Things You Won't Say

by Sarah Pekkanen

  Lou poised her finger over the final 1 for the emergency number. “Still want me to call the police?” she asked. The man was twenty yards away by now.

  Jamie shook her head. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. Jamie knelt down and put her arms around her children, drawing them in close, while Lou kept her eyes fixed on that blue baseball cap.

  They walked toward the exit. Lou couldn’t see the guy any longer, but she checked behind them every few seconds. “You’re safe,” Jamie told the kids as they passed through the doors and made it to the minivan.

  “Was he talking about Daddy?” Sam asked as Jamie unlocked the vehicle.

  “Yes,” Jamie said. She knelt down to be at eye level with Sam again. “But he was a crazy person. He doesn’t know Daddy and he was wrong. That’s why he ran away before the police got here.”

  Sam nodded and sniffled a few times. Jamie patted him on the back, then opened the sliding side door and helped Sam into the vehicle. Lou got Emily and Eloise settled, then shut the door and climbed into the front.

  “How did he recognize you?” Lou asked after Jamie started up the engine. Uneasy energy still radiated from her sister, but Jamie’s voice was calmer.

  Jamie shrugged. “Some of the news stations aired footage of Mike and me leaving the station after he gave his statement. There’ve been photos in the paper, too.”

  “Do you want to go home?” Lou asked.

  “No way,” Jamie said firmly. “We’re going to the pool. He is not going to ruin my children’s morning. I’ll grab a bathing suit out of the lost and found bin for Emily.”

  “I’m hungry,” Sam said.

  “How about I buy everyone lunch?” Lou offered.

  “Yay!” Sam said. “Can we get Chipotle?”

  Lou stole a look at Jamie. The tightness in her sister’s face was easing now. “Actually, that sounds kind of good to me, too,” she said.

  “Chipotle it is,” Lou said. “Then the pool. We can get ice cream there, too—my treat.”

  She didn’t think Jamie would mind junk food just this once, especially because at the mention of it, all three kids cheered.

  “So you don’t have to work today?” Jamie asked.

  “Actually, I quit my barista job,” Lou said. She cleared her throat. “And I thought I could take a leave of absence from the zoo. I’ll have to go back when Tabby gives birth, but other than that, I’ll just stop in and visit the elephants.”

  Jamie pulled up to a red light. She turned to look at Lou.

  “You quit?” she asked.

  Lou couldn’t tell from the expression on her sister’s face if the news made her happy or not.

  “I just thought . . . that way, I can be around whenever you need me,” Lou explained.

  Jamie still didn’t say anything, so Lou added quickly, “And if you don’t, I’ll stay in my room or go out for a walk or something to give you privacy—”

  She stopped talking when Jamie reached over to give her a brief, hard, one-armed hug.

  “Lou, I don’t know what I would do without you right now,” Jamie said.

  The best part was, Lou could tell her sister really meant it.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  CHRISTIE AWOKE TO BRIGHT sunlight streaming through her window. She’d forgotten to draw the blinds last night. She buried her face under a pillow, but it was too late. She was awake for good.

  She stumbled out of bed and padded into her kitchen to make coffee. Maybe, she thought, she’d start leaving her blinds up deliberately. Her mother usually slept away half the day, and one thing was for sure: Christie was not going to turn into that woman. No way would she end up in a crappy low-rise apartment with water stains on the ceiling and game shows blaring in a continual loop on the television. She had a plan.

  Christie poured herself a steaming mug of coffee, added Sweet ’n Low instead of the sugar and cream she really wanted, and leaned against the spot on the counter where Mike had so recently been. She’d made a decision after he left. She was going to keep working with Elroy, after all, but she’d never again let anyone double lock the door to the hotel room. She’d take as many jobs as possible and pay off her credit card debt fast, then she’d start saving for the down payment on a house. Maybe she’d even go back to beauty school, all these years later, and become the manager of a salon, like she’d pretended to be to Simon. And forget shimmying into dresses she bought at Forever 21. From now on, she was going to start purchasing quality pieces, skirts and tops and dresses from Nordstrom. Clothes that fit the woman she was becoming—or hoped to become, anyway.

