Rolling in the Deep

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  “I pick him up every Friday. I won’t forget.”

  “Yeah, well. You never know with you.” He starts to lean in, as though whispering something to me, when Emma comes out the door.

  “Hey, Holly.” She’s wearing skinny jeans with a camel-colored blouse and gold earrings, and is just as perfect as always. I wish for the thousandth time that I could hate her, but she gathers me into a hug before I can even form the thought. “Thanks for bringing Drew over. We have a fun weekend planned for him.”

  I return the hug, because it’s impossible not to, and think of Drew hugging her like this before he goes to sleep tonight. If there’s one thing Emma has taught me, it’s that envy and gratitude make a bittersweet cocktail. “He’s really excited.”

  Emma smiles and pulls back, holding my shoulders in her slim hands for just a moment before releasing me. “Is he? I’m so glad. We’ll take good care of him, okay?”

  She glances at Brett, and if I didn’t know any better I’d think she was deliberately stepping in to help me, to protect me from him and see me out without a scene. Could that be true? It wouldn’t surprise me, knowing her.

  Not for the first time I wonder what in the world a good woman like Emma would see in Brett. He’s handsome, sure—tall, blond, broad shoulders—like an investment banker who surfs on the weekends. And his arrogance has a certain pull; I can attest to that. But why does she put up with his cruelty? Why did I?

  Brett stands in the driveway with his arms folded, watching us. Then he reaches for Emma and throws a possessive arm around her.

  “Yeah, bye, Holly.” He thrusts his chin toward my car. “Better hit the road before it gets dark.”

  Maybe he means that as concern for me, I don’t know. Maybe I’m the one being touchy and defensive. Maybe Emma has made him a better man. Anything is possible. She’s probably more patient than I was. More compassionate.

  If someone like her could choose Brett and be happy with him, maybe he wasn’t the problem at all.

  Maybe the problem is me.

  I was a good student back in the day—straight A’s. If I’d gone to a school like Drew’s I might have eventually managed to become someone like Emma. Sometimes I think maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. I know that’s what Brett would say.

  My plan was to go to community college first, and then transfer the credits to a higher-ranking school where I could earn a decent degree. It was a sensible strategy, and I made it through almost two years of part-time classes while waitressing at the coffee shop. But then Mom had a heart attack, and everything went completely on hold.

  She was only fifty years old. She woke up one morning, put on her uniform, and drove off to clean bathrooms at the dorms at Vassar. I was in class at Dutchess when I got the call.

  She’d been out on a cigarette break. They found her behind Jewett House, unconscious. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

  I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

  A few months later, I met Brett. I’d had boyfriends before, but not many, and Brett made me feel special. Cherished. He was like some kind of Hollywood version of a boyfriend, bringing me flowers, cooking me dinner, taking me to the city for shows. And when he became gradually less charming, I didn’t notice at first. When he started criticizing me, and disparaging my friends, I blamed myself. Maybe I did need to pay more attention to my appearance. Maybe my friends were a little wild and irresponsible.

  I did my best to change, to try to please him, but every day it seemed his expectations became higher, his condemnations harsher. Then Drew was born, and I was stuck. As bad as it was, I didn’t want my child to be the product of divorce. I held on to the fantasy that I could make it work.

  But I couldn’t—not when we were married, and not now. When Emma is here, sure, he holds his tongue for the most part. But as soon as she leaves the room it’s no-holds-barred. What kind of loser works at Cogmans, for example. What kind of mother would let her child see her like that?

  For some reason I think of Ray as I pull my car out of the drive and Brett’s house recedes in the rearview. He was flirting with me at work today. Even I am not blind enough to miss that. It felt good, I can’t lie. Like I was a person worth noticing.

  I see Brett, though, and it all disappears. I’m somebody’s ex-wife, and a shitty one at that. I’m a woman who can’t provide for her son.

  I wish I could be normal and, I don’t know, go on a date or something with a guy like Ray. No, not a guy like Ray. Let’s face it. Ray.

