The First Time

by Joy Fielding

  “Do you want a cup of coffee or something?” Kim asked her mother, refusing to consider the possibility that Lisa might have a different opinion of the merits of the test.

  Mattie shook her head no. “I’ll just sit here for a few minutes. Then we can go.”

  “How are we going to get home?” Kim asked suddenly. Her mother had insisted on driving into the city, despite Lisa’s admonition that she should let someone else do the driving, that she might feel too weak and unsettled after the test, especially since she was still recovering from her accident. But Mattie had stubbornly refused to burden any of her friends, and she wouldn’t let Kim call Grandma Viv, claiming Kim’s grandmother was useless in any kind of emergency, at least those involving human beings. As for Jake, Mattie wouldn’t even consider asking him, and Kim had agreed with her mother. They didn’t need Jake. What did they want with a man who’d made it clear he’d rather be with another woman? Mattie didn’t need her soon-to-be ex-husband’s help any more than Kim needed her soon-to-be former father.

  “I’ll always be here for you,” he’d tried to tell her that awful night exactly one week ago, when he’d picked her up at her grandmother’s small house in the once run-down, now trendy area of the city known as Old Town. “I’m still your father. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

  “You’re changing it,” Kim protested.

  “I’m moving out of the house,” Jake argued. “Not out of your life.”

  “Out of sight,” Kim said coldly, “out of mind.”

  “You understand that this has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me,” Kim countered, deliberately misinterpreting his words.

  “Sometimes things happen.”

  “Oh, really? Things happen? All by themselves? They just happen?” Kim was aware she was raising her voice. She relished the sound of its outrage, the way it made the man sitting across from her in the small Italian restaurant squirm. “You’re trying to tell me this is something beyond your control?”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I love you, that I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Except you’ll be somewhere else.”

  “I’ll be living somewhere else.”

  “So you’ll be there for me,” Kim said, proud of her own cleverness. It made her feel powerful, kept her heart from sliding right out of her chest and crashing to the hard tile floor, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces.

  “I love you, Kim,” her father said again.

  “Now I’m just like everybody else,” Kim said in return.

  And so when Lisa called to tell Mattie she’d been able to book the electromyogram for Thursday of the following week, Kim immediately volunteered to accompany her mother to the hospital, even though it meant missing an afternoon of school. Surprisingly, her mother agreed. “We girls have to stick together,” Kim told her, climbing into bed beside her mother later that night, as she’d been doing every night since Jake left, her arm draping protectively across Mattie’s hip, as she slowed her breathing to match her mother’s, their bodies rising and falling in unison, breathing as one.

  “Are you going to be able to drive home?” Kim asked her mother now.

  “Give me a few more minutes,” Mattie said.

  But twenty minutes later, Mattie was still staring at her feet, afraid, or unable, to move. Her complexion remained a ghostly white beneath the mustard yellow and soiled lavender of her bruises. Her hands still trembled. “You better call your father,” Mattie said, fresh tears falling the length of her cheeks.

  “We can take a cab,” Kim protested.

  “Call your father,” Mattie insisted.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. Please. Call him.”

  Reluctantly, Kim did as she was told. Locating a pay phone beside a busy bank of elevators at the end of the long corridor, she punched in the numbers of her father’s private line, hoping he was in court, with clients, otherwise unavailable. “I don’t understand why we just can’t take a taxi,” she muttered under her breath, watching an elderly man in a stained blue hospital gown wander toward her, dragging his IV unit alongside him. Now she understood why her grandmother had such an aversion to hospitals. They were harsh, harmful places, full of wounded bodies and lost souls. Even people who were healthy when they walked in, like her mother, limped out in pain, frail echoes of their former selves. Kim felt vaguely nauseated, wondered whether she’d picked up some deadly virus just sitting outside the doctor’s office. How many hands had fingered those same old magazines? How many germs had she been exposed to during the interminable minutes she’d waited for her mother? Kim rubbed her hands against her jeans, as if trying to rid herself of any stray bacteria. She felt dizzy and flushed, as if she might faint.

