A Hole in the Universe

by Mary McGarry Morris

  Instead of answering, Jada chuckled softly, like a hunched cat purring as it ate.

  “Anything from the drugstore?” She pointed ahead. “I have to get shampoo.”

  “Sure.”

  Delores was done, but she continued to move slowly up and down the aisles, so that Jada wouldn’t think she was being rushed back home. Yet she had the feeling that they were both killing time, going through the motions, each waiting for the other to strike. Jada was still at the front of the store. Delores watched her pick magazines from the rack, stare at the covers, then put them back.

  “Want one?” Delores asked, coming down the aisle, her basket filled with shampoo, a yellow plastic duck for the tub, coloring books and crayons for May Loo.

  “Sure,” Jada said, then just stood there.

  “How about this one?” She handed her a Seventeen magazine. Jada opened it and, squinting, brought it close to her face, then held it out at arm’s length.

  “Here.” Delores grabbed a pair of reading glasses from the display next to them. “Put these on. Now look at the page.”

  “Whoa!” Jada drew her head back. “It’s, like, a magnifying glass. I can even see eyebrows. All kindsa shit.” She laughed and turned the pages.

  “Try reading words now.” Delores had her try three more pair with increasingly stronger lenses.

  Jada read like a child, emphasizing each syllable. “ ‘Ever since she was a little girl, Marka Stanley has been wearing . . . ’ ” She pointed.

  “ ‘Haute couture,’ ” Delores read. “It’s French for high fashion.”

  “Jesus, you can even read French with these.” Jada looked around to see what else might be possible.

  Delores had the clerk snip off the price tags. Jada put them back on when they got outside. “Jesus, how come everything’s so friggin’ blurry?” She grabbed Delores’s arm as she tripped on the sidewalk. Delores told her to take them off; they were just for reading. “Well, what about everything else?” she asked with a sweep of her arm. As they got into the car, Delores explained that distance required other lenses, which would have to come from an eye doctor. If Jada wanted, Delores could make an appointment for her. “If it’s all right with your mother, that is.”

  Jada held the glasses in her lap and stared out the side window. Delores asked if there was anything else she needed before she brought her home. Annoyed with her silence, she asked again.

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Where do you want to go? It’s got to be quick, though. I’ve got tons of stuff to do at home,” she said, but Jada only grunted. “Well? You gonna tell me?” She slowed down. “We’re almost there.” Delores kept glancing over at her. Sweat ran down the girl’s face, and she grunted again. “What? What’re you saying?” She turned onto Clover Street.

  “No. Don’t. Don’t bring me home. I can’t. I can’t go in there. No, don’t stop!”

  Delores drove past the house. “Why? What’s wrong? Why can’t you go home?”

  Jada wouldn’t answer. At first Delores thought she was trying not to cry, but now Jada seemed to be gagging. Was her mother mad at her? Was her mother okay? Was she there? Or had she taken off again?

  “She’s dead.”

  Delores listened as Jada described the terror of these last few days, not knowing what to do, afraid to tell anyone. She had considered running away but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her mother alone like that, because even if Polie or Feaster found her, they wouldn’t do anything. They’d just leave her, too.

  “Oh, Jada, honey.” She reached out for her arm, but the girl cringed back. “You’ve had such an awful time. I’m so sorry for you. I am. I really am. And I’m going to help you. I promise. I swear I will. I’ll talk to people. We’ll find you a good home, a place where you—”

  “I want to live with you.”

  “Oh, no. I can’t. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Why? I could, like, clean and help with the cooking and stuff. And I’d go to school, I would. Like, I’ve even got these, the glasses, now.” She put them on, and they were as crooked as her smile. She hugged herself, shivering.

  “Honey, look, I can’t. But I’ll make sure you’re with really good people.”

  “Yeah, in some home again for a few months until they say, ‘Pack up. It’s not working out,’ or I don’t fit in, or the foster mother’s gonna have a baby and they need my room, or the foster father goes and tells his wife I’m, like, tryna come on to him or something, when all the hell I’m tryna do is make him like me. That’s all, that’s all I ever try to do,” she said, teeth chattering. “And you, you like me. You already do, right?”

