A Hole in the Universe

by Mary McGarry Morris

  Katie looked up and nodded.

  We? Who’s we? He and Katie? How can he do this? How can he be so insensitive?

  “And then it hits me! Why not just end it now?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice quavered. She stared into his eyes, as if they were the only two there.

  “Close it. Clear everything out, just lock the door,” he declared.

  “And that’s it?”

  “Well, what would be the point really of a going-out-of-business sale? I mean, when we can just take it all over to the new store,” Katie called from behind the glass case where she knelt, counting Post-it pads.

  “We can probably get it all out in a day,” Albert agreed.

  “If that!” Katie scoffed.

  “What about me?” she asked him.

  “We’re still working out the details.” He opened the storeroom door. “Hey! Where’d the old copier go?”

  “That’s the last thing we need, Albert Smick, another copier!” Katie laughed and jumped up. “He can’t throw anything out,” she told Delores. “You never know when you’re going to need it, right, Albert?”

  That night Delores called her youngest sister. Babbie was the one she called when she needed to sound off but didn’t want a lecture. Of the five Dufault girls, Babbie was considered the featherbrain in the family, even though she was the only one who’d gone to college. Babbie said she should be grateful the store was closing. She’d never understood why Delores had stayed there all this time.

  “All right! All right, I’m coming!” Babbie called away from the phone. She had to go. Dwayne was waiting. It was their line-dancing night at the Elks.

  Maureen wasn’t home, and Linda had her daughter-in-law on the other line and would call her right back. Delores was on the phone with her oldest sister, Karen, now, chewing her inner cheek to shreds while she tried not to cry. “You had to know this was going to happen. There’s no loyalty with a boss like Smick. He’s a creep! He’s always been a creep.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s a good man. And a good friend. A very good friend,” she added.

  “So is your very good friend going to make you manager of the new store, then?”

  “I would imagine.”

  “Well, is he or isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Of course. I’m sure he is. He’s just been so busy, he—”

  “Delores! Don’t you get it? This is it! In a couple of weeks you’re out of a job!”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You could make so much money somewhere else. I never understood why you stayed there. How many times did I tell you about openings at the post office? You would’ve been a supervisor by now. You would’ve had security plus a pension. You’re so smart: I don’t get it, Delores. What were you thinking all those years? That somehow there was going to be some future there? I mean, even Mom saw this coming. She’d say, ‘What’s she doing still living at home? Why isn’t she out on her own like the rest of you?’”

  “I took care of Mom! She wanted me there. She needed me. Who else was going to do it?” Delores cried, though she was sure Karen was once again putting words into their dead mother’s mouth.

  “What she wanted, Doe, was for you to have your own life like the rest of us.”

  “I do. I have my own life. I always have. It may not meet your standards, but I’m very happy the way I am.” She felt better for saying that. She took a deep breath. “And if you can’t accept me for who I am, then that’s your problem.”

  There was a pause. “Oh, my God.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Oh, my God’?”

  “You’re gay, aren’t you. You’re a lesbian, that’s it, that’s what you’re trying to tell me. I feel so stupid! I mean, here I am, a nurse, and it went right by me. All these years, my own sister, and I never even put it together. Of course! It was like you always wanted to tell me something: I always had that feeling. Now it all makes such sense.”

  “It does?”

  “You always had so many girlfriends! You never went out with guys.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Yeah, but they were always more like buddy things.”

  “Buddy things?”

  “You know, either they were seeing someone else or, God, probably even gay themselves, now that I think of it. Or like Gordon Loomis, right? Jail, now isn’t that the ultimate cover? But listen, Doe, it doesn’t matter. Really. You’re my sister and I love you just the way you are! No matter what you are!” Karen declared with the fervor of liberation, sisterhood, relief—something.

  “I’m not gay, Karen.”

  “It’s all right. I can handle it.”

  “But I’m not!”