  “Jake Hart,” her father suddenly announced, his voice a bucket of ice water tossed at her face.

  Kim snapped to attention, her shoulders stiffening, her knees buckling. She pushed a strand of imaginary hair away from her forehead, stared at the newly stilled bank of elevator doors. What was she supposed to say? Hi, Daddy? Hello, Father? Hi there, Jake? “It’s Kim,” she said finally, as the old man trailing his IV did an abrupt about-face and began retracing his steps along the corridor. Kim noticed flashes of bare white buttocks between the halves of his pale blue hospital gown. What horrible tests had they put him through? Kim wondered.

  “Kim, sweetheart—”

  “I’m at Michael Reese County General with Mom,” Kim said without further preamble.

  “Has something happened?”

  Kim buried her chin into the cowl neck of her dusty rose sweater, her lips folding one inside the other, an impatient sigh escaping, hurrying toward her heart. “We need your help,” she said.

  Forty minutes later, Jake met his wife and daughter inside the front entrance of the downtown hospital. “I’m sorry I took so long getting here,” he apologized, as Kim glared her displeasure. “I got corraled in the hall on my way out of the office.”

  “You’re a busy man,” Kim sneered.

  “Thanks for coming,” Mattie told him.

  “Is the car in the lot?”

  Mattie handed him the keys to the rental car. Her Intrepid, all but totaled in the accident, was a write-off. “It’s a white Oldsmobile.”

  “I’ll find it. Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Kim said, snaking her arm through her mother’s.

  “How are you, sweetheart?” Jake asked his daughter, reaching out as if to stroke her hair.

  “Great,” Kim replied stiffly, leaning out of his reach, relishing the hurt look in her father’s eyes. “Could you get the car? Mom needs to be in bed.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Minutes later Kim’s father pulled the white Oldsmobile up to the curb, jumping out to help Mattie into the front seat, relegating Kim to the back.

  Kim made an exaggerated show of trying to get comfortable, bouncing around in the backseat, deliberately careless with the chunky heels of her black leather boots, scraping them against the back of her father’s seat repeatedly, as she crossed, then uncrossed, her legs. Who designed these cars anyway? Did they think that all backseat passengers were under ten years of age? Didn’t they know that grown-ups needed more leg room? That they might want to sit without their knees circling their chins? She’d spent a lot of time in the backseats of cars lately, Kim realized, thinking back to last Saturday night, hearing Teddy’s whispered pleas warm against her ear. Come on, Kim. You know you want to.

  “You all right back there, sweetheart?” her father asked, scaring Teddy away.

  Who the hell do you think you are? Kim demanded silently, angry eyes burrowing deep holes in the back of her father’s head. The white knight riding in on his white horse to save the day? Is that how you see yourself? Well, I’ve got news for you, Jake Hart, famous attorney-at-law and general all-around shit. This isn’t a white horse. It’s a white Oldsmobile. And we don’t need your help. In fact, we
don’t need you at all. We’ve been getting along very nicely without you. Actually, we’ve hardly even noticed you’re gone.

  “I’m sorry we had to bother you,” she heard her mother say, her voice stronger than before, though lacking its usual resonance. Why wasn’t she angrier? Why did she have to be so damn polite?

  “You should have called me earlier,” Jake said. “There was no need for you to drive into the city.”

  “Mom isn’t an invalid,” Kim said.

  “No, but she was in a major car accident less than ten days ago, and she’s still not fully recovered.”

  “You sound like Lisa.”

  “It’s common sense.”

  “I’m fine,” Mattie said.

  “She’s fine,” Kim echoed. How dare he say anything to criticize her mother! What Mattie did, what they did, was no longer any of his concern. He had no right to criticize or pass judgment. He’d forfeited that right the day he walked out. Kim stretched her hand toward the front seat, resting it on her mother’s shoulder. She should never have called him. She should have called her grandmother or Lisa or another of her mother’s many friends. Anyone but Jake. They didn’t need Jake.

