A Hole in the Universe

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “Make them stop!” she screamed, but Thurman brushed past her into the living room.

  “That’s all the fuck there is?” He pointed to the VCR on the floor by the front door. “How ’bout up here?” he said, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Ray and Colt charged out of the kitchen after him.

  Footsteps overhead. Swearing. Something fell with a heavy thud. They howled with laughter. She felt sick to her stomach.

  “Look at her fuckin’ tits,” Ray shrieked.

  “Cops! Cops!” She ran up the stairs. “They’re coming!” she yelled from the doorway. “I just saw them.”

  The mattress was halfway off the bed. Thurman rolled over it and landed in the hallway. Colt and Ray stumbled down the stairs, out the back door.

  She stood the chairs back up and righted the table, but the rest was hopeless. The floor was slick with jelly- and syrup-covered broken glass and oily salad dressing. All this wasted food. She rinsed her hands in the sink. Every nail had been bitten to the quick except for her pinkie finger. At least she had one. It was a start, anyway. From now on things would be different, she vowed as she ran out the back door. She made her way through a warren of little backyards until she came out on Green Street. She took her time walking home.

  Her mother’s head lifted slightly from the pillow as she crept into bed next to Leonardo.

  “Where you been?”

  “School.”

  “I need my pocketbook. Go get it.”

  “Why don’t you wait, Ma? See how long you can go.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you even want to try? For me, Ma.”

  “Yeah, okay, I will, I’ll try.”

  Jada buried her smile in Leonardo’s warm neck.

  Her mother sat up in a burst of dismal laughter. “There! Okay, I did it, I tried. Now go get the fucking pocketbook. Now!”

  Delores had called asking if he could help her move some things on his way home from work. The stationery store would be closing for good this weekend. Gordon was on his way there now, but first he had to buy stamps.

  Many of the signs downtown were in Spanish. The buildings he remembered most clearly were the huge granite banks. Mostly vacant now, they seemed smaller. The post office had been built when he was in high school, but the ensuing years had dulled it with the same grime and fatigue as all the other buildings. He hurried inside to the end of a long line. A few minutes later he realized these people were all waiting outside the door to the passport office. He went around the corner and bought eight stamps for his bills.

  He was leaving the post office when a woman in a yellow suit and red sunglasses stepped in front of him.

  “Oh! Gordon! I’m in such a rush I didn’t realize it was you,” Jilly Cross said with a quivering smile.

  “I just bought some stamps.” He watched his reflection in her sunglasses foolishly hold up the strip.

  “I’ve got to get my passport renewed,” she said, pulling her shoulder bag close.

  “It’s a long line. I was just in it. Well, by mistake, that is.”

  “I know. I should’ve come earlier. I’ve just been so busy lately. Running around like crazy.” She glanced ahead to the door. “Trying to get ready for a trip. To Bermuda.”

  “You better go in, then. It’s pretty long.” His face felt hot. Hadn’t he just told her that? Tiny beads of moisture dotted her cheeks. Could she tell how fast his heart was beating? He was short of breath.

  “Yes, I better, but . . . well, how’ve you been?”

  “Fine, thank you.” He paused and then, when she didn’t say anything, felt he had to keep talking. “I’ve been really enjoying this nice weather.” Looking troubled, she stared up at him as if there were something she needed him to say. “After all this rain we’ve had. I mean, it’s nice to get out, out in the sun. The roses are so . . . so beautiful.”

  She smiled and seemed relieved. “I know you’re probably not interested, but the other day I got this great new listing and I thought of you immediately.” She removed the sunglasses. “It’s on the first floor with its own little . . . well, courtyard, I call it, but you could have plants out there. And just be able to sit outside when you want. Dennis is right, you know. Staying in Collerton just doesn’t make any sense. There’s so much crime and . . . he worries about you, Gordon.”

  He felt it building—this anger, this indignation, the need. She was so pretty, so sweet, and what she was doing was so wrong.

