Jessie shook her head and her face dissolved. “Bobby’s being real mean.”
An understatement, it seemed. Bobby had become increasingly abusive, physically and emotionally, and Jessie was concerned for her own safety as well as the baby’s. Beth had suggested a battered women’s shelter, but Jessie seemed unconvinced and, Edie thought, scared to death.
Boxes of pamphlets on child rearing and breast-feeding were stacked on the only available chair. Edie removed them and sat down. At her feet were more boxes: formula, disposable diapers. From the room outside the cubicle, she heard a baby wail.
Beth leaned close to Jessie, her face concerned, voice soft.
“It would be the safest thing for you and Roger. You need to get away from Bobby…his home. At the shelter, you’ll be safe from him. They can help you find a job and housing and get you back on your feet.”
Edie watched Jessie. The bracelet she wore had a heart-shaped charm that glinted in the sunlight from the window. She seemed to be watching the play of light and for a few moments, she said nothing. Then a tear splashed on her lap.
“I loved Bobby.” She looked from Beth to Edie. “I tried so hard to make it work.”
Edie felt her throat close. She pulled a tissue from her purse, handed it to Jessie, then pulled out another one for herself. Beth was up on her feet now, hugging Jessie and patting her back.
“You’re doing the right thing, Jessie.” Beth’s voice was low and soothing. “I’ve been worried about you. You’ve walked into a few too many doors lately.”
“He can be so sweet,” Jessie said. “When he’s not being mean.”
“Sweetness doesn’t excuse him for hitting you,” Beth said. “You and Roger both need to be in a safe place. Even if Bobby never touched Roger, it isn’t good for a child to grow up seeing his mother pushed around.”
“But he’ll be growing up without a father,” Jessie said.
“That’s better than seeing his mother beat up.” Beth had moved to the file cabinet and was taking out papers and handing them to Jessie. After Beth finished, Jessie gave Edie a quick hug, thanked her for everything and walked out of the office.
Edie swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. “She’s not convinced, is she?”
“I can’t tell,” Beth said. “I hope so, but she’s still emotionally connected to her boyfriend. It’s often hard to make the break.”
“What happens if she does decide to go to the shelter?”
“Someone will pick her up—probably at a coffee shop, somewhere where kids aren’t likely to see Jessie and tell Bobby. She’ll be driven out to the center, they’ll give her seventy-two hours to get settled and then she’ll enroll in a nearby high school.”
Edie nodded, absorbing the information. “Where is the center? Maybe I could go and see her, take her some things. She probably won’t get many visitors.”
“She won’t get any visitors. That’s the whole point,” Beth said. “She’s there for her own protection. If anyone knew where she was, it would defeat the whole system. This way, the boyfriend can’t get to her.”
“God, it seems so…lonely.” She thought of Jessie sitting across from her as they had eaten lunch “It’s so sad. Why the hell can’t her mother care enough to see that her daughter needs help?”
Beth smiled sadly. “Oh Edie, who knows? Any number of reasons. Maybe Jessie’s mother never received much in the way of mothering herself. Some of these kids have stories that would break your heart.”
Jessie was still on Edie’s mind a few hours later when she walked into her mother’s house and found Peter out in the backyard with Maude. She froze, rooted to the spot. Maude had been diapering a baby when Edie left the teen mother center. Beth would drive her home, she’d said. Peter hadn’t attended the journalism group—a relief but, she had to admit, a disappointment, too.
Now he and Maude were both bent over, inspecting something on a bush Edie couldn’t name if her life depended on it. Whatever it was, they were so engrossed that neither of them heard her approach. It was early evening, not quite dark, and the air felt warm and smelled sweet. Edie glanced around and saw that the source of the perfume was a red rosebush a few feet away, covered in bloom. Down at the end of the brick pathway that bisected what used to be the lawn, Peter was showing Maude something on the palm of his hand. Maude was smiling up at him, rakish in a wide-straw brimmed hat and a green cotton dress.
