Early Morning Riser

by Katherine Heiny

  “Oh, Jimmy.” Jane reached over to take his hand. Her own hands were icy, numb. “Thank you for coming out to talk to me.”

  Jimmy was obviously eager for things to go back to normal. “Want to go inside now?” he asked. “And make that cocoa again?”

  “That sounds lovely,” Jane said. It didn’t sound lovely, or even partially lovely. But when Jimmy rose and went into the house, she somehow found the strength to follow.

  * * *

  —

  Duncan didn’t text again that night. Not at one a.m., or at three thirty, or at four fifteen. Not that Jane was awake and checking her phone, you understand.

  Finally, a text came at five thirty from Aggie’s phone: On our way. D.

  Aggie’s phone. On our way.

  Jane, she don’t like it.

  * * *

  —

  The girls woke Jane before seven. Usually she and Duncan spun out Saturday mornings with cartoons and Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakes and wooden-block tower building, but today she fed both girls right away and got them dressed. Actually, Patrice didn’t need to get dressed—she’d slept in her leggings and cat hoodie—and Glenn dressed herself in a white shirt and purple corduroy jumper.

  Jane pulled on the same clothes from last night and left a note for Jimmy to make Gary and himself some cinnamon toast. She felt certain that Gary would object to cinnamon toast, but guess what, Gary? It’s a rough old world.

  She packed a canvas beach bag with an enormous number of sweaters and towels and diapers, filled a foam cooler with picnic supplies, loaded the girls into their car seats, and drove to the North Point Nature Preserve in Charlevoix.

  “Oh, this place,” Glenn said happily as Jane parked the car. “Are we going to walk to the beach?”

  “We certainly are,” Jane said.

  She carried the beach bag, the cooler, and Patrice through the first part of the trail, a small winding path through the trees. Rust-colored pine needles were thick on the ground, and coins of sunshine shone through branches. This was one of Jane’s favorite places.

  They reached the dunes, and Jane set Patrice down.

  “Ohhhh,” Patrice said as her bare feet sank into the sand. She picked up a fistful and let it run through her fingers. “Dis?”

  “It’s sand,” Glenn told her. She looked at Jane. “How can she forget what sand is? We went to the beach a million times last summer.”

  “Last summer was a long time ago to her, I guess,” Jane said. “Here, put your sandals in the bag.”

  They walked through the dunes, Patrice exclaiming over everything like some sort of space alien. When they crested the last dune and saw the lake, her eyes got very round.

  “Dat?” she asked, pointing.

  “That is Lake Michigan,” Jane said. It spread out before them like a lazy blue beast stretching itself in the morning sun, sending small waves forth to crash on the shore.

  The sun was shining, but the beach was cool and windy. Jane gave Glenn a sweater and helped her pull on leggings under her purple dress. Patrice narrowed her eyes when Jane approached her with a sweater, so Jane gave up and pulled on her own sweatshirt. She piled beach toys in the sand for the girls to play with, and constructed a makeshift deck chair for herself out of towels and the beach bag. She wrapped another towel around her shoulders and slumped down to think.

  Hers were not pleasant thoughts. She thought about funerals and how funerals led to sex, with people wanting to be life-affirming and stuff. High school reunions were just as bad—all that fondly remembered adolescent passion. And Duncan and Aggie were at a combined funeral and high school reunion! She thought of Aggie treating herself to sex with Duncan, of Duncan letting himself be Aggie’s treat. She remembered Duncan saying that Aggie had stopped wanting to, but had Duncan stopped wanting to? Had Duncan ever, in his whole life, stopped wanting to have sex, with anyone? Jane didn’t think so. Women had broken up with him or moved away or gotten married, but if they came back looking for him (and a large number had), Jane guessed he was always right where they’d left him, in his workshop apartment, usually with an erection, or about-to-be erection. But all that was before he married Jane. Right? Or was Jane the only one who believed that? Why, oh, why had she ever been such a fool as to marry someone so untrustworthy? Why hadn’t she listened to everyone?

