The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  A trip to the bathroom was a necessity.

  Careful to hold her head as still as possible, she slid out of bed. Bypassing her slippers in favor of the cool hardwood and the cooler tile beyond, she started toward the bathroom. On the way, she glanced through the open window at the gray, drizzly sky. An incongruous sliver of hot pink caught her eye. She stepped over to the southernmost window and peered through the sheers at matching pink storks planted in the corner edge of the Trautmans’ front yard.

  Instead of the jealousy she’d already felt in anticipation of this moment, she smiled. Much as she couldn’t believe she’d eaten a hash brownie, there had to be something in Tim’s relaxation theory.

  Hope padded across the room and entered the bathroom, focused only on the coolness of the tile radiating into her feet and up her legs. She opened the door to the water closet toilet and sat on the equally cool seat.

  Peed.

  All was well.

  Wiped.

  Reminded herself to get new, more padded cycling shorts to prevent the saddle soreness before the outdoor season got into full swing.

  Flushed.

  Jim was sorry. He was willing, wanted, to try and make sure they were together for ovulation in the coming months. What more could she ask for, besides the baby their argument had him that much more invested in trying to conceive?

  She made it back across the bathroom to the double vanity and almost turned on the water before she saw the note in the basin propped against the spigot.

  A wave of panic rumbled through her as she reached for the note and glanced at her name jotted across the front in unfamiliar handwriting. Her hand trembled as she unfolded the paper, torn from the pad on her bedside table.

  Hope,

  I’m afraid you’ll be somewhat unclear about a few details when you wake up. Since I’ll be on my way to Florida for vacation when you do, I thought I should clarify a few things. First off, your car is parked in the garage and I left your keys on the table in your back hall. Second, and much more importantly, please don’t feel awkward about last night’s unusual circumstances. Like I said before I left, no worries.

  XO,

  Will

  ***

  It wasn’t like Eva expected him to instantly drop dead or anything. Not after Lauren, or her mother, or both of them, messed everything up anyway.

  “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” her dad announced.

  But did he have to be so, so alive?

  He thudded down the hallway like Bigfoot, passing the powder room where she’d ducked inside the second she heard the rumble of the garage door. The last thing she felt like dealing with was his party-hangover, pre-church funk she’d have done anything to sleep through.

  So unfair she had to be a freaking minister’s daughter.

  A pain shot across her uterus.

  With freaking cramps.

  “I can’t believe you’re already up and out in this rain.” Her mother’s voice floated down the hall and through the ridiculously thin door.

  “Someone had to make sure the rec center was back in order,” he said in that totally irritating, pointed way. “The kitchen was covered in plates and rotting food.”

  “I’ll go back after church.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “Sorry.”

  Eva could feel her mom cower. She could hear her sigh. At least they were only fighting. It was utterly revolting to have to cover her head with a pillow to drown out what she usually overheard. Being this close to the two of them while he rambled on about anything more than the potluck would be suicide worthy.

  “I meant to finish things up, I really did. It’s just—”

  “It’s just you let the kids go early.”

  “They’d worked so hard, I wanted to let them have some fun, too.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “And Laney was supposed to help.”

  “But got sick,” he said.

  “And left me alone to do all the work,” she said.

  Eva felt a twinge of guilt for her mom. They had to leave when they did or there would have been no spell—even one that didn’t seem to be working.

  “So you just decided to give up and wander home?”

  Not yet, anyway.

  “I… the moon was so bright I just…”

  “Very weird, Maryellen.”

  For once, Eva actually agreed with her dad. Finding her mom standing in the kitchen gobbling candy was more than weird.

  Like she’d had one of the missing brownies?

  Her father exhaled dramatically. “I found your phone by the sink.”

  “Oh, good. Can’t believe I—”

  “Me neither.”

  “I don’t know what happened. I just felt so… like I wasn’t sure what was happening.”

  On the one hand, Eva felt totally weird about maybe getting her mom high.

  “I told you never to drink on an empty stomach.”

  “I ate,” she said. “Plenty.”

  On the other, her mom normally ate so little, the munchies weren’t exactly a bad thing.

  “I made sure I not only ate enough, but limited what I had to drink,” he said.

  “I thought I saw you drinking beer.”

  “I nursed one or two,” her dad said.

  Eva doubled over against another wave of cramps.

  “I need to look over my sermon before church,” her dad said.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” her mom said.

  With the sound of footsteps heading toward the kitchen, Eva stepped to the vanity and grabbed an Advil. Checking to make sure both of her parents were safely away from the path to the relative safety of her room, she slunk out of the bathroom. As she tiptoed across the tile and rushed up the stairs, the nasty bellow of her dad’s I nursed one beer farts echoed out into the front hall.

  ***

  “I missed you in my sculpt class this morning,” Sarah said.

  “Can barely get out of bed,” Laney said by way of answer, her head still ringing from the sound of the phone. “I feel like someone clobbered me with a brick.”

  “Bet I know why,” Sarah said.