  It’s not going to happen, though. Drew has enough drama in his life without my adding boyfriends and dating to the mix. Not to mention that Ray would probably run away screaming if he knew I was a single mom.

  Nothing spells boner crash like a woman with a kid.

  In other words, maybe Brett is right. At this point, I have stopped trying. All things considered, it’s just easier that way.

  Chapter 4

  Ray

  It doesn’t take me long to find Holly. She’s back in the stockroom piling rolls of toilet paper onto a dolly. I clear my throat and she straightens, a lock of reddish hair trailing across her face. I really want to be that guy in the movies who tucks it behind her ear, but since that guy is a macho dickwad, I shove my hands into my pockets instead.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi, Ray.” She pushes the lock of hair out of her face with the back of one hand. “Did Timmy send you here to help with the dolly? I think I can do it myself. If I can push it over that lip in the doorway, I mean.”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I can help you with that lip, though.”

  Sometimes the actual meaning of the words you say doesn’t hit you until they’re already out of your mouth. Holly snorts, thank God, and goes back to stacking. I grab a package of tissue and toss it on the dolly.

  “By the way, I, uh…got the Powerball ticket.”

  Holly brightens. “Whoa, really? You actually did it?”

  “What did you think, I was going to take your dollar and run away?”

  “I don’t know. You could, I guess. Just kind of hide the ticket and then run off with it when you win?”

  “When we win, you mean.” I shift from side to side a few times to get my blood moving in the unheated warehouse. “And no, I’d never run off. You’ll need your winnings to buy a fur coat so you don’t freeze your ass off out here.”

  “There’s a picture.” Holly blows a cloud of dust off the shelf. “Stocking the shelves at Cogmans in a mink coat. You know what, though?” She shakes her head. “Let the minks run free. We’ll say wool coat. That doesn’t hurt the sheep, right?”

  “Don’t think so. But you won’t need to buy a warm coat, because of how you’re gonna move to the tropics. You know, like Costa Rica. You could buy a mansion there and retire.”

  “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  The dolly is almost filled, so I slow down a little, to stretch time out. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Okay. But won’t you be busy driving your yacht around the world?”

  “What is it with people and yachts? Do you get rich and suddenly have to own a giant boat for some reason?”

  Holly smiles. “I think it’s the jaunty captain’s hat. Put that hat on, hold a martini in your hand, and boom, you look just like a rich guy.”

  I laugh. “Which is important. Looking the part.”

  “Very.” Holly stills for a moment and looks at me. I read on some website the other day that people in ancient Greece didn’t have a word for the color blue. There’s no mention of it in Greek literature, for example, even though every other color is described in detail. I try to imagine not being able to describe the blue of Holly’s eyes.

  That would be a genuine tragedy.

  “What would you do, really?” I ask her. “With the money, if you won.”

  “If we won, you mean.”

  I grin. “Yeah.”

  “Hmm.” She stares past me, and while she’s thinking, she redoes her ponytail. For
a moment her hair falls around her shoulders and I catch the scent of her shampoo. Like she just stepped out of the shower or something. I cough to cover up the sharp breath I take, but she hears it, and pauses with her hands gathering her hair at the back of her neck. She stops and looks at me, and blushes. Which only makes things worse, because now I am imagining my own hands in her hair, the way all that thickness would feel, the way it would feel to grip it in my fingers and kiss her.

  Holly clears her throat and looks down. “Um. I’d probably buy a house, first. For me and my son.”

  “I didn’t know you had a kid.” Doesn’t surprise me that much, though. It explains her seriousness, maybe.

  “Yeah. Drew.” She smiles when she says his name, as though she can’t help herself. But then her smile slips, and she backs away into herself—cautious suddenly.

  “I bet you’d buy him a houseful of toys, too.”

  She hesitates for a moment before she answers. “Maybe a pet elephant. He’s always wanted one.”

  I chuckle. “Haven’t we all? And possibly a forklift, just for fun. For, like, digging in the backyard.”

  She gives me a small smile. “I see you have some experience being a little boy.”