  At nine the next morning, Delores sat in her idling car in the narrow lot behind Smick’s in Dearborn. She noted the brand-new wheeled trash receptacles. All the Collerton store had were old galvanized barrels she could barely drag when full. There were even two lawn chairs and a small plastic table for employees to use on warm days. Albert pulled into the space beside her.

  “What are you doing here?” His shiny pate pinkened with her approach.

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “All right. Yes. Of course. We do, but does it have to be right now?” He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be opening now?”

  She shrugged. “Why? What does it matter?” Her heavily made-up eyes burned in the morning light. She hadn’t slept all night but had taken pains to look her best, wearing a bright fuchsia pantsuit and parrot-green scarf.

  “It’s not as if this comes as any big surprise, right?” he said in a low voice.

  “Why did you have to bring someone with you? Do you know how I felt? We’ve always been able to talk. My God, how many years have we . . . known each other?” she added quickly when his eyes widened.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You hurt me terribly, Albert. I’ve always been so loyal. You know I have. And I’ve tried to be understanding. No matter what was going on, I always tried to see your side of it. So how could you do that to me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The emotional restraint she had found so sexy was breaking her heart. “I feel so empty,” she whispered, unable to stop the dreaded tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “We can’t very well discuss it here. Not when you’re like this! I’m sorry!” He spoke through a ventriloquist’s frozen smile. “This is our big personalized-stationery sale. There’s a calligrapher in there right now. He’s waiting for me!” The grin widened. “You couldn’t have picked a worse day for this!”

  “I’m sorry.” She turned away.

  The back door opened. “Oh! Albert! There you are!” Katie said.

  “So I’ll come by and we’ll get it all figured out,” he called, his tinny jollity a blade up her spine as she walked to her car.

  She was surprised to find her sister waiting for her at the store. Karen had just gotten off her shift and couldn’t wait to tell Delores who had come into the emergency room last night. “So here it is three in the morning when this cab pulls up and this huge guy runs in—I mean, he was enormous—and he’s all worked up because there’s a woman with him—a woman out in the cab and she’s having a heart attack and he’s afraid she’s going to die. ‘She’s in real bad shape,’ he says, ‘so can somebody please get out there with a stretcher and bring her inside?’ And I’m sitting there with my jaw hanging open, looking up at him, and all I’m thinking is, Oh, my God. I don’t believe it. It’s Gordon Loomis—wait until I tell Delores.”

  “Who was the woman?”

  “I wrote it down.” She unfolded the paper. “Jukas. Elsbeth Jukas.”

  Delores tried to hide her relief. “Why didn’t they come in an ambulance?”

  “He couldn’t get her to. He said she wanted him to drive her car, but he doesn’t have a license. Naturally! I mean, I didn’t even think of it until he said that, but he probably doesn’t even know how to drive, right?”

  “Probably
not.”

  “Twenty-five years. God! I mean, think of all the things you’ve done in the last twenty-five years. Can you imagine?”

  For eleven years there had been her job in the bank and shy Robert Cleary, five years younger and a high school English teacher. He told her through the teller window one fine June morning that he had accepted a job in Japan and would be leaving immediately. She wrote, but he never did. After Robert, there had been other men she met in clubs, on singles cruises, men she worked with, bowled and played softball with, single and married, blind dates, personal ads, it hadn’t mattered until she found herself spread-kneed on a paper-lined gurney with her feet in stirrups, hands muffling her ears against the ravenous sound of the suctioning. She was still bleeding and hating herself the day Albert Smick shuffled up to her window with his store’s deposits and a weary sigh. His salesgirl had quit just when he was finally able to take his wife and children to Disney World. He couldn’t afford to close down the business, so he was on his way home to tell them they’d have to go without him. Go, she said; she’d run the store for him. She had tons of vacation time, and if ever she needed a change in her life, it was then.

  “It’s weird,” Karen was saying. “He’s older, of course, but he stills looks the same. It’s like nothing’s changed. Like not having his license, like nothing’s happened, nothing’s left its mark on him. It’s like he’s not really real, you know what I mean?”