Peter looked good—so good that Edie found herself reviewing her conversation with Fred’s wife. She recalled the bit about those who were lucky to be in love with what they did and how they couldn’t do it without cheating on someone else. A cool and detached smile pasted across her face, she strolled up to where Peter stood. He nodded cordially—quite cool and detached himself, she noted—and held out his open palm to show her a small butterfly.
“Pieris rapae,” he said. “Or cabbage white.”
Edie eyed the butterfly in Peter’s hand. White with two black spots on the tip of its wings. Pretty, but what butterfly wasn’t pretty? Peter had long, slender fingers. The blue cuff of his oxford-cloth shirt had frayed. A wife would have noticed—well, a good, stay-at-home, devoted wife. Her own damn heart was fluttering like the butterfly’s wings. When she looked up at Peter, his eyes were an incredible gray green. Had she noticed their color before?
“Rare?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“Pierre whatever his name is. Is he rare?”
“Pieris and it’s a she.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“The male has one black spot.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He smiled. “Hello, Edie.”
“Hi, Peter.” And please stop smiling at me like that or I might send Maude into cardiac arrest by throwing myself on your body. “What are you doing here?”
“Peter stopped by the teen mother center and I invited him to dinner,” Maude toddled over to announce. “I’m making stuffed bell peppers. And look.” She motioned for Edie to follow her over to a small section of newly turned dirt. “We put in zinnias and dahlias. Peter got the bulbs for me.”
“That was very kind of you,” Edie said. “But shouldn’t you be at home with your daughters?”
“My sister had other ideas,” he said enigmatically.
“So.” She folded her arms across her chest and glanced around at the weed-strewn garden. “A little run and relaxing yard work, huh?”
“When I dropped by the center,” he said, “Maude mentioned that she’s been concerned lately about the state of her backyard. Since I rather like doing a bit of gardening myself, I offered to come by and have a look at it…”
“Peter…” Maude called out to him from the toolshed. “Come and help me get this bike out of here. Edie can clean it up. Used to be hers when she was about your oldest daughter’s age.”
“I’m bringing the girls over tomorrow afternoon,” Peter said in response to Edie’s questioning look. “With all of us working, we’ll have the garden cleared out in no time.”
She looked at him, searching his face for a hidden motive, and found nothing but an impersonal friendliness. He was out-detaching her. She felt a little disconcerted—by Peter’s presence, mostly, but also by Maude’s sudden involvement with his daughters. What was that all about?
“The grandparents on both sides are dead,” Peter said as though he’d read her thoughts. “Natalie just happened to mention the other day that she wished she still had a grandma.” He smiled. “I think she’d been watching a show on TV, one of those sentimental, idealized things that have no relation to reality…but Natalie’s a child.”
Maude had started up the path to the kitchen steps and Edie watched her retreating back. “So it was your idea?”
“To bring them here? No, it was your mother’s. She said she misses having small children around. Now that her grandsons are in their teens, she apparently doesn’t see them all that often. That led into her asking me about the girls.�
�� He stooped to pick up a trowel, stuck the blade down into the dirt. “Anyway, I’d like to get some of this overgrowth cleared away before dinner.”
And then he turned and began hacking away at a clump of weeds. I’ve been dismissed. Her face hot, Edie walked up the path to the kitchen. Maude was on the phone, apparently with Viv.
“Well, I’ve been waiting for the boys to clear it,” Maude was saying. “Three months I’ve been waiting, but they don’t need to bother now because Peter’s doing it. His little girls are coming over tomorrow…what? His little girls. I got that old bike of Edith’s…what? No, she’s right here.”
Edie had started clearing the clutter of onion skins and spilled rice left from Maude’s dinner preparation, her mind still working on Peter. She did not want to get into a discussion with Viv, but before she could escape, Maude had handed her the phone.
“No idea,” she said, already anticipating the question. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“I find that kind of hard to believe,” Viv said.