  The girls ambled up and down the beach, but Jane’s thoughts ranged further still, out across the lake to the horizon where the water met the sky in a hazy blue line, and even beyond that, to the unknown mists on the other side.

  * * *

  —

  The walk back to the car seemed endless. Patrice had hit some sort of exhaustion wall, and Jane had to carry her as well as the beach bag, Jane’s feet slipping on the sand with every step, her shoes filling with sand. She had never made this trip without Duncan or Jimmy, and she missed their strong shoulders and how they let Patrice ride up there as though she weighed nothing at all. Glenn trudged along behind, carrying the foam cooler.

  When they reached the parking lot, Patrice had a temper tantrum so severe that it might have qualified as a psychotic break.

  “No car!” she yelled, kicking and thrashing so hard that Jane almost dropped her. “No car! No! No! No!”

  Jane set her down. “It’s okay, sweetie—”

  “No car!” Patrice screamed so loudly her voice cracked. “No! No! Want Mama!”

  Was Patrice hallucinating? “I’m right here,” Jane said gently. She was glad there were no other cars in the small parking lot. People would think Patrice was being kidnapped.

  “Want Mama!” Patrice hollered. “No car! No you! Want Mama!”

  Glenn tried to hug her but Patrice staved her off with flailing fists. “No! No! No!”

  Jane sighed and set the beach bag down. She could pick Patrice up and stuff her into her car seat, but that would involve a physical wrestling match that she didn’t feel capable of right now.

  She reached for patience the way she might reach an arm behind the sofa to retrieve a dropped television remote. She groped for a moment, felt patience fumble from her fingertips, and then got a grip on it and pulled it out.

  “You stay right here with her,” she said to Glenn.

  She walked across the parking lot to the car, unlocked it, and opened the glove compartment. She shoved aside the usual clutter of car documents and maps and Kleenex packs. Please be here. Please be here. Yes! The bag of pink marshmallows that she remembered tucking in here at some point in the past.

  She crossed the parking lot again. Patrice’s face was red and dripping. “No car! No! No! No!”

  “Patrice, look,” she said, holding up the bag. The marshmallows were stale and stuck together, but Patrice wouldn’t mind.

  Patrice tipped back her head and wailed like a small wolf, but Jane persisted. “Look, baby, just look. Don’t you want a marshmallow?”

  Patrice drew several long, shuddering breaths. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing her fingers with mucus.

  “I know how much you like marshmallows,” Jane coaxed. She opened the bag and pried off a sticky pink lump. “Here you go. Marshmallow for Patrice. Marshmallow for Patrice.”

  She held the marshmallow out. After a long, long moment, Patrice took it and popped it in her mouth. Glenn let out a breath of relief.

  Jane waited for Patrice to finish chewing. Then she took a step backward and held out another marshmallow. “Marshmallow for Patrice.” Patrice stepped forward and took it.

  “Glenn,” Jane said softly, never taking her eyes off Patrice, “can you go open the car door on Patrice’s side?”

  “I can,” Glenn said. Jane could hear her footsteps tapping away.

  Jane took another step back. “Marshmallow for Patrice,” she said, and held out another one. Patrice stepped forward and took it. Jane waited while
she chewed it.

  Step back. Marshmallow for Patrice. Step back. Marshmallow for Patrice. In this manner they crossed the parking lot and Jane climbed slowly into the car. Marshmallow for Patrice. Jane was sitting between the car seats now. Jane held a marshmallow out, and Patrice climbed in the car and sat down in her car seat. Jane gave her the marshmallow and then quickly buckled the straps.

  Then she backed out the other side of the car and let Glenn get in. She retrieved the foam cooler and beach bag and handed Patrice a sippy cup of milk.

  Patrice took a sip and yelled, “Kalt!” (Apparently, she had returned from psychosis speaking German.) She threw the sippy cup, and it hit Jane in the forehead.

  Jane winced and picked the sippy cup up. “You need to drink something,” she said. Patrice wouldn’t fall asleep in the car unless she had a sippy cup. “I know it’s cold, but it’s all we have.”