  “Yes, I know, hon, but you see, I’ve got a little girl coming and—”

  “Well, when she leaves, then.”

  “No, she’s going to live with me. She’s coming from China. She’s going to be my child, my daughter.”

  “But you don’t even know her. You already know me, and what if you don’t like her, then what?”

  “I’ll like her.”

  “What if she doesn’t like you? You can’t, like, just send her back, like you could me.”

  “Jada.”

  “It’d be a lot easier with me. The whole thing. You just call the caseworker. Sometimes they come right out, a couple hours, even, if it was real bad, if you wanted me out fast.”

  “Look, Jada, this isn’t even the time for that. We’ve got to take care of other things first, your mother.”

  “No! I gotta know about me first. You don’t fucking get it, do you? I’m all alone now. You know what that fucking feels like?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. No. I know you don’t.” Jada’s mouth twitched as if to suppress a smile. “I know who killed that old lady.”

  “Who?”

  “Let me with live with you, please.”

  “Tell me who, Jada. Please.” Barely able to breathe, she eked out the words. “If it would help Gordon . . . oh, my God, that poor man, if you know something, please. I’ll do anything, please, I promise, just tell me.”

  “I got proof.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “These.” She held out two small statues.

  “Hummels?” Her hands were slick on the wheel. Gordon had told her about Mrs. Jukas’s collection.

  “They’re from her house.”

  “Who gave them to you?” she asked, then suddenly understood, saw it as clearly as if she were there watching it happen. “It was him, wasn’t it? That guy Polie, the one on the porch. That’s what he wanted. That’s why he was so upset. No wonder you wouldn’t go out, you must’ve been so scared. And your mother, he gave her those drugs, didn’t he, the ones that—Oh, my God, no wonder he grabbed my phone. But it’s over, Jada. All of it, from now on. You don’t have to live like that anymore, with people letting you down and taking advantage of you.”

  Delores kept talking as she drove slowly, erratically, braking, accelerating, coming in right angles, as always, spiraling into the center, gradually, directly, but as unobtrusively as possible without alarming the wild-eyed girl, all the while telling her how good life was going to be from this moment on. She could have pets and friends and a nice place to live, and all she had to do was want it badly enough.

  Jada seemed almost amused. “Yeah? Well, if it’s that easy, then I should have the best life of anyone in this whole fucked-up world by now.”

  “It’s not a fucked-up world.” Delores eased around the corner. “Believe me, it’s not.” The car was still moving when Jada opened her door and jumped out. Delores slammed on the brakes. The police station was three buildings ahead.

  “Liar!” she screamed, heaving one Hummel and then the other off the side of the car. “You fat, fucking liar, you!”

  She got out, talking all the while she advanced on the frantic girl. “All right, so maybe I’m fat, but I’m not a liar. I’m not like everyone else in your life. And you know I’m not, right? Because I don’t qui
t, I don’t give up ever, on anyone.”

  Jada stood waiting, watching her come.

  CHAPTER 27

  Last night’s snow wouldn’t last long. The noonday streets were gray with slush. Dennis was parked in front of the house, doors locked, motor running. Gordon had called earlier to say this was the only time Delores could take him driving. He might be late, so if Dennis wanted to cancel, that was fine, they’d meet again next week. Dennis said he’d wait. He looked out the window. He was committed to this, didn’t want to break the streak. As long as he kept up his end, carried his share of the load, then maybe everything would be all right.

  There was a new FOR SALE sign on Mrs. Jukas’s lawn. They kept getting knocked down or taken. Kids, Gordon said. Covered with snow, the little house didn’t look half-bad. Maybe someone would come along desperate enough to overlook what had happened there—and who lived next door. The tenement across the street was being fixed up, new windows and siding. The purple Navigator was gone. It had been five months since the driver was charged with Mrs. Jukas’s murder and the dealer with being an accessory. He shook his head. Gordon had been lucky. This time, anyway. Next time there might not be a witness. And Kaminski had even admitted it, privately, of course: There’d always be some cop somewhere thinking he never should have been let out in the first place.