  “Did he know who you were? Did you say you were my sister?”

  “I did, but he was, like, out of it. He just sat in a corner, staring down at the floor while they worked on her.”

  “Is she all right? She didn’t die, did she?” Poor Gordon, having to go through that alone.

  “No. They took her up to Cardiac Care, but the whole time he’s like, wringing his hands together, and all I can think is, Oh, my God, they’re so huge, that poor Janine Walters, she never had a chance.” Karen leaned over the counter. “When you went up there on those visits, did he ever do anything, you know, to make you nervous?”

  “No.”

  “He just seems so . . . so, like, coiled.”

  “He’s just quiet, that’s all. He’s shy, reserved.”

  “Did he ever say anything about the murder?” Karen’s eyes gleamed. “He did, didn’t he? Come on, Delores. You can tell me.”

  “No. But I wouldn’t say anything even if he did.”

  “Oh, come on, you know you would. You’ve never been able to keep a secret, Delores, and you know it.”

  Mrs. Jukas was still in the hospital. “She’s a tough old bird,” the nurse had told Dennis when he called. Gordon felt almost as useless as the night Mrs. Jukas called, gasping that she was having a heart attack. There was little she’d let him do, other than wait on the porch for the cab, then help her into it. The only thing she’d said before they wheeled her away was, “Keep them away from my house.” Her grass needed mowing, but he wouldn’t dare cut it without her permission. Sticking out from her door was a white card that hadn’t been there yesterday. He hurried onto her porch. It was from the gas company, a postcard for reading the meter. He slipped it through the brass mail slot in her door, so no one would know she wasn’t home. A brief but violent windstorm had littered both yards with broken branches. He bundled them all and left them on the curb in front of her house for pickup along with one of his own trash bags for additional signs of life.

  Across the way, Jada’s puppy was caught in a frenzy of barking at the end of his tangled rope. Tied to the railing, he had only a few inches of slack left after all his jumping and running in circles. Gordon felt bad for the frantic creature but continued on his way to work. The kinder he was, the more the girl wanted from him.

  That night he had just finished dinner when Jada showed up with the puppy in her arms. He spoke to her through the locked screen door. She asked if he had any leftovers. She had run out of dog food.

  “What about your mother? Can’t she get some?” He had seen Marvella Fossum leaving the house only moments before with Ronnie Feaster.

  “She’s asleep,” the girl said, lowering her voice as if not to disturb her. “And Leonardo’s hungry. My poor little baby’s starving, aren’t you?” She kissed the puppy.

  “That’s what you named him? Leonardo?”

  “Yeah! Cool, huh? That’s who he reminds me of.”

  “The painter? Leonardo da Vinci?”

  “No!” she hooted. “Leonardo DiCaprio! The guy on the Titanic,” she added, seeing his blank expression.

  “Just let him have the meat. He might choke on the bone,” he said when he came back. He passed the foil-wrapped packet through the door, then locked it.

  “Smells good.” She and the puppy sniffed at the packet. “What is it?”

  “Chicken.”

  “Oh! KFC? I love their new barbecue kind. But this isn’t, though. I can tell by the smell.”

  “It’s baked. I made it.”

  “Oh!” She parted the foil. “Well, I gotta see how good a cook you are, then, right?” With the dog straining to get at it, she bit into the drumstick. “Delicious,” she said, then took two more bites. “You’re a really good cook!”

  He smiled. “Maybe I should get you another piece, huh? I think you’re as hungry as he is.”

  “Well, I am, a little. We were gonna have takeout, but then my mother had to . . . go and fall asleep.”

  As he ripped off a larger sheet of foil, he heard the door handle jiggle against the lock. He wrapped up another drumstick, a cold baked potato, and some green beans. She thanked him, then glanced across the street. “I’m not supposed to be over here. My mother, she thinks every guy I talk to’s tryna come on to me.”

