Dancing on Broken Glass

by Ka Hancock

  I drove home with nothing on my mind but sleep. By the time I walked into the house, I’d convinced myself that a little rest on the couch was all I needed. As I lay there, I found myself drifting back to last spring when Mickey had promised to take me to Hawaii for my birthday. I’d be thirty-four next week, and I’d had virtually no faith Hawaii would happen. But as I was lying there, I thought how lovely it would be to just get on a plane. Just drive to the airport and get on a plane. I knew Jared would happily encourage Mickey to take the time off. I could talk to Gleason about his prescriptions and pick up anything he wanted to add to Mickey’s regimen. Mickey’s chemistry could stabilize all day long on a sunny beach in Waikiki just as easily as it could here. I picked up the phone. Why couldn’t we do this? He’d promised me. And it wasn’t like we’d have another chance.

  I woke with a start to the sound of my doorbell. The shadows were long in my living room, and it took me a minute to orient myself. I sat up, stiff from sleeping wadded up on the couch. It was a quarter to six and I’d slept like the dead.

  I stood up and groped my way to the door. Charlotte Barbee stood on my stoop, smiling her familiar smile, the one colored with worry. I yawned. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hello, darlin’. I saw your car in the driveway and thought I’d drop these vitamins off. They came in yesterday, and I want you to start on them right away.”

  “Come in. I was just resting.”

  “I know. I talked to Lily a little while ago. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay. I slept too long, anyway.” Charlotte followed me into my kitchen, where I offered her a Snapple. She declined, but I opened one for myself and we sat down at the table. I uncapped the bottle of vitamins she’d brought and spilled one into my hand. They were a special blend she’d ordered from an herbalist in San Francisco, and they smelled like dirt. “These are horse pills.”

  She laughed. “Take one now, then starting tomorrow take one morning and night.”

  I swallowed one down with a gulp of kiwi-lime and pulled a face. It tasted like dirt.

  “So, how are you holding up?” Charlotte said.

  “I’m fine. I mean, I feel okay. I can’t seem to get enough sleep. But other than that . . .” I shrugged. “I’m thinking of going on vacation.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Am I okay to fly?”

  “Fly?”

  “I want to go to Hawaii, Charlotte.” For a minute she didn’t say anything, and I could see the idea concerned her. “I mean, what could it really hurt?” I plunged on. “If I get in trouble, there are doctors in Hawaii, right?”

  “I believe there are.” Charlotte pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “But what are you planning, Lucy?”

  What was I planning? “I don’t know. Mickey promised he’d take me for my birthday, and even though I never thought we’d actually do it, I still want to go. I want to surprise him. Is that crazy?”

  Charlotte leaned her chin into her palm. “No, it’s not crazy. What about school? Did you change your mind about going back to work?”

  “No. But I made a little compromise.” I told her about my plan to work alternating weeks with Miriam Brady and that Miriam had chosen this first week. “So I think I can make this work. And it will be so good for Mickey.”

  I must have looked hopeful because Charlotte studied me for a long moment before she finally said, “I’ll get on the web and find some doctors for you. Just in case.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned, relieved. A vacation. Despite my promise to Mickey that I would go with or without him, I hadn’t planned to go anywhere since I’d found out I was pregnant. But right now, I couldn’t imagine anything more deliciously spontaneous than running away with my husband—running far, far away from all our problems.

  Thank goodness Charlotte had agreed since I’d already called Adam Piper. Muriel’s grandson owned Piper’s Planet, Brinley’s only travel agency; I’d told him what I had in mind and gave him my credit card number. He said he’d fix me right up.

  twenty-two

  SEPTEMBER 3, 2011—

  NOT SLEEPING, UP FOR THIRD FREAKING TIME!

  A little tutorial: The hallmark of BPD is mood instability that cycles between extreme highs and extreme lows. But there are times when mania and depression coalesce to become the worst of both extremes—highly energized and wicked irritable. That’s where I’m at: hyperagitated—a hell of a great place to be! I’m not sleeping, I’m edgy with real-life worry and waking nightmares, and I’m behaving badly. I know I am, and I don’t care. I don’t know how far gone I am for sure since I’m not imagining the circumstances; my wife really is sick; there really is a baby coming; and at the center I sit desperate to escape it all.

