The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  Like the pain of finding out he was to be a dad, but not a father?

  Maryellen turned on the light and stood in the middle of the room, willing herself back to the night of the potluck, back into her hash brownie high surrounded by platters of food and the hum of voices in the next room.

  The rhythmic thuds from behind her.

  The bulk of Frank’s notes didn’t reveal much beyond Hope’s misery over not conceiving, how the frustration led her to question her faith, and the prayers and psalms he’d offered to help her persevere while she awaited the Lord’s ultimate gift.

  They certainly didn’t explain why he’d lied about having the note.

  She walked to the back wall of the kitchen. As she rapped on the sheetrock she could practically hear the animalistic grunts like they were still happening.

  The more troubling of Frank’s comments began to swirl through her head: Fertility hormones may be clouding Hope’s better judgment. I’ve asked her to consult on the playground, in part to keep an eye on her. I have concerns about the underlying nature of Hope’s working relationship with Tim Trautman. There’s a rumor afoot concerning Hope and Will Pierce-Cohn…

  Maryellen ran out the door, through the darkened main lobby, around to the administrative hall, and into the multipurpose room. The light she flipped on reflected off the door handle of the walk-in art supply closet that shared the south wall of the kitchen.

  Normally locked, the room must have been open that night for access to decorating supplies.

  Or was opened.

  She was about to unlock the door herself, but stopped. Even though the red light wasn’t on, the last thing she needed was to show up on the security camera as she let herself into a supply closet after hours when she wasn’t supposed to be there anyway.

  That familiar sensation of cold dread and adrenaline began to spread across her chest and through her body.

  The camera had to have been on during the potluck.

  She rushed down to the security office, made her way inside, and unlocked the cabinets until she found boxes of stored tapes. She located Saturday, May 28, INTERIOR.

  Her hands shook as she turned on a monitor, put the tape into the machine, and watched a black and white image of the empty lower-level hallway appear on the screen.

  The time flashing at the bottom right corner was 11:01 P.M.

  The very moment the first of Theresa and Tim’s twins had been born.

  She pressed rewind and watched rotating images scroll backward in reverse double time from the various cameras set throughout the rec center. At 10:15, she paused to zoom in on a short, dark-haired man entering the rec center.

  Will Pierce-Cohn.

  If anything did happen between him and Hope, it wasn’t at the rec center.

  And, he couldn’t be the father.

  At the 9:35 P.M. mark, she slowed the speed to watch more carefully the people exiting the bathrooms, walking backward toward the pool area. Another short, dark-haired man stopped to talk to someone before entering the men’s room.

  She zoomed in.

  Frank.

  He headed back toward the pool area and the tape switched views to the closed door to the multipurpose room.

  She’d almost caught her breath from seeing her husband, knowing he’d been alone, when the empty fitness wing hall appeared on the screen.

  Hadn’t Theresa said her water had broken at 8:15 and they were at the hospital by 9:30?

  Hope had definitely mentioned eating chips from the vending machine with someone.

  Maryellen rewound the tape, stopping at 8:15.

  She watched at normal speed as the camera changed views every five minutes, switching from the main entrance to the crowded pool area to outside the bathrooms.

  At the 8:30 mark, the fitness center hallway appeared on the screen.

  Hope stood beside a short, dark-haired man in front of a vending machine.

  Maryellen zoomed in.

  Tim.

  He appeared to be talking on his cell phone.

  Hope put money into the slot.

  Maryellen’s heart began to thump watching Hope make a selection and Tim head away from her toward the stairs.

  The camera cut to the administrative hallway and a view into the multipurpose room.

  Through the open door.

  The pounding in her heart gave way to a sick ache. She forced herself to watch the next few scenes as they flashed before her, five minutes at a time.

  Main entrance.

  Pool area.

  Outside the upstairs restrooms.

  At 9:04, she took a horrified breath in preparation for what she feared she would see when the view switched into the open multipurpose room.

  The empty fitness hallway filled the screen.

  She looked at the time on the monitor. It read 9:10 P.M.

  She rewound and pushed play again.

  The tape skipped from the 9:00 view of the restrooms to the 9:10 view of the lower level.

  9:05 to 9:10 was gone from the tape.

  As she fast-forwarded to the 9:30 view of the multipurpose room, the closed-door view of the room, she remembered how early Frank was up and gone the morning after the party.

  “Had to make sure the rec center was back in order,” he’d said.

  ***

  “Mom?” Things had gone from weird and horrible to weird and different, starting the second her mom had dropped that F-bomb. Waking to find Mom staring directly at her, a piece of paper in hand, was somehow, weirder still. “What is it?”

  “I was very annoyed with your dad that night,” her mom finally said.

  Eva turned off the already-on-mute TV. “What night?”

  “The night of the potluck.”

  “Oh.” The lump that had permanently settled in Eva’s throat began to throb.