  Two nights later she returned with the puppy. Her mother had bought dog food, but Leonardo hated it, and her mother said, well, too bad then—it could just sit there on the floor and rot until he got hungry enough to eat it. “She said she doesn’t need two fussy eaters in the house!” Jada called after him as he headed into the kitchen.

  She was halfway across the street with her packet of steak and macaroni and cheese when Ronnie Feaster’s SUV pulled up. Her mother got out and started yelling at her. Gordon closed the door. A few minutes later, Ronnie Feaster knocked on his door. His smile was like the flick of something sharp in the night.

  “What do you want?”

  “No, it’s not me, man. It’s Marvella. She’s like flipped out over there. She’s knocking the kid around, she’s gonna call the cops, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing, so that’s why.” Each phrase was punctuated by his open hand across his chest. “I’m just the messenger, that’s all. She’s a weird kid, you know, like way too . . . well, you know what I mean, so just don’t be . . . don’t be thinking, you know, cuzza Marvella, it’s okay or anything.” His cold eyes fixed on Gordon’s. “Cuz it’s not. It’s really, really not.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, horrified.

  “Like I said, I’m just the messenger.”

  “I gave her food for the dog.”

  “That’s what she said, but that Jada, she’s got more stories. Like, she says you’re always tryna give her things.” Feaster’s eyes narrowed. “Just don’t try giving her that thing. Okay?”

  “Hey, wait up!” Jada called the next morning. He walked faster. He didn’t want Marvella Fossum to come screaming out her front door. “Wait! I gotta tell you something!” The girl ran after him. “Guess what today is,” she said, catching up. Her quick smile had a glare to it. Like light in a dingy room, it made her young face seem haggard and gray.

  “I don’t know,” he said, relieved to be turning the corner. “What day is it?”

  “My birthday!” That’s why she was going to school early. To tell all her friends, she said in that glass-bright, too easily shattered voice that was held together by lies and hope. He thought of Rodney Swift, whose high-pitched, breathless tales of wealth, fame, and thousands of sex partners ringing through the night only brought
him threats and kidney punches the next day. No matter how they bruised and bloodied him, nothing could ever make Rodney sad. His irrational joy only seemed to thrive on the abuse.

  “Happy birthday. How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Well, that’s a good age, thirteen.” He didn’t remind her that she’d told him a few weeks ago she was thirteen.

  “How come?”

  He tried to think why. “Well, now you’re a teenager. That’s a big step.”

  “Yeah, but I still can’t do anything.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  When they got to the drugstore, she scurried around grabbing handfuls of scratch tickets from the sidewalk. She peered closely at each one, discarding them as she talked. “Like go in there and buy my own cigarettes. Jeez, one more spade and I’d have a free one,” she said with the next toss.

  “You smoke?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. But now I gotta buy them from Thurm.”

  “Thurman? He sells cigarettes?”

  “Yeah, in the parking lot, but not whole packs. Just like fifty cents a butt. I used to sneak them off my mother, but I can’t now. She keeps them on her all the time. Bummer!” She threw the last card into the gutter. “There was this guy once, he won a million bucks off a card he found. He just picked it up and next thing you know he’s got like a chauffeur and a butler and this big mansion with a heated pool.”

  “Really?” He wondered if Thurman was stealing the cigarettes from the Market.

  “Yeah. And a stretch limo and his own jet.”

  “He certainly was lucky.”

  “Yeah, like me. I’m lucky. I’m wicked lucky.”

  “You win things?”

  “Yeah! I win stuff all the time. Like Leonardo. I won him.”

  “Where? Where’d you win him?”

  “From a pet shop! Where the hell do you think?” She laughed. “They had this humongous jar in the window. It had like all these . . . these dog-bone biscuit things in it and the person that guessed how many won. Every day I went by that window and I couldn’t figure it out, and then one day I’m walking by, and all of a sudden my brain goes—9,834 dog bones. And guess what? That was it! The exact right number. I couldn’t believe it!”