  Delores’s car pulled into the driveway, slowly, as if in two sections, the hood and then long tail end rising and sinking. He didn’t know which irritated him more, the ridiculous berm or seeing Gordon behind the wheel of that junk. Delores hurried over to say she hoped he hadn’t been waiting too long; some of the roads hadn’t been very well plowed. Gordon was apologizing. The back door of Delores’s car opened and a tall, skinny girl climbed out.

  “We made it!” she cried as she pretended to stagger toward them. “All in one piece!”

  “Dennis, this is Jada Fossum,” Delores said. “And Jada, this is Dr. Loomis, Gordon’s brother.”

  “Yeah, I seen you before.” Her smile was alarming.

  “But it’s nice to meet him, isn’t it?” Delores said.

  Wincing, she held out her hand. Her fingernails were yellow and black, tiger-striped like Delores’s. “Yeah, that’s right. It is. Very nice to meet you. I’m sure,” she added with that almost threatening grin.

  Even the touch of her hand was unsettling. A child who’d never been a child, she knew too much and wanted it known, especially by men. “Very nice to meet you, too, Jada. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he added to make something clear, though he couldn’t have said what.

  “Only good stuff, right?” The edge in her voice was as sharp as her stare.

  “Of course.” He smiled, then looked at Delores. “So how’re the lessons going?”

  “Pretty good,” Jada answered. “Long as you got a couple hours.” She laughed.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” Gordon checked his watch.

  “Actually, he’s doing great.” Delores patted Gordon’s shoulder, a gesture Dennis found oddly repulsive. Those two big bodies, he thought, all that flesh, one against the other.

  “Every time, he just gets better and better,” she was saying.

  “She says I’m too cautious.” Gordon smiled at her.

  Dennis dug his boot into the snowy rim of the sidewalk.

  “Yeah, he’s always riding the brake,” the girl interjected, hands up, swaying from side to side. “Like, whoa, watch out! Any minute now we’re gonna crash!”

  “Jada.” Delores touched her arm.

  “Hey, I’m the backseat driver, right?” the girl said, but to Dennis, still trying to make him laugh.

  “I don’t think so,” Delores said quietly.

  Ignoring the girl, Dennis asked Delores how the dress shop was going. He knew she was either going to buy it or already had. Gordon was always so vague, it was hard to remember what he said, the little he did. Business was good, she said. She was bringing in a few new lines. Aiming for a younger, more hip clientele. Jesus, he thought with a glance at her red-velvet-and-fur bomber jacket. Her black-checked pants ended inches above her ankles. Lisa had come in the other day, she was saying. She’d bought a silk sweater for her mother, a birthday present.

  “Hey, Thurm!” the girl shouted, then darted across the street toward a tall slouch of a boy shuffling by. Except for his orange knit cap, he was dressed in baggy black, hands deep in low-riding pockets. They stood on the corner. The girl’s arms flew as she talked.

  “Who’s that?” Delores asked.

  “Thurman Dominguez,” Gordon said, staring. It was a look Dennis hadn’t seen before, menacing and cold.

  “Jada!” Delores called. She waited a minute, then called again to say they had to go. Ignoring her, the girl bounced with excitement and kept talking.

  “Now what do I do?” Delores said under her breath.

  “Get in the car,” Gordon said.

  “I can’t just leave her.”

  “She’ll come.”

  She opened the door and the girl ran across the street and climbed in beside her.

  They were led to the back booth of the bright little restaurant. As soon as they sat down, Gordon began to study the menu. Dennis asked if he was in that much of a rush.

  “I’m sorry.” Gordon closed the menu. “I just wanted to see what they have. I really like Italian food.”

  Maybe he liked it too much, Dennis said, laughing.

  “I know.” Gordon patted his belly. “I’ve gotta do something about this.”