  But first, the car.

  Christie took a sip of strong coffee, relishing the memory of how confident she’d felt inside the sleek vehicle. A Mercedes would help erase the feeling of Jim’s insistent, scrabbling fingers on her thighs, and the memory of the looks Simon’s family had given her at the restaurant.

  She was nervous about the price tag, but she’d already called up a calculator on the Internet and figured out that, with interest, she’d owe $620 per monthly payment. That was less than three jobs with Elroy. It didn’t seem so bad when you broke it down that way.

  She showered, got dressed, and drove to the dealership, arriving a few minutes after it opened. The same salesman saw her coming and met her at the door, holding it open and ushering her inside. “She’s been waiting for you,” he said, grinning.

  Christie tried to make her eyes dull, to avoid letting him see how the car affected her, but she knew it was a lost cause. She ended up paying more than she wanted, but an hour later, she was driving off the lot in the cherry-red Mercedes.

  She could have stayed in it all day, she thought as she idled at a stoplight, itching to press the gas again and feel the engine surge. She wanted to roar along the highway, the radio blasting and the wind streaming through her hair. She yearned to drive to the beach and feel the salty air against her cheeks. She heard the toot of a horn and looked over to see a silver-haired man in a BMW checking her out. Christie winked at him, then stepped on the gas pedal and left him behind.

  She was born for this car.

  She wasn’t ready to go home, so she drove to Nordstrom. She parked carefully, in an out-of-the-way location so the Mercedes wouldn’t get dinged. She walked purposefully into the store and began looking at dresses. The first few price tags made her blanch, but after a few moments, she began to notice how soft the fabrics felt between her fingers, and how smooth the seams were in comparison to those of the cheap items she usually bought. She selected a few things to try on: an emerald-colored sheath, a crimson sundress, a maxidress in bright blue.

  “Can I start a room for you?” Christie looked up to see a bright-eyed young saleswoman stretching out her arm. Christie obligingly handed over the clothes. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” the saleswoman asked. “These bold colors will be nice on you, but have you ever thought about trying something in a neutral?”

  “Like . . . beige?” Christie asked, her nose crinkling.

  “I was thinking cream,” the saleswoman said. Christie refrained from asking what the difference was.

  “How about this?” the salesgirl asked, pulling a dress from a rack. “I think the cut will suit you. Size eight, right?”

  Maybe eight on a good day, and she hadn’t had one of those in a while, but Christie nodded.

  “You’ve got such striking eyes, and hair,” the salesgirl said. She was young, maybe twenty or so, with close-cropped hair and flawless skin. “Your clothes shouldn’t compete with your best features. They should enhance them. With this dress, people will be looking at you—not your outfit.”

  “Thanks,” Christie said. She looked down at her pink tank top and matching skirt. She wasn’t sure if she’d just been delivered a compliment or a backhanded insult (did the s
alesgirl think she was too flashy?), but the advice seemed spot-on. And when she went into the changing room and put on the dress, which was tight but not so tight she couldn’t zip it up, she realized the silk lining made the fabric skim her curves instead of bunching up around the middle. The hem fell to just above her knee, showing less of her leg than she was used to. She’d always dismissed clothes that hit so close to the knee as being frumpy. But as she twisted and turned in front of the mirror, she noticed that because the skirt was so fitted, it hinted at the shape of her thighs. It was sexy without being overtly so. And the salesgirl was right; the color set off not just her eyes, but her skin tone.

  She looked at the price tag and blinked: $360. It was more than Christie had ever spent on an item of clothing in her entire life, including her prom dress and the wedding gown she’d worn for her brief marriage to the guy whose name she’d vowed never to utter again.