“Damn. You’re so smart, Viv. You saw right through me. You know how I love small children. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than spend an evening with four giggling girls eating Mom’s stuffed green peppers.”
“Why is Mom making green peppers? She knows they give her heartburn. Didn’t you remind her?”
“I told you, Viv, I had nothing to do with it. Maybe she thinks Peter likes them.”
“Peter. God, I am so sick of hearing his name.”
Edie swiped a dishcloth across the counter. “Is that it, then?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean, Viv.”
“Obviously, the real reason he’s there is because of you.”
“Maybe. Want me to go and ask him?”
“Very funny. You just think you’re so damn clever, don’t you? What exactly is going on with you and Peter, anyway?”
“Nothing, actually.”
“That’s not what Mom says.”
“Well, then, don’t ask me,” Edie snapped.
“He’s got four children, Edie.”
“Thank you, Viv. I hadn’t realized it, but now that you’ve told me, I guess I’ll have to return the engagement ring he gave me. Wow, what a relief. Saved just in the nick of time. No way I could marry a man with four children.”
Edie heard the simultaneous sounds of the phone being slammed down and the screen door behind her slamming. When she turned around, Peter was standing in the doorway. How much of the conversation he’d overheard, she had no idea. His face gave away nothing.
“So,” she said brightly. “Ready for some of Mom’s famous green peppers?”
IF THERE WAS ONE FOOD he absolutely loathed, Peter mused, it was stuffed peppers. They were always flaccid, sickly green and filled with something unidentifiable. He detested everything about them—smell, texture and taste. Edie had placed three huge peppers on his plate; he’d managed to get through one and was contemplating various disposal scenarios for the other two. Yelling “fire” was a possibility. Pity Maude kept cats rather than dogs, who at least could be relied upon to quickly dispatch anything surreptitiously slipped beneath the table. A cat would eye the pepper, which was roughly the size of a cat’s head, sniff disdainfully and walk away. Cats had good sense. To make matters worse, he wasn’t at all hungry.
“Another pepper, Peter?” Edie asked.
“No thank you, this is more than enough,” he said truthfully. In retrospect, accepting Maude’s invitation to dinner hadn’t been a good idea. Although he was quite fond of her and willing to give her a hand in the garden, his real motivation for being there sat across the table from him. He knew it and he felt certain that Edie knew it too. “You’re not eating much,” Maude observed with a glance at the two untouched peppers.
“Savoring them,” he said. “They’re very tasty though. Delicious.”
Maude smiled back at him, but vaguely, as though she hadn’t understood. “I’ll make fish next time you come,” she said.
“Lovely.” Peter worked at his peppers. Tension hovered like a fourth presence in the room. He glanced up and caught Edie’s eye for a moment before she looked away. The twins had a story they liked him to read about a large bird that flew around with an even larger basket in its beak. It would swoop down and whisk children off to various adventures. Right now, he wished the bird would come and whisk him out of this kitchen.
“So, Peter,” Edie said in a conversational tone. “You never did tell me about Ethiopia.”
He gave her a blank look. His brain felt mired in muck.
“I don’t use broth,” Maude said. “Makes the peppers fall apart. My sister used to use chicken broth, never did like her stuffed peppers.”
“You said you were in Ethiopia,” Edie prompted.
“Yes, right.” He marshaled his thoughts, which were running along the lines of trying to determine exactly what it was about Edie that drew him. Perhaps if he could break down her appeal, he could resist it. “The Peace Corps. Addis Ababa. My wife and I spent two years there.”
“Teaching?”
He nodded. They’d lived in a hillside house with blue wooden shutters and doors. At night they’d graded papers by the light of a lantern. A shepherd lived in the house next door. At night, they could hear the thin notes of his bamboo flute.
“Your wife was a teacher, too?”
“A very good teacher.”
“My daughter Vivian was going to be a teacher,” Maude told him. “Went to college for three years. But she married Ray and decided she wanted to stay home and raise her boys. Ray’s a good man. Used to be Edith’s boyfriend. Did you know that, Peter?”
