No Good Asking

by Fran Kimmel

  Daniel felt his cheeks burn, hoping Hannah wouldn’t come near. “So how come you haven’t answered my calls?”

  But Melissa had moved on, her eyes fixated on someone else in the crowd.

  Sammy walked up to him and Melissa stepped back, licking her glossed lips. “So. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Sammy stood beside his big brother, arms hardly twitching. Daniel looked down at the simplicity of that complicated face. He wished the world would warm up and let them run down the road without shoes. Let Sammy win the race.

  “Well, what’s his name?”

  He needed to get his brother away from her. People were filing across the room, toward the main door, his parents among them.

  “You ready to go, buddy?” he said to Sammy.

  Melissa bent down and got right in Sammy’s face. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  Sammy said, “What’s your name, sweetie,” copying her same dripping tone as he backed away from her, flapping his arms.

  Melissa squinted and stared. “He’s your brother, right? You don’t talk about him much.” Sammy examined the floor. A long drone escaped from the back of his throat. Melissa covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I get why.”

  Daniel stepped in front of Sammy to block her view. He was inches from her face. Her stale breath made him feel queasy, made him remember the taste of her tongue.

  “Careful, Melissa,” he said.

  She smiled but backed up a step. “I’m always careful.”

  Hannah came out of nowhere. “Your dad wants to know if you’re ready to go?”

  Melissa didn’t acknowledge Hannah, just turned her head and looked away. Hannah bit her lip and looked at Daniel. He tucked the tips of his fingers into the sides of his mouth, stretching it out like a clown’s sad face. Hannah laughed; Sammy too.

  Melissa snorted in disgust. “Real mature,” she said.

  Daniel smiled. “You snort like a pig.”

  “Like you’ve got anything to say. You’re grounded. Your mommy probably tucks you in at night.”

  He turned to Hannah then. “Yeah, we’re done here,”

  “So done,” Melissa hissed. “Been done for days. You’re just like your brother: too retarded to figure it out.”

  The trio turned to go, Sammy between them, hopscotch steps. After they crossed the room, Daniel looked back. Melissa made sure no one else was watching before she flipped him the bird and slunk away, through the side door and into the cold.

  —

  After church, Hannah found her clothes on her bed, folded in two tidy piles. They smelled like Ellie, bright and clean. Her yellowed blouse had a row of new buttons. And her purple sweater looked good as new, its gash stitched up, no more gaping hole in the wool. Ellie had told Hannah that she could use the top dresser drawer, so she filled it with her things, creating neat side-by-side stacks and being careful not to ruin Ellie’s creases.

  There were two more drawers. Drawer three held stacks of dusty crocheting magazines. The bottom drawer was sticky, so Hannah got down on her knees and pulled both handles as hard as she could, prying the heavy drawer forward a few croaking inches at a time.

  Inside, it looked like a baby clothes sandwich—dozens of little outfits wedged between towel folds. There were tiny booties and hats, little crocheted sweaters with teddy bear buttons, and flannel nighties with ribbon drawstrings. Each layer was pink. Some of the baby things at the bottom had scraps of paper pinned to their chests, all with the same handwritten name. The assortment felt pressed down, coated with an out-of-breath metallic smell, like it had been locked up for years.

  Ellie poked her head in the room right then and said, “Oh, I’ve never even opened that drawer. Do you need more space for your clothes?”

  Hannah was embarrassed to be caught ransacking the pile. “Thank you for doing my washing. And folding. And for my buttons. And my sweater.”

  Ellie laughed. “That’s a lot of thank-yous. You’re so welcome.” She smiled big, leaning against the open door.

  “There are baby clothes in here,” Hannah said. “For a baby girl.”

  “Really?” Ellie walked toward her and peered into the drawer. “Oh my goodness.” Ellie squatted and picked up a bootie. “Myrtle crocheted this. She was Danny and Sammy’s grandma. Look at this detail. Wasn’t her crochet lovely?”

  “It’s so tiny. They are all so tiny.”

