She plopped down on the side of the pool just like she’d done that first time they’d talked at the beginning of the summer. Then she’d marveled over the changes in Bryte—the lovely, capable woman she’d blossomed into. She’d envied her, too: the house, the husband, the child, the contentment. But Jencey had felt an increasing uncertainty bubbling under the surface, recognized the discontent that had crept in over the course of the summer. Jencey didn’t know what had changed, and she didn’t feel she could ask. She sensed she was the last person Bryte would discuss it with, yet she longed to be that person in her friend’s life. Mostly because she needed Bryte to be that person in hers. She wondered if they could somehow make their way back, and figured that she could be the one to start carving a path in that direction. Maybe the one who did the leaving had to be the one to make the way back.
“So,” she said, getting Bryte’s attention, “looks like Lance’s wife just showed up.” She saw the shock register on Bryte’s face and would have enjoyed it if not for the situation. “You should see the look on your face,” she said, laughing a little in spite of herself. Bryte scanned the pool until she found the mother-and-child reunion taking place.
She turned back to look at Jencey. “Why aren’t you over with Lance, staking your claim?” she asked, a sense of urgency in her voice. She made a little shooing motion in Lance’s direction.
Jencey allowed a quick glance in Lance’s direction, saw that his eyes had now found what she’d already seen. She measured her words, stating them carefully, emotion free. “Because I don’t have a claim.”
She hoped she sounded like she meant it. She wanted to mean it. She tried not to think of the summer they’d had, the unexpected joy she’d found with him, the nights spent in his arms. He’d brought something back to her, carried it in his hands like a bunch of flowers and laid it at her feet. The word was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say it, not even to herself. One night he’d tried to say it, but she’d laid her finger on his lips. “No,” she’d instructed. “Let’s not do that to each other.”
“Why?” he’d asked, a hurt look on his face.
She hadn’t been able to answer him. “Just . . . let’s not,” was all she said. As she watched Debra walk with Alec toward Lance, she felt all the words she hadn’t said come to her.
“It’s not too late,” Bryte said, sounding exactly like the Bryte she remembered.
“It might need to be,” she responded, forcing herself to look away from the sight of Lance standing to greet the woman who’d been in their midst all summer, a ghost that had haunted them as surely as if she’d dragged chains around in his attic.
Bryte continued to watch the scene. “Is he hugging her?” Jencey asked, then quickly said, “No, don’t tell me.”
Bryte glanced at Christopher, who was perfectly safe in the water with floaties on his arms, then back at Jencey. “He didn’t hug her,” she said. She raised her eyebrows. “Because he wants to be with you.”
“I’m not going to break up a family if there’s still a chance for them.” She looked at Bryte, willing her to understand. She wouldn’t wish what she’d been through on anyone.
Bryte met her eyes. “I know you wouldn’t,” she said. “You’re a good person.”
Jencey smiled. “So are you.”
Bryte rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about that.”
“Are you kidding?” Jencey gasped. “You’re like the best person I know.”
“Well, you don’t know everything,” Bryte responded.
Jencey heard what her friend wasn’t saying. She felt the years and distance between them finally begin to erode. She had no right to know Bryte’s secrets. And yet, sitting there with her, talking like old times, it was possible that they could somehow get back to a place where she did.
Her eyes flickered over to Lance and Debra, chatting politely. She wanted him to walk away, or her to leave in a huff. She wanted him to stride over and sweep her into his embrace, give her a kiss like a returning soldier. And yet, Jencey understood, there were the things she wished were true, and there was what was actually true. She was learning that there was usually a great distance between the two.
LANCE
Lance kept his distance from Debra, wondering how in the hell this was happening. The afternoon had been like so many before it that summer. He’d had a few beers and felt the pleasant buzz he usually got, drinking and chatting the hours away. The group of them had formed a sort of club that summer, united by the near drowning and strengthened by a string of sunny afternoons spent trying to make sense of it. They talked about a variety of things—the latest neighborhood gossip, the weather, the news, the kids’ antics.
Sometimes Zell had a “conversation starter,” as she called it, some silly question or quote that would lead to deeper conversations. Sometimes they even shared personal stories, but never the ones that mattered. He hadn’t, for instance, shared that, while he had no idea when she would come back, he’d felt Debra returning as one felt an oncoming storm, the increasing awareness that something in the air was changing, gathering strength as it barreled forward.
After she sheepishly left, he took his time gathering his things to leave, too, looking at Jencey over at the pool with Bryte, thinking of and dismissing a thousand things to say to her. He settled for a kiss on the forehead, a promise to call her later. She nodded and said very little in response. Eventually he walked away slowly, feeling as if he wasn’t coming back even though the pool would be open for several more weeks. Between Zell’s absence and Debra’s appearance, he felt as if, though the summer wasn’t over, something was ending.
He returned home to find Debra at the kitchen table, waiting for him, looking penitent. “Mom!” Alec yelled, shoving from behind him to reach her, hurtling himself into her arms as if he hadn’t quite believed she would be there as promised. Debra, to her credit, managed to look humbled by her son’s welcome instead of exultant, or worse, expectant.