“Mom.” Edie shot Maude a warning look.
“What?” Maude stared right back at her daughter. “It’s no secret. She wore Ray’s ring on a chain around her neck,” she told Peter. “First boy that ever looked at you, wasn’t he?”
Edie threw her fork down. “For God’s sake, Mom. Why are you dragging this stuff up? I’m sure Peter doesn’t give a damn and I certainly don’t. I was fourteen.”
“You don’t need to shout, Edith. I can hear without you shouting. She’s always shouting at me,” Maude addressed Peter. “Vivian never shouts like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with Edith, never had any patience.”
“In case you haven’t picked it up,” Edie said, “Vivian’s perfect. I’m not.”
“Eat your dinner,” Maude said. “You too, Peter. Vivian tried hard at school. But she had asthma, so she was sick a lot.”
“Health problems slowed her progress,” Edie said sotto voce.
“Health problems slowed her progress,” Maude said. “That’s what it always said on her report cards. Remember that, Edith?”
“It’s etched on my brain,” Edie said.
“Your girls fight all the time?” Maude asked Peter. “Edith and Vivian fought like cats and dogs, never did get along. Edith was a difficult child, though. She usually started it. I remember one time—”
“Okay, that’s it.” Edie jumped up from the table. “I’m sorry, I’ve had it. Good night, Peter. Enjoy your green peppers.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AN HOUR OR SO LATER she saw Peter caught in the glow of the streetlight, coming down the hill as she headed back up. Briefly, she considered turning around, running from whatever it was he had to say to her, from Maude and Viv and Little Hills and the whole damn serpentine tangle of family relationships. Instead, she shoved her hands in the pockets of the jean jacket she’d pulled on as she stormed out and kept walking toward him.
“If you’d rather be alone,” he said, “just say so.”
“No.” Shoulders hunched, she looked directly at him but couldn’t summon the detachment she’d felt earlier when they were out in the backyard. The anger was gone but she felt too drained to even try to appear cool. “Stay. I think I’ve run off enough steam that I’m pretty sure I won’t explode all over the place.�
��
“Good. Want to talk?”
“Ugghh.” She drew her hands to her face, exhaled into them. “I don’t know.” She dropped her hands, stuck them back in her pockets and looked up at him. “Can you help me understand how it is that I can go about my life feeling pretty good about myself, feeling like a decent, compassionate person…until the minute I get home?”
He considered. “I’ll try. Shall we keep walking?”
“I’ve walked enough. I need a beer. Maybe two. And peanuts in shells I can toss on the floor. And a dingy bar with high stools and a pool table.”
He laughed. “Sounds like the Rat’s Nest down by the docks.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know about the Rat’s Nest?”
“I have a dark side,” he said.
They said little to each other during the ten minute walk to the Rat’s Nest. Inside the dimly lit bar, Peter helped her off with her jacket, and they sat on a pair of stools over by a window. Neon signs reflected pools of color on the dark sidewalk outside. Peter ordered two beers and set one in front of Edie.
“So is this a haunt of yours?” he asked after they were sitting on high stools with their beers and a bowl of peanuts on the table between them.
“Long time ago.” She bit into a peanut, tossed the shell to the floor. “These days, nothing in Little Hills is a haunt. Thank God.”
“Does this happen every time you come home?” he asked.
“To one degree or another. I start off with all these good intentions—I won’t be sarcastic, I won’t let Viv needle me, I won’t yell at my mother…” She grinned. “Well, that one is unrealistic, but you know what I mean. I start off so well and it always ends up like this.”
Peter drank some beer. “And it’s all your fault, of course?”
She shrugged. “Maybe, deep down I think it is. It’s almost a family joke now that I killed my father, but as a kid I’d heard that damn story about how he only got hit by the bus because I wanted a bike… I’d heard it so many times, that I think on some level I really believed it.”
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