  The fact was that her father had never been a huge part of her day-to-day life. Ever since Kim could remember, her father was someone who waved to her each morning on his way to work, and who kissed her good night if he was home in time to tuck her in. Her mother was the one who accompanied her to school, took her to the doctor and the dentist, drove her to her lessons in piano and ballet, attended each and every parent-teacher meeting, school play, after-school sporting event, stayed home with her when she was sick. It wasn’t that her father didn’t care. It was just that he had too many other places to be. Other places he’d rather be.

  As Kim grew into her teens, she saw even less of him, their busy schedules at constant odds. Since moving to Evanston, she’d hardly seen her father at all. And now Jake Hart was more like a ghost than a man, haunting the halls he no longer inhabited, his presence defined, possibly even enhanced, by his absence.

  At first, Kim worried that her mother might fall apart. But her mother, despite her injuries, had been coping with Jake’s defection surprisingly well. All Mattie’s worries were reserved for Kim. “It looks much worse than it is,” she’d quickly assured Kim, who’d almost fainted at the sight of her mother’s beautiful face covered in ugly bruises. And then later, “How are you, sweetie? Do you want to talk about it?” She’d even tried sticking up for Jake. “Don’t be too hard on him, sweetie. He’s your father, and he loves you.”

  Bullshit, Kim thought. Her father didn’t love her. He’d never wanted her.

  She didn’t want him now.

  After that, they rarely mentioned him. Her mother’s bruises changed colors as effortlessly as the outside leaves, growing fainter every day. The scratches healed. The stiffness left her joints. She went about the business of everyday life, renting a car, shopping for groceries, even contacting several clients, making appointments for the coming weeks. Aside from the occasional problem with her foot falling asleep, her mother was doing just fine.

  They both were.

  They didn’t need him.

  “How are you doing back there, Kim?” her father asked, giving the question a second try. She saw him looking at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting both concern and hope.

  Kim grunted, said nothing. If her mother wanted to be civil and agreeable regarding their separation, that was her business. It didn’t mean Kim had to. Somebody had to play the jilted wife.

  “Looks like I’m going to be offered a partnership in the near future,” Jake said. “That’s what took me so long getting here. People kept stopping me in the halls to congratulate me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Kim heard Mattie say. “You’ve worked very hard. You deserve it.”

  You deserve to rot in hell, Kim thought.

  “How are you going to get back to the city?” Mattie asked, as Jake turned the car onto Walnut Drive.

  “I’ve arranged for someone to pick me up in about half an hour.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Kim’s voice was sharp, slashing at the air like a razor. “And don’t look at Mom that way,” she said, almost before he had the chance. “She didn’t say anything.”

  “We need to talk, Kimmy,” her father began.

  “Don’t call me Kimmy. I hate Kimmy.” He’d called her Kimmy when she was a little girl, she remembered, faint memories flooding back, filling her eyes with unexpected tears.

  “Please, Kim,” he said. “I think it’s important.”

  “Who cares what you think?”

  “What’s going on?” her mother asked, and for an instant Kim thought she was speaking to her, that her mother was angry, that she was taking his side against hers.

  And then she saw the police car parked outside their house and the two uniformed officers standing outside her front door. What was happening?

  “It’s probably about the accident,” Jake said.

  “I’ve already talked to the police,” her mother said as Jake pulled the car into the driveway and stepped out of the car.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  Kim helped her mother out of the front seat, her eyes on the young man and woman in neat blue uniforms. The man, who identified himself as Officer Peter Slezak, was about five foot eleven, had arms the size of tree trunks, and wore his hair so short, it was difficult to tell what color it was. The woman, whom Officer Slezak introduced as his partner, Officer Judy Taggart, was about five foot seven, and approximately the same width as one of Officer Slezak’s thighs. She wore her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and there was a large pimple on her chin she’d tried to conceal with makeup. Kim absently felt her chin for any pimples of her own.