  “I thought it was the combination of him not appreciating how hard I was working and…” She paused. “And those hash brownies.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mommy. I—”

  “I’m glad to hear that and I know.” Her mom shook her head. “But, I woke you up because I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I was the thirteenth person.”

  “What?”

  “Your witch rules. Weren’t there supposed to be thirteen people to do your spell?”

  Eva’s temples began to throb. “I don’t ever want to think or talk about that, ever ag—”

  “But I was there.” She looked up. “Not downstairs with you, but in the house.”

  Eva wanted to, but couldn’t avert her eyes from her mother’s intense gaze. “Doesn’t mean a thing. You weren’t in the coven.”

  “I was angry with him that night. So angry, I wished as hard as I could he wouldn’t come home.”

  There were only twelve of them in the circle. As they chanted the spell, Eva knew it wouldn’t really work, which made her know for sure nothing serious would happen. But if her mom was standing in the room above them thinking she wished Daddy wouldn’t come home… ? “Can’t be true Mom. Can’t be.”

  “Which is exactly the conclusion I finally came to,” she said. “Because neither of us really wanted him to be gone. What we wanted was for him to be present with us, for us, and not just for how we reflected on him. I didn’t want him to be so damn competitive.”

  Familiar hot tears began to roll down Eva’s cheeks.

  “Your dad ran into that ice cream truck not because we willed him to, but because he was so busy trying to run away from the disastrous results of his insatiable need to control and run everything and everyone, he wasn’t looking where he was going.”

  “But I was one of the things he was trying to control.”

  “You can’t control people, only guide them,” she said. “Remember that, because you’re a lot like him.”

  The words stung.

  “Thing is, there’s hope for you.” She seemed to grimace with the word. “And me.” She waved the paper in her
hand. “See this?”

  Eva managed a nod.

  “I sent in my resume for a head librarian opening at the Central Library mostly to see what would happen. I didn’t think I had any chance, but this is an e-mail with the response.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I didn’t allow myself to read it,” she said. “I knew there was no way I could take the job even if by some chance this is a request for an interview.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s the other conclusion I came to,” her mom said. “Do you think it’s a request for an interview or a thanks for applying, but?”

  “You’d be a great head librarian.”

  “Thanks.” Tears filled her mother’s eyes. “I’m going to read it right now.”

  “Go for it.”

  “If they want to interview me and it’s not too late, what should I do?”

  “Go on the interview.”

  “And what if I get offered the job?”

  “Take it.”

  “My commute will be almost an hour either direction every day.”

  “We could move,” Eva said.

  “I wouldn’t want to uproot you so soon after Dad’s…”

  “If you got a job, or if you just wanted to move, I’d support you and go because it’s what you really wanted,” Eva said. “That’s all I ever really wanted from Dad.”

  “Me too.”

  Eva grabbed her mother’s free hand as she read the e-mail.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Enforcement: The Association or any Owner, shall have the right to enforce, by any proceeding at law or in equity, all restrictions, conditions, covenants, reservations, liens, and Declaration.

  Meg’s invitation of lunch down at the capitol, clearly an attempt to lift Will from his funk, seemed doomed to failure.

  Failure being the concept du jour.

  The phone number Maryellen had given him paid off in that a disgruntled ex-employee of Henderson Homes answered the call. Will found out Henderson Homes was basically open one day and closed the next. The man had no idea how the company handled, or if they even held, insurance. He did know the aggravating details of Frank Griffin’s land deal from inception to final payment, including the promise of a deed that was to be processed and mailed but never arrived. Will gave that info to Tim to handle. Out both a job and a final paycheck, the man was certain Henderson Homes pulled up stakes not because they were bankrupt, but to protect themselves from ending up that way after the unprecedented number of rain-related claims. Furious and certain Henderson Homes left with a pile of money to protect, he’d been doing his own investigating.

  He had managed to come up with some vague information that one of the principals of the company had some sort of interests in California before his trail had gone cold.

  Cold as Will’s.

  At least there was chocolate on Meg’s desk.

  Will opened the See’s Candy and helped himself to a Kona Mocha. “A welcome surprise.”

  “Candy isn’t the only surprise I have for you today,” she smiled and closed the door.

  “Here?” he asked. The last they needed was for her to be removed from office because of a sex scandal in her own office. With her own husband, no less.

  Besides, he was hardly in the mood.

  Meg picked up her phone and dialed some numbers. “Thought you might enjoy being part of this call.”

  She pushed speaker.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “Ready,” the man on the other end of the call answered before Will had a chance to ask what he was supposed to be ready for. “I’ll dial, then patch you in.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “What’s going on?” Will asked during the silence.

  “I fed the situation with Henderson Homes through a few legislative and construction connections in California,” she said. “I got an interesting call from a legislator who represents a suburban constituency north of Los Angeles.”

  “Interesting, how?”

  “Representative Curtis,” a speaker-enhanced voice filled the room from the other end of the line. “Pleasure to hear from you.”