  Gleason says this is perhaps actually a crazy-making reality rather than my mental illness. It could be, but I haven’t seen him lately to explore that. Gleason gets a little in my face sometimes, and I figure he’s just one more stress I don’t need to deal with right now. I’ve got enough on my plate! Leave me the hell alone! I’ll keep eating my pills and everyone will be happy, even though I can’t feel any difference in my mood. But then mood probably isn’t the primary issue. It’s the pain. The pain is intractable; so is the fear.

  So is the shame. If Gleason’s right and I don’t have my illness to blame, it means I really am capable of this cruelty.

  When I couldn’t get ahold of Mickey, I called Lily to see what everyone was up to, but I only got her voice mail. Then I remembered she and Ron were in charge of the hot dog concession tonight. I called Priss, but she said she hadn’t seen Mickey since after the Loops won the championship.

  “He must be exhausted,” I said. “Three games in one day.”

  “He did great, and so did our little Lily. Are you feeling better, Lu?”

  “I’m fine. Just needed a rest.”

  “Well, come down and meet me, and we’ll go look for your husband. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “You’d think,” I said, a small tingle creeping up the base of my neck. It was 7:10 and he hadn’t called, and he wasn’t answering his phone. This couldn’t possibly be good.

  I brushed my hair, pulled on a sweatshirt, and drove down to Foster Pier Road. I had to park two blocks away, so it was a little before eight when I finally met Priscilla at the entrance. “Have you seen him?” I shouted when I was close enough to be heard.

  “No, but Ron saw him about an hour ago. Have you tried the club?”

  “Not yet.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed while Priss and I walked. After a few transfers, I got Jared, who was working the floor at Partners so his employees could participate in the celebration. He hadn’t seen Mickey since the last baseball game. “Are you expecting him tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but not until later when things die down on the pier.”

  I nodded. “Well, he’s got to be here, then. If you see him, please tell him I’m looking for him?”

  “Sure will, Lucy.”

  I dropped the phone into my pocket as I took in the glittering sights around me. Thousands of twinkling lights imbued the festival with an amusement-park atmosphere. The noise and the music were evidence that everyone was having a good time.

  “What do you want to do, Lucy?”

  I linked arms with my sister. “Let’s just wander. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  We strolled by dozens of booths where everything imaginable was being hawked: tie-dyed dresses, homemade fudge, jewelry, wooden toys. And lots and lots of art, all produced by Brinley’s local artisans. We found Jan’s booth and I marveled, as I did so often, at what that woman could do with oil paint. Jan squeezed my arm. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, patting my belly. “You look so cute. How’s our little bun?” Though her words and expression were upbeat, I could see the concern in her eyes. “The bun’s good,” I said, looking around. “What a crowd, huh?”

  “I think it’s a record,” Jan said.

  “I’m looking for Mi
ckey. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “He stopped by around five, I think it was,” she said, looking at her husband. “But we haven’t seen him since.”

  I pecked her cheek. “Well, if he comes by again, tell him to come find me.”

  “I will, honey. And if you get tired, you come back and sit with me for a while. Make her sit down, Priss.”

  Harry wagged a finger at us, concurring with his wife, then reached over and kissed my forehead. “You heard the boss.”

  We headed off toward Lily and Ron’s hot dog stand, but we didn’t get far before Muriel Piper’s shrill voice stopped us in our tracks. She shouted at Priss and me from her humongous quilt display on the boathouse lawn and hurried toward us. Muriel wrapped her skinny bird arms around me. “How are you?” she sang. “We’ve been hoping you would be here tonight. You’re doing okay?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “And Priscilla! Heavens, you look like a movie star.” Priss preened. “Come, come, you two. Sit with us. We have a little surprise for Lucy.” Muriel insisted I sit in her lawn chair, and it felt good to rest for a minute. Priss pulled up a crate that was part of their pillow display, but they didn’t seem to mind. “Close your eyes, now. No peeking. You, too, Priscilla. Okay, Wandy, bring it out,” Muriel sang.