  “A little. How about something for you? A tiara full of diamonds?”

  “It would go very well with my uniform.” Holly gestures at her work clothes. “How about you?”

  “I’d buy a castle.”

  “A castle?”

  “On an island. In fact, I’d buy the whole island.”

  She shrugs. “Why not?”

  “Exactly. And there will be thousands of tiny monkeys on it. Who will make my coffee in the morning and iron all my clothes.”

  Holly laughs, and I realize what a rare sound that is. I have to admit it makes me feel like a million bucks.

  “You can borrow my monkeys if you want.”

  She laughs again, and it changes her whole demeanor—lightens it somehow. It loosens her.

  Christ, she is beautiful.

  Standing there in a freezing warehouse with a blue uniform vest, next to a stack of toilet paper.

  Beautiful as hell.

  “I don’t need your monkeys,” she says, grinning. “I can buy my own monkeys.”

  “When you win the lottery tonight.”

  “When we win.”

  The door behind us creaks open and Timmy stalks in. He’s talking on his cellphone like some kind of Hollywood producer.

  “No, Leon, it can’t wait. We need the shipment right now. Pronto.”

  Holly stifles a snort. Pronto. The guy gets his script from some soap opera version of middle management.

  He hangs up the phone and fixes us with what he clearly hopes is an intimidating glare. “What are you two doing back here? Ray, I thought I put you on the register this morning.”

  As much I want to rib the guy for holding so tightly to his tiny fistful of power, I need this job, and I can’t. Which he knows all too well, and don’t think for a second he doesn’t enjoy that.

  “You did, Timmy. My apologies. I was just helping Holly out for a second.”

  Timmy eyes Holly in a way I don’t entirely like. “She can handle herself. Can’t you, Holly?”

  “Sure, yeah. I mean, Ray was just going to help me push the dolly over the…you know, the bump in the doorway.”

  Timmy rolls his eyes and gestures toward the door. “All right, then. Go ahead. And then get back to it, both of you. Holly, I’m shorthanded in gardening supplies. Becky’s out with a cold or something. I’m gonna need you back there as soon as you’re done with this.”

  “Yeah, um, sure. I like gardening.”

  I take the dolly while Holly holds open the door.

  “You like gardening?” Timmy steps back to let us pass. “I’m so pleased.”

  Holly cracks a grin at me as she steps through the door and takes the dolly from my hands.

  I glance back into the stockroom. To our good fortune, Timmy is charging off to harass somebody else. “How about I walk you to the aisle?”

  She hesitates for only a moment. “Okay.”

  The store is quiet, but it’s a Saturday. Customers will flood the floors any minute now, and I’ll be needed at the registers. If I don’t man up and ask Holly what I came here to ask her, the chance will be gone.

  “Listen, Holly.” I clear my throat. “Would you want to, I mean…” I stop, and she glances at me, doing her best to steer the dolly around a display of giant rubber balls. “Here, let me take that.”

  She starts to argue, but then shrugs. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.” I push the dolly forward.

  She swipes a sleeve across her forehead. The dolly is heavy, and the store is hot compared to the chilled warehouse. “What were you saying?”

  I take a deep breath and scratch at my temple, which doesn’t itch. But now that I’ve scratched it she probably thinks I have dandruff or something. Maybe lice.

  “I was wondering…if you’d want to, I don’t know, get a coffee sometime. After work or something.”

  She stops walking, but then quickly starts up again to keep pace with me. I’m barreling forward, pulled by the momentum of the merchandise I’m pushing.

  “Coffee?” she says. Her voice sounds higher than usual.

  I clear my throat again. “Yeah. Like tonight, maybe? We could go somewhere and watch the Powerball drawing together.”

  Ah, there it is. Now I sound like a true letch. Like the only reason I suggested going in on the ticket was to lure her out on a date.

  Maybe it was. Maybe I am a letch. I certainly feel like one, listening to her breathing as she walks beside me. She’s still slightly winded from pushing the dolly, and the sound of her exhalations is—I can’t lie—arousing. Her chest is rising and falling, and it’s almost more than I can handle not to stare directly at it.