  “I’m looking forward to having you break ground on your project.”

  “We’re looking forward to becoming part of the landscape of your growing community.”

  What the? Will mouthed.

  Meg smiled.

  “Listen,” Representative Curtis said. “I called today because an associate of mine is having an issue with a builder in her legislative district and I thought you might have an answer or two that could be of some help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’m going to pass this call over to her.”

  “Hi,” Meg said. “This is Meg Pierce-Cohn. I’m a Colorado state legislator and one of the Melody Mountain Ranch homeowners saddled with a cracking foundation from your failure to follow building codes by installing proper drainage. I’ve told Representative Curtis all about your abrupt pullout from our state to avoid paying for your mistakes.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “I’m inclined to ask the city to put a temporary hold on approval of your plans,” Representative Curtis cut in. “That way you’ll have time to make right on this situation and have some engineers, at your cost, ensure we won’t have a repeat performance of what Representative Pierce-Cohn has told me about your project back in Denver.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Section 10. Oil and Mining Operations. No oil drilling, oil development operations, oil refining, quarry, or mining operations of any kind shall be permitted upon or in any Lot.

  The multipurpose room was full, but the only noise came from the rustle of paperwork.

  “Please sign on the four X’s located on the first, second, fifth, and sixth pages,” the lawyer representing Henderson Homes, DBA Casa De Oro Homes L.L.C., of California, said.

  Will’s arm brushed against Meg’s as he signed on the first X and handed the pen over.

  She smiled.

  He squeezed her elbow.

  Hiding in plain view had worked well for the former Henderson Homes execs, but not as well as Meg’s connections in both government and the media. Their eagerness to stay out of the harsh glare of the local media spotlight and continue to develop in California made for a true win-win. Maryellen was granted the deed to what would have been the Melody Mountain Community Church. The Estridges were getting a brand new house. Perimeter drains were slated for immediate retrofitting, warranty repairs were already being done, and the playground would be fixed starting Monday. Best of all, in a gesture of goodwill, every affected homeowner was being issued a healthy check, the amount of which depended on the depth and breadth of their pain and suffering.

  “After you’ve read each page, please also initial the bottom right-hand corner,” the lawyer said.

  “I presume all repairs that haven’t already been completed are guaranteed within sixty days?” Trautman asked.

  “Except for the quadrant three and four cul-de-sacs which can’t be completed until after the drainage retrofitting.”

  “And the new warranty will be good for five years from today?”

  “Yes,” the lawyer said.

  “And how can we be sure they’ll be honored?”

  “They’re backed by lien warranty against Casa De Oro Homes.”

  “What if someone comes down with mold sickness as a result of the cracking we already have?” Roseanne asked.

  “Covered,” the lawyer said. “Despite a lack of generally agreed-upon data on true toxicity.”

  “Not going there,” she said. “What about the nondisclosure clause on the back page?”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “With your signature you are agreeing to the terms outlined, whereby you will not discuss with anyone, including the media, homeowners in unaffected areas, or prospective homeowners, the terms of this agreement or the cash settlement.”

  “What do we
say if someone asks about the earthmoving equipment or whatever?” someone in the back asked.

  “We’ve provided an FAQ of sorts with answers we’d like you to give,” the lawyer said. “There are five other communities in Colorado who haven’t been granted the same courtesy and my clients would like it to stay that way.”

  ***

  Tim opened the door to the art closet, pulled out the cart of champagne he’d set to chilling, popped the cork, and poured the first glass. “To Melody Mountain Ranch—Life once again in harmony with our dreams!”

  The first round of Hear! Hear! was followed by countless toasts to perimeter drains, repair trucks, the Estridges’ new home, Maryellen’s deed for the church land, the playground he himself scheduled for repair, et cetera, et cetera. He drank to Roseanne Goldberg for her skill as a tireless watchdog, Maryellen for her attention to important detail, and to himself, as Jane Hunt so kindly put it, for his eloquence, grace, and wartime leadership ability.

  “Thank you,” he tipped his glass in her direction, but turned his attention, and with it everyone else’s, to the Pierce-Cohns. “But I think we all realize that our lives and futures would be in a much bleaker place if it weren’t for the tireless efforts of both Meg and Will Pierce-Cohn.”

  Over the thundering applause he made his way over to stand beside the two of them. “We wouldn’t be standing here right now if it weren’t for you.”

  “Thanks,” Will said.

  “Thank you,” Tim said,

  “Which of you is officially taking over as prez?” Roseanne asked. “Because there’s something we should—”

  “Talk to him,” Will said.

  “You’re not going to run?” Tim focused on looking neither bristled by Roseanne’s question nor too delighted by Will’s answer.

  “I have one more toast I’d like to make,” Hope’s husband said from across the room. Everyone quieted as he raised his glass. “Round about the time the Estridges are safely back in their new home, Hope and I will be having our first child.”