  I heard rustling and some twitters from my friends, then Wanda Murphy said, “Okay, you can open them.”

  Of course it was a quilt. A beautiful pink baby quilt.

  “Oh my,” said Priscilla. “I think that’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” The quilt was a jigsaw puzzle of every conceivable shade of pink fabric all fashioned into a scene of a woman holding the hand of a little girl. A brilliant pink sun was rising in the corner, and I had to agree with my sister—it was beautiful.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “We’re going to enter it in the state competition in two weeks. Then it’s yours,” Muriel said. “What do you think?”

  “I love it! And I love you, and I love you.” I kissed Muriel and Wanda, two of my mother’s dearest friends. Just then Oscar Levine, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a blue sweater, made his way into the tent with a tray of hot dogs and a bottle of wine. Priss and I got up to leave, but Oscar insisted we stay. He said Lily had seen us and dressed a couple of foot-longs just the way we liked them, so what could we do? We stayed. Even Priscilla, who’s not usually too townsy, got comfortable after a couple of paper cups of wine.

  My cell phone rang, and Priscilla flashed me a look as I answered, “Hello.”

  “Lucy? Sorry to bother you. It’s Jared.”

  “Hey.” I could hear music and the lively noise of Partners in full swing.

  “I think you better come down. Mickey is here. I just saw him a few minutes ago. He’s been drinking and partying pretty good, and there’s a woman here who won’t leave him alone. I told her to lay off, but she isn’t budging. You better come down. Maybe bring Ron.”

  I swallowed, my eyes hard on Priscilla’s. “Thanks, Jared. I’ll be right there.” I hung up. It had been a long time since I’d been called to rein in my husband. Usually the presence and friendly discouragement of people who knew Mickey was enough to keep him in line—at least in public.

  “We have to go,” I said, getting to my feet. I hugged and thanked my sweet friends again, hoping my gushing would keep them from asking any questions.

  Once we were out of earshot, Priscilla took my arm. “What?”

  “He’s at the club. With some woman.”

  Priscilla stopped and shook her head. “Are you kidding me, Lucy? That stupid—”

  “Priss, I need your help, but I don’t need that.” She put up her hands in mock surrender, but her eyes stayed hardened. The hackles on my neck stiffened in anticipation of a snotty comment. “Priss, this isn’t really Mickey, you know that. He’s just having an unbelievably hard time with all of this. With everything.”

  Priscilla sighed. “We all are,” she said with uncharacteristic resignation.

  People were starting to board up their booths for the night. We found Ron emptying his trash at the big Dumpster that had been set up by the concessions. He grinned at us as we approached. “Hey, thanks for all your help tonight. It was wild, and Lil and I really appreciate you lending us a couple of hands.” When he saw the look on my face, he stopped the kidding. “What’s the matter, Lucy?”

  “It’s Mickey. Can you come with me to the club?”

  He didn’t hesitate. He never does. “Let me just lock up. What’s he done?”

  “I don’t know yet, but there’s a woman.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not good.”

  “He’s so unpredictable lately,” I said. “I don’t know what we’re going to find.”

  Lily was leaning out of the trailer window, nodding. She’d heard the conversation as we’d walked up. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “We’ll all go over to the club and deal with him together.”

  Ron drove Priscilla and me to my car, which was still parked on Foster Pier Road, and from there we followed them up to the Loop. When we got to Partners, we could hear the thrum of the band spilling onto the outside courtyard. There was nowhere to park, so I turned off the engine in front of a fire hydrant. Ron pulled up beside me. “Go on in, Lucy.” he said, “I’ll park behind Ghosts and come find you.” Lily looked nervous, but nodded.

  Priss and I made our way through the crowd to the bar, where Jared spotted me and waved me over. He was talking to Chad Withers, who looked at me with concern in his eyes.