  “Newborn size.” Ellie got on her knees and ran her finger along the pink edges. “Myrtle certainly kept herself busy. These must have been for a raffle or farmers’ market. She must not have got to the giving away part.”

  Hannah didn’t think that was right. “Who’s Lily?” she asked.

  Ellie dropped the bootie and looked at her sharply. “Pardon me?”

  “Lily,” Hannah repeated. She dug under the hats and pulled out one of the name-pin sweaters, handing it to Ellie. She was about to search for the other Lilys, but Ellie held the sweater in the palms of both hands, staring down, unblinking, unmoving, her mouth open a bit. It was as if she saw a baby, hidden in the sweater folds.

  Hannah held her breath, frozen beside Ellie. She felt foolish doing nothing, like she’d forgotten her line at the school play and needed someone to tell her what to say. But she didn’t dare speak, or move, not with Ellie so still beside her. She wanted to know about Lily, if something bad had happened. The longer they sat, the more parts of her hurt—her swollen cheek and bruised back waking up, roaring, like bears from a cave.

  “Oh,” Ellie said, not so much a word as escaping air. She’d snapped out of her daze, dropping the sweater back in the drawer.

  Hannah breathed again, lifting her palm to her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie said, sighing and shaking her head. “You must think I’m mad.”

  Hannah wished she’d never opened the drawer. “I shouldn’t have snooped,” she said.

  “No. No. Don’t be silly.” Ellie’s fingers clutched the edge of the drawer. “It’s just that this is a surprise. I expected more junk, not this.”

  “Everything’s so soft.” Hannah wished she’d kept quiet. It was a stupid thing to say.

  “Myrtle made her these things. She kept them all this time. Myrtle and I, we never talked about her. We didn’t talk about much, to be honest.”

  Hannah stared down at Lily’s little sweater, her own shabby clothes in a drawer above. “What will you do with them?”

  Ellie studied the drawer, sighing. “I suppose we’ll have to find them another home. But not today. Let’s just leave them here for now.”

  Together they pushed against the wood, baby things disappearing from view as the drawer thudded in place.

  Ellie stood and dusted off her jeans. “Beef stroganoff for dinner. How does that sound?”

  “Good.”

  Ellie turned and left in a hurry, Hannah wanting to run after her, to tell her that Lily would have looked pretty.

  —

  Ellie reached into the Lazy Susan and pulled out the strainer pot. She filled it with cold water and set it on the stove.

  All those baby things tucked away in a drawer. It was a layette fit for a princess. Myrtle had never once offered condolences, not one comforting word. How had she even known Lily’s name? Ellie must have told her in those first exciting weeks. We’re naming her Lily, Myrtle, for the flower, she might have said, cockily describing her yoga classes and 10K walks. This baby’s been nothing like Danny. I’m bursting with energy.

  Eric had been the one to tell his mother it was over. Ellie lost the baby, she’d heard him whisper into the phone, as if she’d forgotten her daughter on a park bench. As far as Ellie had known, Myrtle hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep, never gave Lily a second thought.

  Ellie stirred the onion and beef chunks browning in the frying pan, her back to the children, who were camped out on the
floor in the living room, Lego scattered everywhere.

  What about Beatrice? Surely, she hadn’t mentioned Beatrice to Myrtle? Eric had insisted she go to the hospital. She promised him she would. But then he insisted on driving her too, jabbering the whole way about how lucky they were to have Danny and each other. He sped through the streets as if a baby was coming. As if speed could make a difference.

  She kept the other pregnancies to herself. She couldn’t bear to speak of them, not even to Eric. She got herself to the hospital each time, signed consent forms, and answered doctors’ questions with few words and quick nods. She named each without seeing them—Maggie, Catherine, Elizabeth. Five dead baby girls before Sammy came along.

  She looked across the room to where he sat on his knees, there on the floor next to Hannah. Their tower was impressive, over four feet tall. She’d made so many mistakes with her son, focusing on all the parts she wanted to be different, yet there he was, showing his new friend how to build things up, how to reinforce the base so none of it would topple over. It would take another ten minutes for the noodles to cook. She’d use the fancy tablecloth and bring down the good china. Sunday best. Myrtle would have liked that.

