks around the house and touches Greg’s red plaid coat that hangs from a hook in the mudroom.

  The big day. The day comes for the transplant. Freddie says the nurses call it Greg’s new birthday because it might be the day where he is reborn. Freddie sighs and rolls her eyes on the FaceTime call. Addie blows Greg a kiss. He smiles with the tube hooked up to his arm. He gives them all a thumbs-up. Alex claps for Greg. “Attaboy,” he hollers.

  “You just want me back at work,” Greg says.

  It’s a girl. Iris is having a girl. She comes for lunch one day.

  They have seen her several times, but she has never been in the house before. She hugs Kay when she walks in the door, and Kay holds her a few seconds.

  “What a cozy place,” Iris says. Kay feels so comfortable around her—as if she’s known her longer.

  At their first meeting, back in December, in a café near Iris’s apartment, she approached Alex and Kay shyly and Kay offered to shake her hand. “I’m more of a hugger,” Iris said, and when she reached for her, Kay melted. She had prepared herself to be positive, to be polite, but realized she didn’t need any of these preparations. Alex had been right. Kay found herself that day laughing at their similar shirts (polka dots). They both ribbed Alex when he took out his flip phone for a call. They both ordered split pea soup, both snickered when a man at another table called his son the wrong name. Iris looked at her so sincerely that day and said, “I want to know you. I want this to be good for you.” Kay felt tears in her eyes, and she nodded and smiled. Within minutes, Alex was sitting back, sipping his root beer, and Kay and Iris were chatting about brands of chai tea and their mutual love of the color orange. Kay couldn’t explain the connection she felt to Iris—not like a child of hers, but very much like someone she knew in that deep, always way.

  On the day she visits the house, Addie runs to meet Iris, and when she tells Iris about school, about the small footstool she helped Alex build, her eyes keep looking over at Iris’s belly. Kay marvels that Iris has Alex’s nose. They all eat lunch like some new version of a family. Addie shows Iris her nail polish, reports that Kay said they could plant a garden in the backyard. Iris tells Kay her tomato panini are the best. Kay is moved when Iris invites her to feel the baby kick. She is surprised she doesn’t want to take her hand away once it’s there. The baby shifts and twists under Iris’s shirt, and Kay closes her eyes and loves the sensation. “Bless the little angel,” Kay says.

  Panic. Panic comes as quickly as the happiness, like its side effect. Did she forget to pack Addie a snack for school? Lunch money? Is Alex picking her up today? She is too old for this, she sometimes thinks. She panics when it rains one day: rain and rain, overflowing the roof gutters. She panics that the basement will flood from this fast rain. She panics about Greg. These weeks of recovery in the hospital. She knows they will all hold their breath for every blood test. She panics that she is not panicking enough some days when Addie is reading to her, when Iris is texting her an ultrasound picture, when the dog is putting its paw gently on her lap.

  The boxes. On the day Addie leaves, after she waves to Kay from the backseat of Alex’s car and they drive away, Kay is able to look at the boxes in the basement. She has thought about Benny’s stuff so often, but she could never look. Her sister packed up his things. Kay lifts one lid and exhales. His Walkman, a Beastie Boys cassette still inside. She slides the battery pack open because she is worried they rusted, but they are fine. She holds the two small batteries in her hand and looks at them. She sees his stack of MAD magazines. The small plaque he made in shop class with his name burned into it. He was real, she thinks. This was all real. She lets her hand hold the key chain from Bar Harbor that used to hang from his backpack zipper. She closes her eyes. “Benjamin Scott,” she says, and sighs.

  Kay hears a noise and turns around. The dog has followed her downstairs. They are keeping Wizard for a few weeks to help Freddie. “Well hello,” she says quietly. His stare is compassionate. He waits for her and follows her up the stairs. She looks around the clean kitchen. The sun makes the granite on the counter sparkle. A vase of pussy willow branches sits on the table. How odd it will be to not have Addie here tonight. She knows she and Alex will feel the quiet. Maybe they can go out for dinner, for a drive in the lengthening evening. Maybe they could walk the dog the way they used to when they had Toby.

  Freddie’s boss, Darcy Crowley, has agreed to let the cat stay with her for a while. Kay knows Darcy from going to the cleaners over the years, knows her because who in Wharton could forget her? She has thought about Darcy ever since December when her son, Luke, was killed in a car accident. Whenever she sees Darcy these days, she feels as if they share a terrible commonality they can’t speak about. Kay was shocked when Darcy telephoned her one day and asked how she could help, offering time with Addie, offering to have curtains or rugs or tablecloths cleaned. She does not seem to be an animal person, but when Kay suggested temporarily taking the cat, Darcy didn’t hesitate. “Certainly I would. As long as it’s mannerly.”