Lilah, God love her, stayed beside Lance, her arms crossed like his as she took it all in. He gave his daughter a sidelong glance, anticipating her next move. Would she yell? Cry? Give in to her body’s longing to reach out? He hadn’t known Lilah well when Debra left. He knew her much better now. And yet, he couldn’t have said what his child was thinking as she registered her mother’s presence in their home after a ten-month absence. He couldn’t have told Lilah how to react any more than he could’ve told himself. His wife was home: this was good news. His wife was home: this was terrible news.
“We have plans tonight,” Lilah said suddenly, turning to him. She looked over at Debra. “We’re going to Taste of the Town,” she explained. “With Jencey and Pilar and Zara.”
He rested his hand on top of Lilah’s head. “We can go another time,” he said, surprised by his words, by how easily he could break plans with Jencey when faced with Debra’s very real presence. For so long, her return had been a fantasy played out in his mind in so many different ways. Lately, he’d tried not to think about it at all. Focusing instead on Jencey and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, the highlights in her hair that had grown brighter with each day in the sun, the way she tasted and smelled and felt. They had been careful to avoid the word love, and that had been wise. He was a man with obligations that ran beyond his feelings.
“You promised we could go!” Lilah yelled, interrupting his rapid-fire thoughts. Angry tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “You’re going back on a promise!” She turned and bolted from the room, leaving him and Debra and Alec to blink at one another like strangers.
“She’s in shock.” He offered the excuse for Lilah’s behavior to Debra, though he owed her none.
“I know,” Debra said. “And I deserve it.” She set Alec down on the ground. “Why don’t you go get that wet suit off and Daddy and I will talk?” she said to him, falling back into the mother role so easily it was as if she’d never been gone. Lance watched as his son obediently trotted
off to his room, thankful at least one of the kids wasn’t having a complete meltdown.
“So,” he said. “You’re back?” Stupid question.
Debra nodded. “I didn’t think calling ahead would make it any easier.” She gave a little laugh. “I half expected the locks to be changed.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t lock you out of your own house.”
“Is it? My house?” He heard the hopeful note in her voice and regretted his choice of words.
He shrugged his shoulders, made his voice sound businesslike. “Legally, at least. I mean, there are no papers drawn up between us. Your stuff is still here. Your mail comes here.” He gestured behind him, at a box on the floor he’d taken to throwing anything addressed to her into. It was nearly full of running magazines, catalogs, various solicitations, and a few personal letters. He started to get up and show it to her, but she reached out and stopped him.
“I don’t want to know about legally. I want to know about us.” She removed her hand from his arm, put it back in her own lap. “I’m sorry. I’m coming on too strong, and I have no right. I know that.”
“It’s just a shock, seeing you again.”
She nodded, thinking this over. “You should keep your plans tonight. They seem to mean a lot to Lilah.”
“They’re friends of hers,” he explained, though an explanation wasn’t warranted. “They moved into the neighborhood this summer and . . . we’ve hung out.”
“We?”
“Our families.”
She drew back, as if his calling what they were a family even when she wasn’t a part of it was somehow hurtful. “And you’re friends with the dad?” she asked, pressing. The look on her face told him she already knew there was no dad. Somehow Debra knew, when he still had no clue what had driven her to leave him the way she did. Maybe the difference was that Debra wanted to know and he didn’t. It crossed his mind that she wanted to be absolved, but he had no proof of that. All Debra had ever admitted was that she needed time away, to think about what she wanted out of life. He’d suspected there was someone else—that part of her decision making was whether she wanted another man—but she’d refused to give him any more information than that.
“No,” he said simply. “The mom.”
“I see,” Debra said. Which wasn’t true, of course. She didn’t see at all. She hadn’t been there to see.
His legs were growing stiff from standing, but he didn’t dare sit. To sit across from her at their kitchen table would be far too intimate. He could not be intimate with her. He did not know, standing there with his aching legs and fickle heart, if he could be intimate with her again. She didn’t fit in this room anymore; her presence poisoned the air. And yet, she belonged here. She was his wife, the mother of his children. If she was back and wanted a chance to make things work, he owed his family that chance, didn’t he? He’d known this moment would eventually come, and now it was time to do the right thing.
He turned from her and went to look out the window, his gaze falling on Zell’s house. He’d missed Zell today, missed her witticisms and cantankerous outlook on life, the way she was always smacking him on the shoulder when he teased her, how she tended to them all, ever the nurturer. She’d grown on him; they all had. Yet this thing with Ty had made things weird, and soon Cailey was going back to her mother. The summer was drawing to a close—hadn’t they just been teasing the kids about school starting this afternoon?—and it all felt suddenly very sad. In his heart he was already letting Jencey go, working out how to say goodbye to the best friend he’d had in a long, long time. He glanced over at Debra, looking mournful at the table.
“I’m going to go cancel my plans for tonight. Maybe you should go up and try to talk to your daughter.” He grabbed his phone from the counter and trudged outside, his heart aching as he found the last number called and hit “Redial.”