  Patrice took the sippy cup and regarded it suspiciously, but eventually she popped the spout into her mouth and began drinking.

  Jane climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced at her forehead in the mirror. The sippy cup had left a light red mark above her eyebrow. She used a Kleenex to wipe the moisture from her face.

  She backed the car out and drove slowly up the street. Patrice was asleep before they had gone three blocks.

  “Okay, Glenn,” Jane said, pulling into an empty church parking lot. “Time for you and me to have lunch.”

  She parked in a shady spot and let Glenn climb into the front seat. They ate peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips and Oreos, and played the Baby Animal Game. What’s a baby cow called? What’s a baby horse called? What’s a baby duck called? What’s a baby swan called?

  “I can never remember that one!” Glenn said. “Tell me again.”

  “Cygnet,” Jane said.

  “Cyg-net,” Glenn repeated. “Ask me another.”

  No day would ever be as long as this one. It just wasn’t possible.

  “These cookies aren’t as good as the ones Aggie makes,” Glenn said.

  “No, they’re not.”

  Jane wondered if this would be her life from now on: fatigue, and loneliness, and store-bought cookies.

  * * *

  —

  Jimmy came out of the house almost as soon as Jane pulled into the driveway. Jane held a finger to her lips while she parked the car and rolled down the windows.

  Jane looked in the back. Glenn was awake, drawing with the Magna Doodle. Patrice was still asleep, her head tilted back so that Jane could see the line of grit on her neck. All of Patrice looked gritty, actually; gritty, grubby, sticky, sandy. Her cat ears were crooked.

  Jane got out and then helped Glenn out, closing both doors softly.

  Jimmy was waiting on the porch. “How are my girls?”

  Jane swallowed hard. That was what Duncan always said.

  “We’re good,” she said. “Patrice is asleep. Is Gary still here?”

  “Sure is.” Jimmy sounded cheerful. “He’s playing with the train table. Do you want me to carry Patrice up to her room?”

  Jane shook her head. “She might wake up and see Gary.” Patrice did not like non-family members to touch the Brio. “Let’s just—let’s just let her sleep here. I’ll stay outside and keep an eye on her.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said. “You want me to keep you company?”

  “Sure,” she said. “But first, do you think you could bring me a beer from the fridge?”

  Only the very best mothers drank alcohol at one in the afternoon while their children napped in cars. She had to remember that.

  “You bet,” Jimmy said.

  “Can I stay out here, too?” Glenn asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jane dumped the sand out of her sandals and used the garden hose to rinse off her feet and let Glenn do the same. Then she sat on the porch steps while Glenn filled the watering can and began to water all the flowers.

  The screen door squeaked open and slapped closed, and Jimmy sat down beside her. He carried two cans of beer and handed one to her. The beer was Duncan’s favorite, Bell’s Two-Hearted Ale. It was stronger than what Jane usually drank and stronger than what she liked Jimmy to drink, but surely whoever had coined that phrase about desperate times calling for desperate measures had had Jane in mind. Jane on this particular day.

  She popped the tab on her can and clinked it against Jimmy’s. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” Jimmy said.

  Jane took a long drink of her beer and waited for it to work its magic. But maybe not even alcohol could bring her back from the dark edge where she now resided.

  She was taking another drink when Aggie’s SUV turned onto the street, as sinister as a custard-blue shark fin slicing through water. Aggie was behind the wheel, leaning forward like the aggressive driver she was. Her wide face was highly visible and highly annoyed: her eyes narrowed, her brows drawn together, her mouth a grim line. It was amazing how she could project anger at a hundred yards.

  “Whoa,” Jimmy said in a startled voice, so Jane knew he had seen it, too.

  The SUV pulled into the driveway behind Jane’s car, and Aggie got out. She had the tarnished look of someone who has gotten ready in a hotel bathroom and then driven for many hours. Her cotton dress was as blue as a hydrangea blossom, but the fresh color only made Aggie look more shopworn. The dress was wrinkled and one bra strap showed at the neckline. Her hair was crookedly parted and her skin was slightly blotchy.