  Kay walks over to the window and picks up her rosary beads. She doesn’t say any prayers but holds them, feeling their weight in her palm.

  She sees t
heir driveway where Addie sketched birds and yellow suns and whales in sidewalk chalk, the driveway Iris walked up when she visited and timidly knocked on the door, the driveway Benny rode over with his bike and never came home. She is grateful for its cracks, for its shiny black tar. She is grateful for the folded newspaper that sits there, for the squirrel that pitter-patters over it, for the white flower buds that blow across. She holds her rosary and is grateful for the cuckoo clock that Addie looked up at every hour while she stayed here, for the sweet shifting sound time always makes.

  16. Out to Sea

  It’s been four months since he’s seen her.

  Four months since she stood beside him in her paisley dress at the wedding, walking slowly with her arm locked inside his, the stars like scattered glitter in the black sky.

  Four months since she let him kiss her hand, since she looked at him while he talked in that way a woman hasn’t looked at him in so long. Four months since she wore his coat and he didn’t care how cold he was. Four months since she came to him, eyes rimmed with red, and begged him to drive her to the hospital. He remembers how she held her hand over her mouth the whole ride, how carefully she buckled her seat belt.

  It’s been four months since he left her at the emergency room (she said not to come in, that she was calling her parents), and he can still picture her clearly—the whole range he saw that day. Earlier, her smile, how she seemed to hold her breath before she let out a laugh. But then her shock as she gripped his arm and told him about the car accident.

  Ahmed Ghannam pulls up to Damon and Suzette’s house, knowing she’s inside, knowing the newish Volkswagen with the Georgia plates is hers. He parks his car beside it, and his stomach flips.

  He looks down at his gray suede shoes, knowing he ran the brush over them for her, knowing he wouldn’t be wearing these pants if she weren’t here. Or the starched linen shirt tucked in. He walks up the steps, and there is a wreath of forsythia on the door, and he thinks he can see her through the glass. He breathes and knocks lightly.

  He clears his throat. The door swings open. “You dickhead, late as usual,” Damon says, and glances into the house to see if the coast is clear. He quickly flips Ahmed his middle finger.

  “Man, some greeting, Romeo,” Ahmed says, and grips the side of his buddy’s arm. Damon pulls him into a hug. He can see the blur of Suzette and Ginger, but he pretends to keep his cool. He looks Damon up and down. “Shit, you’re not fat yet,” he says. “I was hoping all these months of married bliss would have porked you up.”

  Damon laughs. Ahmed loves this guy—loves him like a brother. Has known him since they were kids. Tall, lanky Damon with his slicked hair—slicked to keep the curls from getting out of control. Damon with his almost-Boston accent. Ahmed straightens himself, and waves to acknowledge the women.

  Suzette with her blond wavy hair, who has set out cheese and grapes, is looking up at him. “A-team has arrived!” she calls. Next to her stands Ginger, who looks even better than she did at the wedding. Not that she didn’t look beautiful then. He just has a thing for women with less makeup. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, and she wears a long, thin cardigan with blue stripes over a black T-shirt, and jeans. He loves a girl in jeans.

  “Hi, ladies,” Ahmed says. He swallows hard, and Damon puts his hand on his shoulder and walks him in.

  “The party can start,” Damon says.

  “You know it.” There are appetizers on white plates. Suzette is pouring wine in good crystal glasses. By the dining room table a big china cabinet is lit up with a collection of white bowls and pitchers inside. He wonders, as he always does when he’s there, what it’s like to live in this house. To look around at your wife and your big place and know it’s all yours, that you’ve finally arrived. To switch the lights off at night and then come down the stairs in the morning and see the place aglow in new sun. He wants this. Something like this. For years he has.

  It’s fun being single, but not all he hoped. Not the buffet of girls he thought it would be, the wild trips. In his twenties, he had liked the low expectations, the nothing-special apartment with hardly anything in the fridge, the long, long Sundays, the different dates he would bring to weddings and work functions at his accounting firm. But there comes a time when people stop allowing this. When the college kids on spring break don’t want a thirty-year-old doing shots with them. When you’re out and all you see is men your age wearing wedding rings and holding kids.

  Now he wants kids. He has always wanted kids. There is some opening in his heart for them. He knows it. His brother, who is so much older (Ahmed always wondered if he was an accident—sometimes his parents treated him as though he was an inconvenience), is the version of a son his parents wanted. Ra and his wife are both university professors, and they have two boys, five and three. Ahmed loves playing with his nephews, taking them out and playing soccer. He loves hearing them squeal when he kicks it high and they scramble after it. When they were babies, sometimes they’d fall asleep on him, and he’d think This isn’t bad. His parents would love if he caught up to Ra. They make constant jabs about him finding a wife, but he pretends he likes his life the way it is. He has done well—important accounts in Wharton and beyond, and he has been told he has partner potential.