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked.

  “He was outside a while ago,” Chad said. “I think he’s been hitting the bottle pretty good, Lucy. And this woman just keeps setting him up.”

  Priscilla and I made our way to the courtyard, where the music was like a hammer against my temples. The dance floor was a crush of bodies, and I nearly lost Priss in the crowd. I passed several of my friends, who obviously knew why I was there. It occurred to me that I should probably feel more embarrassed than I did, but the thought was quickly vanquished. What would be the point? Anyone who knew Mickey and me knew us. And anyone who didn’t, didn’t matter.

  When there was no sign of him in the courtyard, we made our way back over the packed dance floor. I looked over at my sister, dread filling me. “I have a bad feeling, Priss.”

  As we crossed back to the foyer, Ron and Lily were just walking through the front doors. “Is he here?” Lily asked.

  “We can’t find him.” Priss looked at Ron. “Come with me,” she said to him. “Lily, stay with Lucy. We’ll be right back.”

  As they disappeared down the hall, I thought how formidable my sister was, and I was so grateful for her strength. As we waited, Lily laced her fingers into mine and I laid my head on her shoulder.

  Cory Brubaker, the owner of the inn and a friend, cut through all the layers of propriety and told Priss the woman Mickey had been with was a guest, Hilary Wellington, registered in room 216. She’d ordered an elaborate dinner for two, which had been delivered about twenty minutes earlier. At Priscilla’s insistence, Cory handed her the room key.

  When Ron and Priss returned to the foyer, I insisted I could handle things from here by myself, but they all accompanied me to the second floor anyway. When we reached the room, I reluctantly pressed my ear to the door. It might have been the TV, but the sound of someone moaning felt like a kick in the gut all the same. I looked at Lily. She leaned her ear against the door and heard it, too. I closed my eyes and knocked.

  Instantly a woman’s clear voice shouted, “Come back later. We’re not finished.”

  “The hell you’re not,” Priscilla hissed, jamming the key into the lock. Before I knew it, we were in the room, face-to-face with a beautiful woman I thought I recognized from this morning’s softball game. A look of alarm flashed through her blue eyes. She was wearing a loosely belted silk robe, and her thick hair now hung beautifully to her s
houlders. Mickey was sitting on the edge of the bed, his arms hanging limply at his sides. His jeans were unzipped and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I forgot to breathe as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Confusion and rage each vied for first expression.

  “Wh . . . what are you doing? Mickey!”

  When Mickey looked up at me and I didn’t register in his eyes, fear took the lead. Something was wrong with him.

  I took a step toward him and still he didn’t react. “What are you doing?” I muttered. “What’s happening here?” I stared at my husband, who didn’t seem to know where he was, then at the woman. “What have you done?”

  Hilary Wellington’s stricken look was replaced with cold annoyance. “How dare you?” she demanded. “Get out of my room this minute, or I’ll call the police.”

  “Shut up, you whore!” Priscilla spat, covering the space between them in two long strides. “Just shut up!”

  I took in the room and studied my half-naked, dull-eyed husband. It was as though he had collapsed in on himself. He looked utterly pathetic, and I was angry that he was pathetic. An open bottle of wine was on the nightstand, and another on a table in the corner amid the remains of a cozy little dinner for two. Mickey’s shirt and shoes were on the floor in a heap, and the bed, though still made, was rumpled. I looked at the woman, then back at Mickey, trying to put this in a context I understood. Mickey was holding something loosely in his fist, and when I opened his hand, I found an empty prescription bottle. “Oh, Mickey,” I took his face in my hands and tried to force him to see me, but when his eyes rolled back in his head, I started to shake.

  “He’s been eating those like candy,” the woman said.

  “And how much of this has he had?” I screamed, picking up the wine bottle nearest me. I threw it at the wall and it shattered in a smear of red glass. The woman jumped. “He can’t drink!” I yelled again. “He’s taken all his pills!”

  “Hey, hey, it wasn’t me!”