  “It really bothers him. He’s always—”

  “You shouldn’t be going out with my brother,” he heard himself saying. “It’s not right. He’s got a wife, a very nice wife. And his children . . . I mean, he’s a happily married man. A father. Doesn’t that matter? Don’t you care? Don’t you think that’s important?”

  “Well, I . . . I . . .” She turned and then hurried, almost running, back toward the parking lot.

  The front door was locked. Delores had already left. She must not have needed him. She had already left. He felt agitated, yet strangely, euphorically, relieved. He had finally done something, the words having come so swiftly and from so deep within that only energy surged through him, a sense of expansiveness, as if there were nothing he could not do right now. He knocked again, then through the door glass saw Delores hurry from the back room.

  “I didn’t think you were coming!” she said, letting him in. She wore black pants and a black sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back from her face. Without makeup she looked younger, the way he remembered her in high school, freshly pleasant. “I was just starting to bring some things out to the car. The rest Albert can deal with.” She gestured at the stacked boxes. “Most of it’s all packed and marked.” She sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I’m not calling him anymore, I know that. I keep leaving messages, but I guess this is the way he wants it.” Covering her mouth, she seemed to take a deep breath. “Eleven years. It’s hard to believe. Excuse me, Gordon, I’ll be right back.” She hurried into the office.

  He waited a minute, then stepped into the storeroom. The bathroom door was closed. Water was running. She came out carrying a small round mirror framed in seashells. Her red eyes glistened. “I made this.” She tried to smile.

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “I found all these shells. Me and my sister and her husband, we used to rent this cottage two weeks in July, and every morning early I’d go for these long walks with my nieces and we’d pick up shells, then on rainy days we’d make things.”

  “It’s very nice.”

  “Here, then. You take it.” She held it out.

  “Oh no, I—”

  “Please. Just take it. Please?” She looked ready to burst into tears if he didn’t. He thanked her.

  After they had put her possessions into the car, a rug and a small table and a few boxes, she locked the store, then jumped behind the wheel and backed quickly down the alley. “Boy, it’s a good thing you’re here,” she said at the red light. “Because if you weren’t, I’d pull right in there”—she pointed to the drugstore—“and buy a pack of cigarettes. That’s what always happens, every time I quit the sky starts to fall, and next thing I know I’m lighting up.”

  “It’s better than having to drink, though, right?”

  She looked over and laughed. “I don’t know. One kinda goes with the other when you’re feeling like that.”

  He was surprised when she turned onto Clover Street. “Don’t you want me to help you carry all this up to your apartment?”

  She shook her head. “That’s okay.”

  “I don’t mind. In fact, that’s what I thought we were going to do.” He patted the musty rolled rug jutting out over the seat between them. “I mean, you can’t carry this up all by yourself.”

  “I don’t even want it. I don’t want any of it. I just don’t want to give him the satisfaction of throwing it all out.” She pulled up in front of his house. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not my usual sparkling self tonight.” Her force
d smile dissolved in weariness.

  “That’s okay. I understand. When you feel like this you just want to be alone, that’s all.”

  “No. I hate being alone. I hate that more than anything. Sometimes I get scared and I think, What if I fall down and break my leg or pass out or something? No one would know. Or care, probably. Except the paperboy or the mailman.” She tried to laugh, then quickly covered her face, struggling not to cry.

  He didn’t know where to look or what to say. Once again it was the wantonness of her emotions that most frightened him, her easy intimacy a contagion requiring constant vigilance. His mind raced to change the subject. Anything. “Oh. Yes, the mailman. That reminds me,” he said stiffly as she wheezed and snuffled into her hands. “I was coming out of the post office and I saw that woman, the one with Dennis. It was awkward. I mean, it was the first time since that night at the Inn. And all of a sudden it just kind of came out of me. I certainly didn’t plan to say what I did. And she was, well, dumbstruck, I guess.” The oddest thing happened as he spoke. He didn’t want to be telling her any of this, knew he shouldn’t, yet he was relishing every word, savoring the moment relived, in a way that made it all seem not only quite right, but even better than he had realized.