  Sure it’s nice to just watch football and take naps and stay out late at night, but lately he feels like he’s just waiting to read a child a book or tuck them into bed, clicking on a nightlight. He wants to go to a huge toy store with a kid sitting in a cart, and another one walking beside him, both grabbing and grabbing for things. He wants to buy Lego sets and for them to spend days on a big Lego building. He wants a wife he can walk through town with, lazily pushing a stroller. Damon and Suzette will have kids. They definitely will. Some of his other friends are on their second and third already. Ra keeps telling him, “Don’t worry. You will meet your match, and you’ll have what I have.” He hopes.

  Suzette rushes over and kisses his cheek. She smells like spring—like breeziness and a hint of flowers. The sweetest woman. When she hugs him, there is a genuine force to her body—as if she means it. When Damon introduced her to Ahmed a few years ago, after his brutal breakup with Amanda, Ahmed remembers how nervous she seemed. Her hair longer then, her wide eyes as she giggled at everything Ahmed said. She ordered a beer—the same as them. “You fucker,” Ahmed whispered when she got up to use the bathroom. “You miserable fucker, getting her.”

  “Hey, Suzie,” he says now. “This guy treating you right?”

  She laughs. “You have to come over more. Damon said you’d be living above our garage after a couple months, so naturally I’m disappointed.”

  Ahmed shakes his head. “Sounds like him.” Ginger stands politely at the counter and their eyes meet. She smiles and waves. He remembers the fake fur cape she wore at the wedding. He remembers her at the hospital entrance, how she shook when she said, “Okay, thanks,” and walked slowly inside. How he stayed there at the curb for a minute and watched her. How she looked around helplessly for a sign to point her in the right direction, and then disappeared. He sat and waited. He didn’t know why. He remembers the sound of the engine running, the blasting heat that wouldn’t seem to get warm. He remembers even feeling sorry for this guy, whoever he was, whom Ginger was running toward. And he felt jealous, too. Jealous of the dead or almost-dead guy who had broken her heart. He let the radio play for a bit, mostly commercials, and when she didn’t come back, he slowly drove away.

  “Hey, Doc,” he says now to Ginger.

  “Great to see you!” She hesitates, and then comes out from behind the counter and approaches him. His heart flickers. He is not breathing, is he? No, he can’t be. When she hugs him, he doesn’t want to be creepy and hold her too long. He keeps his hands around her lightly and then pats her shoulder blades like she’s one of his buddies. Damon or Richie or Topher. What? Why did he do this? She pulls back and smiles. “How’s life?” she says.

  “Oh, you know. Livin’ the dream. J
ob’s a hoot, women won’t leave me alone.” He winks, and there is something in her eyes then, some recognition of their time together that night of the wedding. Isn’t there? “You still down South?” he says. He knows she isn’t. Damon told him a month or so ago that she had broken up with the guy in Georgia. That she had sold her practice and was taking over for a retiring veterinarian in Naugatuck.

  “Nope,” she says, and tells him everything he already knows. Damon watches as Ahmed pretends to receive the information like it’s new. Suzette probably thinks since they’re guys, they don’t talk about this stuff. But they do. He used to be sly about asking for Ginger updates, but lately Damon supplies them willingly. “Man, she’s top drawer,” Damon said once. “But I don’t know how you’re going to get through the double hurdle of the dead ex-boyfriend and the recent breakup. She might be out to sea.” Ahmed had pictured her in a small boat then, floating away toward a pink and blue horizon.

  Ahmed watches her as she speaks. Her eyes are so kind. But they look tired. Her face is thinner. She speaks in a polite voice, a voice that means every word she says. He thinks of her that night. How she was running to the guy she really loved. How devastated and broken she was as he drove to the hospital as quickly as he could on the cold, empty streets, patches of black ice every so often. He remembers how he felt he loved her already, and how he lost her before they could even try. “So once I unpack the last of the boxes,” she says now, “I’ll be settled here.”

  “How’s the cat?” Ahmed says.

  “You remembered Martin.” She smiles. He sees gratitude in her eyes. God, she is the most lovely, real woman he has ever met. He cannot imagine she has one cruel or shallow thought. “He’s great. I had to sedate him for the drive up here. He hates the car.” She walks over to the kitchen and picks up her glass of wine. Suzette brings Ahmed one.