  “Doing all right in there?” the salesgirl chirped. “Need a smaller size?”

  She really was earning her commission.

  “Doing great,” Christie said. She tried on the dresses she’d selected, but they looked too loud next to the beige—no, the cream—one. She put the dress on a hanger and walked out.

  “Do you need shoes to go with it?” the salesgirl asked.

  “What would you suggest?” Christie asked.

  The salesgirl held up the dress and narrowed her eyes. “Something in bone,” she said. “It’ll make your legs look long­er. Nothing too structured; I’d go with a simple sandal.”

  Within an hour, Christie had not only new shoes but a hammered-gold cuff bracelet. She popped into a few other stores, making an impulsive purchase at a Hallmark card shop and picking up a smoothie for lunch, then she returned to her car and checked her iPhone, which showed two missed calls. Both were from Elroy.

  She pressed the Return Call button and waited to hear his gentle voice. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Christie said. “I’m fine.”

  “Look, I don’t want you to quit, but if you need to take off a little time—” he began, but she cut him off. What she needed was to start making money before her first car payment arrived.

  “I want a can of Mace,” she said. “Can you get me one?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I should’ve thought of that sooner.”

  “I’m ready to start again,” she said. “But first I have a favor to ask.”

  She told him about Mike and the shooting—he’d heard about it already, but hadn’t known of her relationship to Mike—and Elroy promised to help. “Whatever I can do,” he said.

  “Really?” Christie asked, a little suspicious. Most guys didn’t want to spend effort on you unless they were getting something in return.

  “Sure,” Elroy said. “You know I used to be a cop, right?”

  Christie hadn’t, actually.

  “I’ve still got a few contacts in the department. Let me see what’s going on and I’ll call you back.”

  After she hung up, Christie checked the dashboard clock. Even the numbers proclaiming it was a few minutes after noon looked elegant. She glanced down at the small Hallmark bag on the passenger’s seat and decided to head to Mike and Jamie’s house, so she could give it to them in person. It wasn’t much—just a hang-in-there card, but along with it she’d be delivering the news that Elroy was going to help Mike’s case. Henry was supposed to come over tonight, so maybe she’d save them a trip by picking him up early, if he was home. She couldn’t wait to see his face when he glimpsed the Mercedes. He’d be so proud of her.

  She put the Mercedes in drive and set up the GPS, even though she knew the way, because she’d never had a GPS before. She preset the radio buttons to her favorite stations, too. She made it to Mike and Jamie’s in record time—or maybe it just felt that way because the ride was so pleasant. She pulled up to the curb and listened to the end of John Legend’s “All of Me.”

  She wondered how many times she’d waited in front of this house for Henry to come to her. Thousands, probably. When he’d been a baby, picking him up or dropping him off had also required handing off his diaper bag and ratty stuffed dog and stroller, which was a hassle. Then he’d gone through a phase as a toddler in which he hadn’t wanted to leave Mike, which wasn’t fun for anyone. Luckily it was short-lived. In a few years, she wouldn’t have to pick him up at all. He’d just drive over to her place himself.

  As the final, sweet notes of the song faded, Christie saw phantom Henrys running toward her—a little tyke in overalls with sticky hands; a self-conscious nine-year-old with a baseball glove; a tall, lanky teenager who was just a few years from running away from them for good. She shook her head, wondering how the time had evaporated as quickly as wet footprints on the hot pavement.

  She picked up the car keys, opened the door, walked to the house, and rang the bell. One of Mike’s kids flung it open and ran away without a word.

  “Hello?” Christie called.

  “Christie?” Jamie came from the direction of the living room, a frown on her face. “Weren’t we supposed to drop off Henry tonight?”

  “Yeah, but I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by and save you the trouble,” Christie said. “Hey, you got the AC fixed!”

  “What? Oh, yeah,” Jamie said. Had she gotten thinner all of a sudden?