  Duncan emerged from the car more slowly. He had the exceedingly rough, haggard look of someone who had perhaps slept in a hotel bathroom—and not a very clean bathroom in not a very nice hotel. His denim shirt was covered with stains in various stages of drying—he’d clearly wiped his hands on it at some point. Maybe several points. His khaki pants were grass-stained and his hair was stiff and spiky. Worst of all was his face: unshaven, gaunt and yet oddly bloated, one eyelid so puffy that his eyes looked as though they were two different sizes. Jane had not known it was possible for someone to be so hungover and not be hooked up to dialysis somewhere.

  “Daddy!” Glenn cried. She dropped the watering can and ran to him.

  “Hello, darlin’,” Duncan said. His voice was deep and ragged but happy-sounding. He swung Glenn up and kissed her cheek.

  Patrice let out a bellow from the back seat, and Jane started to get up. Duncan was quicker, though. He set Glenn down and leaned in through the car window to unclip Patrice and pluck her out of her car seat. “Upsy-daisy,” he said, settling her on his hip. “How’s my baby?”

  Patrice squinted at him, confused. Then she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. Sometimes Patrice’s tantrums could be averted, like a toppling wineglass grabbed in the nick of time. Her bad mood sloshed around but didn’t spill out.

  “Hello, Janey,” Duncan said. “Hi, Jim.”

  Patrice stuck out one of her feet and pointed to it. “Gar.”

  Duncan frowned. “Sugar?”

  “She means sand,” Jane said. “We went to the beach.”

  “Cello,” Patrice said.

  “And you listened to cello music?” Duncan guessed.

  “No, I think she’s talking about marshmallows,” Jane said.

  Duncan frowned. “Why is she talking in code?”

  “It’s a long story—”

  “Jane,” Aggie interrupted loudly. Her voice was sharp, probing, like a finger poked at Jane’s chest. “Could you please tell Gary I’m here?”

  Jane paused. Something was going on here, and no way was Jane going to miss it. “Glenn, sweetie,” she said, “would you go tell Gary that Aggie is ready to go?”

  “Okay,” Glenn said. She walked up the porch steps, squeezing between Jane and Jimmy, and let herself into the house.

  “So, how was your trip, Aggie?” Jimmy asked, s
miling.

  “Thank you for inquiring, Jimmy,” Aggie said, biting off the end of each word. Jimmy flinched a little bit. “My trip was just dreadful.”

  “Oh,” Jimmy said uncertainly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “We went to the funeral and the wake yesterday,” Aggie continued. “And I wanted to drive home, but, no, Duncan had to go to Scratch Thompson’s after-party.”

  Jane and Jimmy looked at Duncan, but he just went on holding Patrice, who was sucking her thumb.

  “Right away, Duncan begins acting in the most immature, selfish way imaginable,” Aggie said. “Drinking can after can of Genesee Cream Ale. Sitting on the sofa with Scratch and making stupid jokes, telling stories that weren’t even funny in high school—”

  “They were pretty funny in high school,” Duncan said mildly.

  Aggie ignored him. “And then at midnight, Duncan and Scratch go wandering off into the woods behind the house, and no one hears from them again! Scratch’s wife was beside herself because Scratch hadn’t taken his blood pressure medicine. I’d never, ever met the woman before, mind you, and there I am, patting her arm and assuring her Scratch won’t have a stroke! And people are outside, shining flashlights and calling for Duncan and Scratch, and not one peep out of either of them.”

  “We got a little turned around,” Duncan said. “And I lost my phone somewhere out there. Scratch said he knew the perfect place to watch the sunrise—”

  “Sunrise!” Aggie cried indignantly. “When sunrise came, you and Scratch were passed out in a neighbors’ yard ten blocks away! Scratch’s poor wife called me at five this morning and said, ‘The Fergusons just phoned and said we have ten minutes to get them off their lawn before they call the police.’ ”