  Part Four

  Not Quite Real

  Monday, December 23

  Ten

  Ellie could not explain what had gummed deep in her chest like half-mixed cake batter. Ever since the girl had shown up, she’d been walking around in a haze of contradictions. The girl would leave the room, and she’d think, Good, I’ll get some peace. But then she needed her to come right back into view, where she could hear and see her. She had developed a dangerous fondness for Hannah, and fondness was just a stone’s throw from feelings that would be hard to let go of. She could not afford to care for this girl.

  What she did know for sure was that Christmas morning would not wait. It was less than forty-eight hours away, and there wasn’t one package with the girl’s name on it. If she didn’t do something, her family would soon be tearing through their wrapped gifts, Hannah in the corner watching. It would be like leaving a dog on the wrong side of a glass door.

  With Eric called over to Gerry’s to boost his dead truck, Ellie would have to drive herself into Neesley to buy Hannah a few things. The roads would likely be awful, but mothers, even damaged ones, have few choices in these matters. Danny was grounded anyway—he could watch over the others; she might even pitch in a few dollars for his time and trouble.

  She shooed Hannah out of the kitchen and cleaned up the lunch mess, then waited until the house was quiet: Walter napping in his room, shoes off, drapes shut; Sammy absorbed under the kitchen table with his farm set and a cake pan of water for the pigs and cows to tromp through; Danny lifting weights in the basement.

  She was about to slip through the door to scrape off the van when Daniel came up the stairs and asked if he could come too. He sounded earnest and full of purpose, something about needing to get to Dave’s Pharmacy.

  When was the last time he wanted to go anywhere with her?

  Hannah stood right beside him, bolstering his pitch, insisting she didn’t mind staying put one bit. Yes, she would let out the dog if he circled. Yes, she would remind Walter to use his cane. Yes, she knew how to turn on the Cars movie if Sammy gave up farming. And she had her first-aid training too, don’t forget. This girl could stir up a twelve-course meal with one hand and build a swing set with the other, the way she carried on. A pint-sized Myrtle.

  So Ellie waltzed out the door, Danny beside her. What was the worst that could happen?

  But that was over an hour ago.

  “She’s still not answering,” Ellie said, more urgently now. They were parked badly in front of Peavey Mart, their front tire jutting well into the handicapped space. They’d been in and out of the shabby store already; they’d cruised every aisle. There were snow pants and hard hats and saddles on hay bale displays, but the shelves had been picked clean of knick-knacks and girlie stuff. All of Neesley had been here before her, ransacking the place.

  “Danny, we need to go back. She’s not picking up.”

  “You didn’t buy her anything yet.” He fiddled with the heat controls and then wiped the inside of his window to get rid of the fog.

  “I’ve tried five times.” Ellie tucked her scarf into her coat. Winter had sucked all the warmth from the van. “It just rings and rings.”

  “It’s not her phone. When I go to Max’s house, I don’t answer their phone either.”

  Ellie ran through her list of instructions. She hadn’t told Hannah, When the phone rings, answer it. Surely she hadn’t needed to spell out such things. Ellie dropped her cell into her purse and jammed the stick shift into reverse. The house was on fire. Walter’s fallen and can’t get up. Sammy’s cut into his own apple and sliced through an artery. She tried to chase these thoughts away, but they skittered back in like spiders. She needed to get home.

  “Dave’s next,” Danny announced. He’d found the Sunny 68 station and cranked the music to high, some old rock song Ellie vaguely recognized.

  She managed to get the front end pointed toward the parking lot exit and jammed her foot on the gas. The van jumped and then sputtered to a halt. She held her breath and pumped the pedal. Nothing. She was dangerously hot under her jacket, about to spontaneously combust. Something was wrong with her, with the van. Why wouldn’t they move?