  “What do you mean?” She wiped her eyes. “Gordon.” She touched his arm. “You actually said that? You told her to stop seeing your brother?”

  “I had to. Dennis and Lisa, they’re my family. I can’t just stand by and do nothing. It’s not right. I mean, you’d do the same. You know you would.”

  “No. No, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yes, you would. You care for people. I’ve seen you. You speak up. Like that time with Jada. You dropped everything. You came right over.”

  “Because you sounded so nervous.”

  “Because you care for people,” he said, straining toward her, wanting to help, to convince her of her own worth.

  “Because I care for you.”

  He had an image of himself as a child walking out too far into the pond and then suddenly having to tread water. And in his panic realizing that if he stopped for even a moment, it would be over. “And I care very much about my brother. And his family. Lisa and Jimmy and Annie.”

  Reaching over, she patted his hand. “Of course you do, Gordon. And even if he does get mad, at least you know you did the right thing. And that’s really all that matters, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “And who knows, maybe it’ll work. Maybe now she’ll break it off, that . . . that what’s-her-name.”

  “Jilly,” he said, sinking into the warmth that came from speaking her name.

  Delores touched his arm, stroking it with her fingertips. “Yes, and then everything will be the way it should be.” She brushed her lips against his cheek. For a moment his eyes felt much too heavy to open.

  She followed him up the walk. She said she had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t believe her, and the odd thing was he didn’t really mind. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to be alone.

  The minute the door opened, the sharp smell of mustard stung his nostrils. Then vinegar. He kicked something. The VCR. Why was it on the floor? He turned on the light.

  “My God.” He looked toward the trashed kitchen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

  “Those bastards,” Delores muttered, stepping closer.

  He looked at her. “Who?” She seemed to know what had happened here. He watched her pick up an unbroken saucer from the shards.

  “Was there any money hidden in here?”

  “No.”

  “That’s why, then. They probably got mad.”

  “Who?”

  “Kids, probably.” She picked up an intact plate. Then a bowl. Another saucer. “Hopefully your insurance will cover it. You better call the police.”

  “No.”

  “But if you don’t report it, then—”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  “Well, you better look around, then. Check the other rooms.”

  He didn’t move, though. He stood there surveying the incomprehensible.

  “We should start cleaning this up.” She stepped carefully through the mess. She righted the trash basket and began dropping large pieces of glass into it. It filled up quickly, and she removed the sagging bag, tied it, and set it out on the back landing. She shook out a new bag, which she began to fill. “Damn!” She sucked her thumb where glass had nicked it. She asked for a bandage. This snapped him from his paralysis. He hurried upstairs to get a bandage from the medicine cabinet. The phone was ringing. He hurried back down, but Delores had answered it. He was shocked to hear her glib invasion of his privacy. Had he come upon this alone, he would have told no one. No one at all. She had no idea how horrified he felt.

  “It’s absolutely unbelievable. . . . Yes, the whole kitchen. Everything. Even the fridge,” she said, opening the door. The empty shelves were oddly dark. She peered in. “They even smashed the bulb. . . . No! I don’t know, but I’m assuming it was more than one person. . . .” Listening now, she looked at Gordon. Her mouth dropped open. “Are you sure? Well, tell Gordon, then. He’s right here. It’s your neighbor, Mrs. Jukas.” She handed him the phone.

  The old woman’s voice cackled in his ear. “I knew something was wrong. I could tell just by the way she was running. Like a bat out of hell, right down your back steps over into McGinty’s. I should’ve called the police, but she’s been over there before. You’ve even let her in your house! So I didn’t know, I thought, What’s he doing, just turning the place over to her any time she wants.”