  “Is Mike here?” Christie asked. She reached into her purse for the card in the bright yellow envelope.

  Jamie started to answer, then she caught sight of the Mercedes.

  Christie smiled broadly and stepped aside so Jamie could get a better look. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s yours?” Jamie asked.

  Christie nodded. “Come see,” she urged. She tucked the card back into her purse and led the way down the walk.

  Jamie followed her without shutting the front door, and the dog escaped and raced down the street.

  “Is she going to run away?” Christie asked, but Jamie didn’t answer.

  “It has leather seats,” Christie said. “And a sunroof! Here.” Christie opened the door and pulled the Nordstrom bag off the passenger’s seat. “You can get in if you want.”

  Jamie turned to look at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Christie blinked. “What?”

  “Mike was just indicted and you bought a Mercedes? He might go to jail and we’ll lose everything. And I’m driving a nine-year-old minivan and sitting up at night trying to figure out how to pay the grocery bill and you buy a goddamn Mercedes with the child support money we give you?”

  “I didn’t—” Christie began, but Jamie cut her off. Her face was turning bright red and her voice kept getting louder.

  “You didn’t what? Think? Maybe you’re not that bright, Christie, but it shouldn’t be hard to figure out!” Jamie said. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met.”

  Jamie hated her. She’d tried to mask it for years, but now it was so clear. The way she was looking at Christie, her face twisting . . .

  Fury and hurt swelled inside of Christie. “Screw you!” she shouted. “You don’t think I deserve this car? I’m paying for it! I got a new job, a good one . . .”

  “Doing what? Another modeling job?” Scorn seeped into every word.

  “No!” Christie bellowed. “Why don’t you ask Mike? I told him about it when he came over the other night for pizza and beer.”

  That hit its mark. Apparently Mike hadn’t told his perfect little wife about their visit. Jamie staggered back a step. “What?” she said.

  “Oh, I guess he didn’t want you to know,” Christie said. “Oops!”

  Jamie looked like she wanted to hit her. She actually raised her hand, then she dropped it to her side. “Why don’t you go back to school, get a real job, and stop mooching off us. I’m sick of it,�
�� she said. Her voice dropped, but Christie still caught her last words. “I’m sick of you.”

  Christie got into her car and roared off, her body trembling. Not that bright. Mooch. Selfish. So that was what Jamie really thought of her, even though she pretended to pray for Christie.

  She made it one block away before the tears came.

  •••

  Mike had gone to Christie’s for beer and pizza?

  Jamie’s mind cast back over the previous days and nights, wondering when it had happened. The truth was, she and Mike were spending so little time together that she had no idea when he’d done it. What she’d give to have an easy, companionable night like that with her husband. But Christie was the one Mike had chosen to spend time with.

  Jamie thought about how she and Mike had wanted to transfer Sam to private school, because he was so bright and anxious, and Jamie knew boys like him sometimes had a tough time in public school. But they couldn’t afford it. She’d resented Christie for that. She felt the burn every time she saw Christie in a new outfit. She’d thought she’d pushed it down, but it had just been tamped more tightly into a small space, like explosive powder awaiting a spark.

  Jamie dropped her head into her hands. Maybe she’d been too hard on Christie just now—she’d seen pain flash across Christie’s face, and she wasn’t proud of causing it—but what was she thinking, driving up in that car so soon after Mike had been indicted?

  Christie’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Just this morning, Jamie had had to phone her father to ask if she could borrow money, since Mike was no longer drawing a salary. “I don’t know when we can pay you back,” Jamie had said, her voice catching. “It might be a while.”

  “Don’t even worry about that,” her father had said immediately, and two fat tears had squeezed out from her eyes. He’d probably take it out of his retirement account. “I’ll send a check today.”

  At least they’d be able to pay the mortgage—for now. The indictment meant Mike could be represented for free by a public defender, but Jamie wasn’t sure if it would be better to stick with J.H., who seemed to know what he was doing.