  I’m not succeeding very well at this when she says, “Look. Ray.” And that’s when I know for sure I’ve blown it.

  I acted too soon. I should have given her more time. Let her get to know me a bit before I started hitting on her. Asking her out, already? It’s been only six weeks, and I knew she was uneasy around men.

  Holly stops, and puts her hand on my arm. Her fingers are hot, and they throw a jolt all the way up to my shoulder. She snatches her hand back, as though she’s felt it, too.

  “I just…I can’t tonight. I…I have a bunch of errands I need to do. Maybe, um…maybe another time?”

  She’s letting me down easy. I have to give her points for politeness. At least one of us has some social graces.

  “Yeah, sure. Okay. Cool. No worries.” I turn the dolly down the right aisle and prop it up for her. “Listen, I’d better get to the registers or Timmy’ll—”

  “Yeah, he probably—”

  “Anyway. Watch the drawing tonight? Eight o’clock? You want to take a photo of the ticket with your phone, so you have the numbers?”

  “Sure, yeah.” She snaps a quick picture, and then backs away.

  I wave, and head to the front of the store before either of us keels over from embarrassment.

  Nice going, Ray.

  Chapter 5

  Holly

  When I walk through the parking lot carrying an armful of forsythia branches no one bats an eye anymore. The neighbors probably call me Crazy Flower Lady behind my back, but luckily if they do, it’s affectionate. I’ve won them over just by being Drew’s mother, and he has conquered their hearts the old-fashioned way—by saying please and thank you. A rare thing in this day and age.

  “You need a hand, Holly?”

  My next-door neighbor, an elderly man in starched trousers and an ivy cap, sits in a lawn chair on the length of concrete in front of his doorway.

  “Nah, I’m good. How are you, Efrem?” I reach around the flowers to push my key into the lock.

  “Can’t complain. Nice day. Got a pretty sunset on the way.”

  “Spring is here.
” I turn the knob and knee open the door. “Hang on a sec.”

  There’s a small glass vase on the kitchen island. I drop my purse on a tall stool and set the flowers in the sink. Then I quickly snip a few stems and head back outside with a tiny arrangement for Efrem’s window.

  “Oh, now.” He smiles and half rises from his chair. “Thank you, my dear. Isn’t that lovely.” He sets the vase down in the fading sunlight. “I’ll just give these beauties a few more minutes outside before we go in for the night. You stop on the parkway again?”

  “Sure did. Don’t worry. I was quick about it.”

  “You’re gonna get yourself hurt one of these days.”

  I stand in my doorway, hand on the knob, and smile. “Aren’t we all, though.”

  “True that.” Efrem tips his hat at me, and I close the door.

  Inside, I separate the stems into piles and start trimming.

  There’s an hour to go before the Powerball drawing and I’m feeling like an idiot for even knowing that. But Ray’s made me promise to watch, and call him afterward. His phone number, hastily typed into my contacts list, is burning a hole in my pocket. I realize I’ve still got my work vest on and shrug it off.

  I wore my favorite sweater today, underneath. It’s a soft, light blue that Beth tells me brings out the color of my eyes. I thought of Ray when I put it on this morning, and then shook my head when I pulled the Cogmans vest over it. As if anyone would notice a person’s clothing choices under a uniform like that.

  And as if I had any right to be wearing particular sweaters on purpose to catch Ray’s eye. I’m not on the market, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be of interest for long to a guy like Ray.

  He’s a good man—that’s obvious. Kindhearted, funny. And hot. Really super hot. He could date any woman he wanted. If Ray is flirting with me at all, it’s probably just out of boredom. Just to pass the time of a long workday.

  I stop for a moment, hands in the sink. He does know I’m a single mom now, though. I tossed that turd into the punch bowl today with as much class as ever.

  He asked me out anyway, though, didn’t he? And even though I turned him down, he looked for me in gardening and tracked me to the women’s hygiene aisle, just to give me his phone number.