CAILEY
Ever since they’d found out about Ty, Zell had stayed inside, refusing to come to the pool and cooking up a storm instead. The house smelled good, and there were always cookies cooling on the counter. More cookies than any of us could eat. She kept sending stuff over to Mr. Doyle’s house, making me carry food across the street nearly every day, forgetting all about her warning to stay away from him. He always opened the door with that little smile, told me what a good girl I was for bringing him food. I told him that I wasn’t doing much, just delivering. Then one day he asked me if I was ready to earn some money, to finish the pond he’d started for his mother.
I gave him a confused look and almost said, “But she’s dead.” Then I thought maybe that wasn’t the nicest thing to say.
He knew what my confused look was, though. “I’m going to finish it in honor of her. A memorial,” he explained. “That way Jesse and I can sit outside by the pond and think about her.” I’d never seen Jesse sit still if there wasn’t a video game involved, but I didn’t say that.
He rested his hand on my head and looked sad. “I was inspired by what you and Zell have done,” he said, and pointed across the street at our pond, which had shaped up nicely, if I did say so myself. “You’ve created something so lovely.”
“I better go ask Zell,” I said. “She might, um, have something else she needs me to do.” The truth was I didn’t know how Zell would feel about that. Carrying food over to his house and coming back home was one thing, but working for him for an afternoon might be another.
“OK, well, go on and ask, and if you can, you should change into some work clothes and come back right away.” He got this nervous look on his face for about a minute. Then he smiled at me and waved me in the direction of Zell’s house. I hurried back across the street, hoping Zell would say yes.
“Zell!” I hollered when I got inside the house. She came limping into the kitchen, looking startled. She’d been so jumpy and weird since everyone had found out about Ty. I guess she thought people would think bad of her because of what her son did. But I didn’t ask her about it. I just let her keep on cooking stuff and hoped she’d snap out of it.
“Can I go help Mr. Doyle make a pond in his backyard? He asked me to and said he’d pay me.” I raised my eyebrows and gave her my serious look. “I could really use the money,” I added.
Zell laughed, but I didn’t see that anything was funny. She glanced in the direction of the Doyle house, looking concerned. It was quiet as she thought about it for a few seconds. “He’s doing it for his mom.” I realized how weird that sounded. “In her memory,” I explained. “Isn’t that nice?” I gave her my puppy-dog eyes. That’s what my mom always called them. I only used the puppy-dog eyes for special occasions. If you used them too much, they didn’t work the same. It was better to hold them back for when you really needed them. My mom called it “bringing out the big guns.”
Zell walked over to the door that led from the kitchen out onto her driveway. She opened the door and leaned out, looking at Mr. Doyle’s house, then back over her shoulder at me. She raised her eyebrows, giving me her serious look. “I’m going to carry my magazine and sit out on the driveway in one of the deck chairs. So I’ll be nearby if you need me. I want you to peek your head around the corner and wave at me every so often. OK?” she asked.
I nodded my head really hard. “OK!” I said. Then I ran off to change my clothes before she could change her mind, calling, “Thank you!” over my shoulder on my way up the stairs. In Ty’s room, I threw on some work clothes, the same ones I wore all those long, hot days when we worked on Zell’s yard.
When I got back to Mr. Doyle’s house, he pointed me toward a big pile of flat, jagged, dark-gray rocks he was going to use to border the pond. But what he showed me didn’t look a thing like our pond. It only looked like a big old mud pit. He could use some lessons from Zell. But I didn’t say that. I just thought about what I was going to buy with the money he gave me. A present for Cutter. A present for my mom.
I carried those heavy rocks back and forth, back and forth, the sun beating down as I worke
d. Every so often, I kept my promise to Zell and poked my head around the corner to wave at her that I was safe. I was a sweaty mess, and my head hurt from the sun. The work was hard and long, and I was starting to think maybe the money wasn’t worth it. Mr. Doyle was trying to install a fancy fountain, but it wasn’t going so well. He was cussing and sweating, his frustration growing the hotter it got.
He went inside to get us water bottles and left me out there alone, and I took the opportunity to stop moving for a few minutes. I stared at my reflection in the sliding glass door that led into his basement. I thought of the padlock he’d had to have to keep his mother from falling down those basement stairs. I wondered if he’d taken it off the door yet, seeing as how he didn’t need it. I stared at the glass door so long I thought I saw the curtain move, and it spooked me. I thought of his mother, and wondered about a ghost. I took a step away from the door, my reflection growing smaller as I did.
Mr. Doyle came around the corner and called my name. He handed me a water bottle. “Break’s over!” he said. “Back to work!” He turned me around and pointed to the rocks. Then he resumed working on the fountain. I sucked down half the bottle and started arranging the rocks. We worked side by side like that for a while. I could smell our sweat in the air, mixing with the heat. I wished I’d never said I would do this. I glanced back at the curtain hanging over the sliding glass door, but I never saw it move again. My mind was playing tricks on me in the heat. And there was no such thing as ghosts.
When we were finally finished, he dug in his pocket for the money and fished it out, holding it up to me. I went to reach for it, but he stopped me. “I get a hug first,” he said.
The Things We Wish Were True Page 19