  If she hadn’t been so pissed about Randall’s last-minute ribbon cutting bailout, she’d have clued Sarah in about her own brownie suspicions soon after sampling the dessert tray she found in the corner cabinet of the rec center kitchen. “Why’s that?”

  “There was quite a rumor floating around eight A.M. stretch.”

  An image of Hope, through the open blinds of the Jordan bedroom, leached from the recesses of her liquor and drug-addled brain. “Involving Hope?”

  “Did she eat those brownies you were chowing last night?”

  Could Will Pierce-Cohn have really been in Hope’s bedroom? “I’m thinking she must have.”

  “Then she ought to be feeling much the same as you.”

  “Because they had hash or something in them?”

  “You knew?”

  “Strongly suspected,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You wouldn’t have eaten one anyway.” Laney paused. “But, oh my God!”

  “Oh my God, what?”

  “Maryellen.”

  “Definitely ate them!”

  “Probably all she ate.” Laney started to shake her head, but thought better of it when she felt what seemed to be her brain rattling inside. “She’s going to be horrified when she finds out.”

  “Especially since she was like a pusher with those things,” Sarah said.

  “Even worse.”

  “Seriously, didn’t you see her give one to Roseanne, Jane Hunt—?”

  “And fed one to Frank.”

  “The Rev. did seem otherwise enlightened.”

  With their shared gallows laugh, a day’s worth of anger and irritation began to dissipate.

  “You know,” Sarah said, “I really am sorry about Randall and the ribbon cutting.”

  “I just wish I’d
known sooner,” she finally said.

  “His agent made us swear to silence, or you know I would have told you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Swear.”

  “I guess I should probably ask how his meeting went?”

  “Good,” Sarah said. “For a minute I was worried we might be moving to somewhere awful like Pittsburgh or Cleveland.”

  “Thank God,” Laney said. “Promise you won’t leave me here alone.”

  “And have you reap all the Mother’s Helpers infamy and glory?”

  “I’ll take you back on as my assistant if you’ll do the dirty work of calling Maryellen and telling her she was dealing hash brownies last night.”

  “I owe you that,” Sarah giggled.

  “I’ll contact Roseanne and Jane Hunt.”

  “What about Hope?”

  With the name Hope, the whole scene from her bedroom window came back, in psychedelic, but no-way-was-it-a-dream Technicolor. “I’m thinking she already knows.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’re never going to believe what I think I saw last night…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Section 3.4. Hot Tubs. Hot tubs must be installed in “side” or “rear” yard with appropriate screening so as not to be immediately visible to adjacent property owners.

  Hope alternated water, fruit juice, and virgin sports drinks with Alka-Seltzer and Advil until she knocked the wind out of the most brutal hangover she’d ever had. A series of harmonious e-mails with Jim resulted in plans for back-and-forth visits over ovulation week for the next four months and the official end to her day-after blues.

  Without worrying, her memory of Saturday night extended to arriving at the potluck, a delicious tuna casserole, and medicinal desserts. Hope relaxed in a bubble bath. While she soaked, she didn’t allow a single thought about what she thought she was doing eating hash brownies, what happened in the gap of time following, or the awkwardness of finding out she’d been brought home by Will Pierce-Cohn. She climbed into bed early and enjoyed the steady patter of rain on the rooftop. Instead of bad dreams about kissing a morph image of Jim, Tim, Frank, Will, and whoever else had worked their way into her subconscious, she dreamt of Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, both of which she’d see for real, soon.

  After another indoor morning ride, courtesy of the rain, but accompanied by the Today Show, where Matt was coincidentally broadcasting from London, Hope almost felt like herself again.

  Just like herself after a long steam shower.

  The surreal quality of Sunday faded for good when she checked her Monday morning e-mail and found no less than three inquiries about landscape design services. A fourth e-mail was from Toni Thompson (a referral from Theresa Trautman) who wanted to schedule a more in-depth meeting to discuss the nautical nursery they’d chatted about on Saturday.

  Had they talked at the ribbon cutting or over hors d’oeuvres at the potluck? She closed her eyes and tried to remember their discussion.

  Fudging whatever it was they’d talked about couldn’t be hard, especially when it came to nursery design, but weren’t alcoholic blackouts only supposed to happen to alcoholics? Why had she let herself drink so much? She hadn’t allowed herself to let loose like that since one troubling morning in college when she’d woken up with a similar lack of memory. Of course, that time, Jim was next to her in bed.

  Not in London.

  Hope took a deep breath.

  Before responding to Toni Thompson or any other work inquiries, she fired off a quick appointment request to the fertility doctor. With her husband on board and all her reproductive ducks in a row, there would be no falling into a desperation free spin like that again.

  As she finished, a message popped up in her inbox.

  From: Rev. Frank Griffin.

  An image of the two of them eating chips together popped into her head.

  RE: Did you get my voice mail?

  She glanced at the message alert flashing on her phone. After waking up from her dream early Sunday morning, she’d turned off the volume to avoid noise or further bad dream catalysts.