  She was still talking as he handed the phone to Delores. He found the broom and began pushing glass-splintered pickles and glittering chunks of meat loaf into the dustpan.

  Delores was telling the old woman she was sure it hadn’t been Jada; her running through the yard was probably just a coincidence. He knew it wasn’t. Of course it had been Jada. She was paying him back for the other night.

  Chocolate syrup and tomato juice sloshed underfoot. Delores had cleared enough of a space to open the back door. The soft chirp of crickets through the twilight was obliterated with each glass-rattling sweep of the broom.

  “We’re getting there,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “Gordon. It wasn’t Jada. She adores you. In a million years she wouldn’t do something like this,” she said, shoveling two hundred paper napkins into a sodden mound. “If she wanted something, she’d ask you.” She leaned the broom against the table. “Oh, Gordon!” She threw her arms around him. “I feel so bad for you. Here you are just getting started, then something like this has to happen.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Mosquitoes kept buzzing at her ears. If there were any crickets, the other night sounds drowned them out—a far-off burglar alarm, sonic bursts of music from car radios, the intermittent cries of a woman for “Melio! Melio!”—all to the beat of a dribbled basketball, the gritty scrape of running sneakers, then with every clung of the rim a scuffle of male voices. “Get that shit outta my house!” one laughed now.

  “Yeah. Get that shit outta my house,” Jada whispered in echo, the dull incantation steadying her in the darkness of the bandstand steps. Her uneasy eyes scanned the street. The Navigator was parked by the Liberty Rooming House. It looked empty, but Polie said he’d be watching. The bites on the back of her neck stung as she scratched them with the rough edge of the beeper. Knees to her chin, she tugged her shirt over her knees and ankles to keep the bugs away. She hadn’t been to school in a couple weeks. Not since her mother had been back. Vacation must have started, though. They’d probably keep her back again. If they did, she’d just quit and get a job. She’d be fourteen pretty soon. July 24, which shouldn’t be too far off from whatever the hell day or month this was. Like her mother would even remember. Like anyone would. “So fuck it,” she said aloud, then laughed, said it again.

  She’d seen Gordon from a distance, going back and forth to work
, or mowing his grass, or bringing groceries to Mrs. Jukas. Last night Delores’s car had been out there until midnight and Jada felt really jealous, then confused because she didn’t know who she hated more, Delores for being with Gordon, or Gordon for being with Delores, or both of them for not being with her. She gnawed the side of her thumbnail until she tasted blood. She sat on her hands and waited.

  A low red car slowed down. She stood up. She couldn’t see if it was the Toyota Spider or not. No beep from Polie. The car passed, so she sat down. Her hand closed over the bulge on her belly, the bag of rocks in her shorts. This deal was huge. She was supposed to count it first, twenty hundreds, before she passed the bag. Beep, Polie had said, then head straight back. Any trouble, just keep on going right by the Navigator. Stuff the money down her underpants and run like hell.

  Polie and Feaster had bought her a Big Mac and a large Chicken McNuggets on the way here, but her stomach was rumbling again. She was hungry all the time now. Eating only made it worse. Maybe Polie would get her a Coke or something. Water, even. She jogged along the path up the rise to the SUV.

  “Jesus Christ! That’s them!” Polie shouted as a red sports car stopped on the far side of the park. She ran back and sat on the bottom step.

  Their headlights went off. She slapped her leg, and the mosquito flattened in a sticky mess. “C’mon! C’mon!” She ground her knuckles against the concrete step. Maybe they couldn’t see her. She stood up with her hands on her hips to make as big a target of herself as possible. One of these times something bad was going to happen. She was getting in too deep, but her mother owed Feaster all that money from before plus for the crack she needed now, and that wasn’t even counting anything for food or rent. Yesterday the electricity got turned off, but her mother called from a pay phone, crying and saying she had a new baby in the house. It came back on this morning. The sheriff had come by twice already with eviction notices, but they wouldn’t let him in.