  They talked for a few minutes about dieting. Dennis suggested he sign up at a gym. There was a Gold’s Gym near the plant. “It’s within walking distance. You could go after work, you know, an hour or so. Lift a little, put a couple miles in on the treadmill. Maybe even go early, before work. That’s really the best time. I don’t even think straight in the morning unless I’ve run a couple miles. . . .”

  He has that look again, Dennis thought, that childlike courtesy. I can talk myself hoarse and those flat eyes just keep on looking at me. That big, implacable face, never disagreeing, for fear of what, an argument? A stir in the air? The energy it might take? These Saturday lunches were far more effort than they were worth. And boring as hell. Thankfully, today’s would have to be short. The receptionist was coming in for a while this afternoon to go over the new phone system. She was attracted to him. He could tell. Nothing like Jilly, of course. This one was older and married with a couple kids, two in college, not the type to have any illusions. No desperate need for a family. If anything, just the opposite: her husband bullied her, and the older son had what sounded like one hell of a drug problem. He had missed Jilly terribly at first, still did in a way, though the therapist said what he really missed was the excitement of being with someone who barely knew him, someone he could be a good person for, a confidante, someone he could help without being permanently committed to.

  “Same with Lisa,” he added quickly, brightly, to bring himself around. “She’s running five miles a day now.”

  “How’s she doing?” Gordon asked.

  “Good. She’s deep into Father Hank’s youth thing, the new center, so she’s happy. Well, busy, anyway.”

  Gordon seemed about to say something, but just then the waitress brought their meals. He ate with a fixed intensity Dennis could not watch. There was so much his brother needed. It’s more than food. Poor bastard, he’s never gotten any breaks, just the short end of the stick. Second best, far behind, it’s the only way he’s ever known. “Hey, Gord. Something’s been bothering the hell outta me ever since that night at the house—the police, and what I said. I’m sorry. I was way outta line.”

  Gordon looked up, surprised and still chewing. “No. You weren’t. You weren’t at all. Of course you’d think that.” He gave that imploring little shrug. “Who wouldn’t?”

  Anger flashed through Dennis at once again having his feelings, his efforts, so trivialized. There was no getting through the thickness. Ever. “And that’s okay? That�
�s all right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but that’s the way it is.”

  Gordon pushed back his plate. “Why do we keep doing this?” He spoke urgently, yet so softly that Dennis had to lean over the table to hear him. “What’s the point? You always end up mad at me. It can’t be very pleasant for you. So why bother?”

  “Because we’re brothers!” Truly it was that simple, but for some reason that was the part Gordon least understood. They stared at each other a moment. “Jesus Christ,” Dennis said, shaking his head. “You really think this is a bother? Seeing you once a week? Calling you, checking to see how things’re going? See if you need anything? Or maybe it’s a bother to you. Maybe that’s it.” Yes. That’s exactly what it was.

  “Of course not. It’s not a bother. I like to hear from you.” Gordon paused. “I enjoy your company,” he said so stiltedly, so formally and falsely earnest, that Dennis felt as if he’d just been punched in the chest.

  For the first time he felt the vastness of the chasm between them. “No, you don’t. You never call. You’re not the least bit interested in me or my kids. There’s no feeling there. There never was. Even as a kid you were like that. You never got it. You still don’t. I mean, who’ve you got in your life if you don’t have family? Delores? That, that trampy kid, that what’s-her-name?”

  “Jada.”

  “Yeah, and what the hell’s she doing in a car with you? Are you nuts? Someone like that? She’s a lost cause, a quick trip to disaster! Jesus Christ, don’t you ever think things through? All right, so Delores is a flake, she’s a little light on top, but that doesn’t mean you—”

  Gordon seized his wrist, squeezing so hard that it stung. “Shut up! Shut up, Dennis. For once, just shut up and listen.”

  All the while his brother talked, Dennis smiled thinly, because it was all he knew to do, keep his chin up and smile, hang tough through the hard times, the grimness, the shame and helplessness.