  Then forgotten to turn the ringer back on.

  Everyone else must have been nursing their hangovers as well, because she’d only missed three messages all day. She turned up the volume and pressed play to listen to messages from Frank Griffin, most likely Jim, and…

  “Hope, it’s Sarah Fowler. Sorry to be the bearer of weird news, but if your Saturday night was more unusual than you might have imagined, blame it on the brownies.”

  No need for more details there. She moved on to the next message.

  “Hey it’s me…”

  Wasn’t Jim.

  “Tim.”

  No way he’d spent Sunday recovering with the telltale storks on the front lawn.

  “I haven’t had a chance to check in until now, but I wanted to make sure you’re feeling okay after all of last night’s festivities.”

  She remembered eating brownies with him. Sitting on the picnic table. Laughing.

  “Sorry I had to run off like that.” He paused. “You enjoy the Bugles?”

  He’d lent her change for the vending machine.

  “All’s well here at the hospital.”

  Then must have left for the hospital.

  “I’m the proud father of healthy, beautiful girls—Kayla Rose and Mackenzie Grace.”

  She smiled at the names and the satisfied exhaustion in his voice.

  “I’m headed home to crash.”

  She could only hope he hadn’t gone to the hospital as high as she was.

  “Theresa is finally getting some well-deserved rest, too.”

  However he’d shown up, and in whatever condition, clearly all had ended beyond well.

  “It’s going to be out of the frying pan around here for a while,” he said, his voice dropping. “But, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  Not for a week or two, anyway. Much as she wanted to see what Theresa had done with the nursery, they’d need to settle in before she turned up with matching gift baskets.

  The message changed over.

  “Hope, are you there?” Frank Griffin’s deep voice nudged her out of her daydream imaging the twins’ beautiful, completed nursery.

  “I hate to have to leave a message of this nature on your voice mail, but there’s a situation of which you need to be made aware…”

  With the word situation, she was back in her kitchen, trying to ignore the tap of Saturday night’s hazy reality on her shoulder.

  “Unfortunately the brownies a number of us enjoyed last evening, including you, may have been…” He paused. “Were, probably laced…”

  She should have told him herself, certainly would have, had she seen either him or Maryellen once Tim said his good-byes.

  Had she even rejoined the party?

  After all the kindness he’d shown her, listening to him labor over the word hashish made her head pound with intensity on par with yesterday morning’s wake-up call.

  She pushed fast forward, but lifted her finger from the button almost as quickly.

  “You were very out of it when I found you by the vending machines in the lower level of the rec center. Unfortunately, we both were under the effects, and for that I’m sorry.” He paused. “Given your mindset yesterday morning, I wanted to… to make sure you had a good time, but keep an eye out all the same. I’m afraid I failed miserably.” He paused again, for even longer. “But I’m confident Tim Trautman provided sufficient distraction before I arrived.” The timbre of his voice changed slightly. “And when you slipped from my grasp, I’m glad it was into Will’s, so he could get you home safely.”

  Awkward as it was, she was glad it had been Will, too. She couldn’t imagine showing up at church week after week knowing Frank had seen her…

  Please don’t feel awkward about last night’s unusual circumstances. Like I said before I left, no worries.

  “Once again, I’m sorry about Saturday
night and am praying you’ll be back on track soon.”

  If Tim had taken her home and his wife had gone into labor while he was tucking her into bed, she’d be even more horrified.

  “And one other thing,” Frank said. “In my altered state, I may have done or shown you more than I should have.” He paused. “Can I ask you to keep things—about the church—between us?”

  She pressed reply and began to type, the words flowing with little if any direction from her blank brain.

  Frank,

  Crazy situation, but at least we all seem to have been in it together. I’m afraid the combination of alcohol and everything else left a few holes in the evening. I’m glad to know you were there with me during some of those moments. As for whatever you told or showed me, your secret remains safe with you.

  Hope

  ***

  Maryellen clicked on the Denver library website and pushed the job listings tab while she waited for the photographer’s party pictures to download. Before Sarah’s call, she’d looked so forward to creating a collage for the front hall of the rec center.

  Would she be able to tell who was high by their expressions?

  Who looked guilty of spiking their dessert?

  She felt somewhat vindicated for her unusual behavior that night, but not enough to overlook the shame of not only eating so many brownies herself, but having served them around.

  She’d expected Frank to feel much the same, or at least flip out that they’d used drugs.

  And so publicly.

  “Not our fault,” he’d said. And while he finally admitted to feeling loose and disconnected, he was more proud he’d been able to maintain his faculties—keep an eye out for those who couldn’t resist temptations.

  He was calm and unflappable while they prayed on it and prayed for whoever felt compelled to serve a plate of drug-laced treats to their neighbors, then set about contacting anyone they knew or thought might have consumed the brownies. They went on to church and Frank remained collected and dignified standing at the pulpit while she could practically hear the hushed whispers as the rumor, which wasn’t a rumor at all, spread like wildfire.

  Marijuana in the brownies.