  He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, saying words she couldn’t hear above the racket coming through the speakers. She punched the radio button and the van went quiet, nothing in the space but her banging heart.

  “Mom, you got to put it in park again. Before it will start up.”

  Yes, of course. That’s all she needed to do, but she felt incapable of even that. She yanked off her seat belt and fell out her door in one fell swoop.

  “You’re driving,” she yelled, waving to the lineup of farmers’ trucks now behind them. By the time she’d tramped around the van’s sludge and into Danny’s seat, he’d scooted over and had the engine purring again.

  She felt slightly calmer, although she questioned her decision to let him drive, but her son was easing them forward, braking right at the stop sign, signalling like he was supposed to, getting them out of there. He kept both hands on the steering wheel, checking his rear-view mirror every fifteen seconds. “Mom, they’re fine. Hannah’s smart. Nothing’s going to happen,” he said, as if she needed a fourteen-year-old’s reassurances.

  She dug her phone from her purse and tried calling again, the empty ring a hollow sound too loud in her ear. What if Nigel Wilson had come to the house? Eric said he’d made bail yesterday; even monsters got bail. Maybe he had a shotgun and had blown through the door.

  Danny rounded the corner and was taking them up Main Street. “Dave’s first, then the Style Loft, right?”

  She kept her eyes on the phone. “We’re skipping the Style Loft.” Why hadn’t she given Hannah her cell number? What kind of a mother doesn’t know to do that much? “The Loft sells junk. They get everything from China.”

  “But you said . . . I thought you wanted to buy Hannah a new sweater.”

  “This was a bad idea.”

  Dave’s Pharmacy was straight ahead, a flat red-brick building, one of the street’s originals. Danny pulled smoothly into the last spot out front. “They’re fine, Mom. I’m going in.”

  She whipped her head up, but he’d already turned off the engine, removed the keys with the rabbit’s foot, and was dangling it in front of her.

  She grabbed the furry foot in her fist, thinking she’d leave him there and let Dr. Dave drive him home. She knew she was being ridiculous.

  “What’s with Dave’s? What is it you need so badly here?”

  He looked at her, his cheeks splotching like ripened apples. “It’s just something . . . I mean, do you think . . .” but then he closed his mouth and opened his door ins
tead.

  “What?” Ellie barked.

  “Nothing,” he said sullenly, stepping out onto the road. “I just gotta return something.” He kicked hard at the icicles stuck along the undercarriage.

  “You’ve got five min—” but he slammed the door.

  She waited, put the key back into the ignition, fiddled with the radio for breaking news reports and checked her phone settings, the volume of her ring tone, signs of missed messages. They would only have Hannah for five days, not even a full week. It should not be this hard. But what on earth had she been thinking? She’d gone from keeping a watchful eye to giving the girl free reign. Ellie knew nothing about how life with that horrible man had affected Hannah, what persistent aftershocks there might be. She had no right to have entrusted her with a small boy.

  And Betty Holt had no right to entrust Ellie with this girl!

  Betty had called often the past few days, telling Eric to put her on the phone each time. She’d called just that morning, filling Ellie with more cheery words about her spot-on mothering instincts. It was as if Betty saw her as someone else. Someone capable. As if she’d somehow erased Ellie’s “lie downs” during her jovial visits to Myrtle’s house in Christmases past. You just keep doing what you’re doing, Ellie. She’s in your good hands.

  She needed to call Eric and tell him to get home quickly. But she could hear his steady police voice in her head—explain that to me again, El—the sound of it worse than her other imagined scenarios. She could not bear to give him another reason to disguise his worry over his unhinged, hysterical wife.

  She got herself out of the van and marched into Dave’s. There were happy shoppers scattered about, Myrtle types in knitted scarves, a few she’d seen wandering the aisles at Peavey Mart just moments before. She caught a glimpse of Danny at the back of the store, the bulky down of his jacket, his hair spiked every which way after taking off his toque. He was sidled up to the counter under the pharmacy sign, Dave Sonnenberg on the other side, the two of them shooting the breeze like there was no place else they should be.