  “Is this your house?” Officer Slezak asked.

  “Yes,” Jake answered.

  No, Kim almost screamed. It’s not your house.

  “Is there a problem?” Mattie stepped forward, took charge.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Officer Taggart stared openly at the bruises on Mattie’s face.

  “Is this about the accident?” Jake asked.

  “It wasn’t exactly an accident,” Officer Slezak said.

  “I’m sorry?” Mattie said, her way of saying, Excuse me, as if apologizing in advance.

  “Maybe you should tell us what this is about,” Jake said, resuming control.

  “We’re looking for Kim Hart.”

  “Kim?” Her mother gasped.

  Kim stepped forward, a dull ache building in the pit of her stomach. “I’m Kim Hart.”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About?” Jake interrupted.

  “Why don’t we go inside?” Mattie suggested, walking up the steps to the front door. Kim noticed that her mother was having trouble with the key and gently lifted it from her hand, easily fitting it into the lock and pushing open the door.

  Seconds later they were grouped around the kitchen table, the officers having declined Mattie’s offer of coffee.

  “What can you tell us about the party at Sabrina Hollander’s house last Saturday night?” Officer Slezak began, staring directly at Kim’s chest as Officer Taggart produced a notebook and pen from the back pocket of her well-pressed trousers.

  “There was a party.” Kim shrugged, aware of her heart pumping wildly beneath her breasts, wondering whether that was what Officer Slezak was staring at.

  “Were you there?”

  “Maybe for an hour.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around nine.”

  “So you left the Hollander house at about ten?”

  “Not even that,” Kim said.

  “What was happening at the party?”

  “Not much.” People were dancing, drinking beer, passing around the occasional joint. Teddy had convinced her to try a few tokes before they adjourned to the backseat of his car. Had somebody reported seei
ng her do drugs? Was that why the police were here? To arrest her?

  “What are you getting at, officers?” Jake Hart asked.

  “Sabrina Hollander threw a little party while her parents were out of town. Two hundred kids showed up.”

  “Two hundred kids,” Kim repeated breathlessly, deciding that she must have fallen asleep in the car, and that this whole episode was part of an unpleasant dream.

  “Someone decided it would be fun to trash the house,” Officer Slezak continued. “They slashed paintings, ripped up the carpets, defecated on the furniture, punched holes in the walls. Altogether there was almost a hundred thousand dollars worth of damage.”

  “Oh, my God,” Mattie said, covering her bruised lips with her bandaged hand.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Kim said, feeling numb.

  “You didn’t see anything while you were there, hear anybody talking?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “But people were drinking, doing drugs,” Officer Taggart stated, as if this were a fact not open to dispute.

  “People were drinking beer,” Kim qualified, her voice weak, her eyes drifting toward the backyard pool, wishing she could disappear without a trace beneath its smooth blue surface.

  “And you said you left the party at ten o’clock?”

  “She’s already answered that,” Jake interjected. A better lawyer than a father, Kim thought, reluctant gratitude mixing with her resentment.

  “But you did know about the incident,” Officer Slezak said.

  “I heard some of the kids talking about it at school,” Kim conceded, trying to ignore the look of surprise that fell across her mother’s face like a shroud.

  “What did they say?”

  “Just that they heard things got out of hand. The place got wrecked.”

  “Did they say who was responsible?”

  “Apparently some kids crashed the party. Nobody knew them.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “She’s answered the question.” Jake’s voice resonated quiet authority. “I should explain that, in addition to being Kim’s father, I’m also an attorney.”

  Not to mention an adulterer, Kim added silently.

  “I thought I recognized you,” Officer Slezak said, his voice flat, decidedly unimpressed. “You’re the guy who let that kid who murdered his mother get off scot-free.”