I tell him all this: He doesn’t take care of himself, he doesn’t take care of me, he doesn’t take care of the house, the yard’s a mess. He won’t pick up after himself, he doesn’t appreciate all I do around here, he puts too much into work and not enough into this marriage, he doesn’t know how hard I work. He paws at me constantly, wants my body, demands my body, as if he could dig into me, as if he could unearth me.
He waves me off. Tells me, “This Angry Black Woman act is getting old.”
PIG PLOP
On a damp sunny day in early March, the Muylder Mansion holds its annual fund-raiser in the park. Beth has fond memories of the park from when she was a teenager; of lying in the sun on the picnic table, of winter snowball fights with friends. It was where she and Steve had their first kiss, on a green spring day.
Spring has technically sprung—Punxsutawney Phil was pulled from his hole a month ago and failed to see his shadow—but the trees are still bare, showing only the earliest yellow buds. The first robins have been spotted, and sparrows hop around in the tree branches. The sun shines so weakly it may as well be cloudy. After hunkering from the cold for all of January and February, the people of River Bend are coming out of hibernation. They wander down to the park, which is a mess of muck, the last of the dirtied snow heaps still crushing in on themselves. Even so, children run around with no coats. Some of the adults have on short sleeves. Beth can see the temperature on the bank sign downtown. It’s fifty-two degrees.
In the driest patch of dead grass, the Hudson boys—men, really; Slick and Mikey—have fenced off a section with chicken wire, a grid spray-painted on the ground inside, bingo-style. Beth has never attended the annual Pig Plop. She can’t stand the smell of pigs, has always hated those damp days in the summer when the wind comes up just so, carrying the stench from the farms south of town.
When Beth left the house, Jeanette was hiding in her room. She would stay until her granddad’s nurse came at ten. Beth wishes she could have stayed behind instead. She didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, certainly not to watch her boss herd a pig. She’s here only for Dan, who stands at parade rest in his marching uniform, stonily rigid beneath the weight of his bass drum. He’s had a growth spurt when Beth wasn’t looking; just last fall, it seemed he would topple under the weight of his instrument. Today, he bears the drum’s weight easily.
If Beth has missed his growth spurt, the girls in school certainly haven’t. Kelli and Mandy Brody both eye Dan with the awkward, guilty lust of small-town teenaged girls. Deborah Brody notices, too. It’s concerning. That boy spends entirely too much time with her daughters.
Next to Deb, Steve stands far enough away to keep from touching her. In a way, they look like they fit together perfectly. Both wear worn men’s jeans and flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Steve’s hair is thin, with so much gray creeping in that it looks pale. Deb’s hair is limp and stringy, dyed too red, with three inches of gray roots showing. The longer Beth watches, the more she decides that Deb is every bit as distant as Steve said. Deb keeps her head angled away from her husband. There’s nobody talking to her, nothing to occupy her attention, but she very studiously keeps from looking at Steve.
As the Hudson boys arrive with the pig, Mandy Brody steps forward and cues up the band. They play a processional march befitting a king. Mikey drives up in his pickup truck, the pig trying hard to stay standing in the back. Over the heads in front of her, Beth can just see him. Beth remembers Mikey standing in Gilmer’s bedroom, his bare feet on the carpet mere inches from hers.
Seeing him again, she feels her stomach drop out of her. The crowd goes silent, and she feels the sky darken. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. When she opens them again, Mikey is still there, getting out of his truck. He still has the same dark eyes, the same thick eyebrows. And yet he’s smiling, laughing. For all she can see, he looks like a normal guy who has lived a normal life.
When Slick lets down the tailgate, he leans a wide board against it as the pig skitters toward the cab of the truck bed. Mikey hops in and chases the pig toward the makeshift ramp. The band plays on, equal amounts pep and missed key signatures. Beth tries to focus on Dan, that steady bom, bom, bom. The pig squeals and scrambles, wary of the ramp, but eventually Mikey drives it down and Slick shepherds it toward the grid. Mud flecks Slick’s tee shirt, his jeans, his bare forearms, but not his pale face, not his sail of strawberry-blond hair worked free of its copious gelling. Beth stays at the back of the crowd, where she can barely see the grid, but at least can’t smell that wretched animal.
Now that the pig has arrived, the betting begins. The idea of a Pig Plop is to wait and see which square the pig does its business on. When Mrs. Schwartz comes by with a bucket and tickets, Beth looks in her purse, but all she can find is a twenty-dollar bill. She needs it for groceries; the Muylder Museum will just have to do without.
“Mrs. Hansen,” Mrs. Schwartz says. “So good to see you.”
“Ms.,” Beth says. “DeWitt.”
“I’m sorry to say, your daughter is still behind in my class.”
“Perhaps the problem is not my daughter,” Beth says. “Perhaps you might reconsider your rubric.”
Mrs. Schwartz seems not to have heard Beth. “How are you? How is your father? We’re all praying he makes a full recovery.”
“Save your prayers. My father’s as good as gone.” She hopes this will get the woman to leave, but Mrs. Schwartz continues to hold her bucket out until Beth relents and opens her purse again.
“The Lord hears all prayers. It’s not for us to decide what’s important and what’s not.”
Across the grid, Beth watches Mikey approach Steve, who pulls out his wallet. When he opens it, Deb puts a hand on his arm, stands on tiptoe to whisper to him. Steve leans his ear toward his wife. He smiles, the briefest smile. Was this how Beth’s own husband was when they were married? Beth imagines he had another woman, too, one he would lie in bed with long before the divorce, telling her how miserable he was in his marriage.
“It seems the two of you have become close since your return,” Mrs. Schwartz says, her eyes following Beth’s. “I wonder what your mother would say, were she to find out.”
“Probably, she’d tell you to mind your own goddamn business,” Beth says. “But then, my mother always did have a mouth on her.” Beth has the pleasure of seeing a flush settle into Mrs. Schwartz’s cheeks.
“Your mother’s not the only one,” Mrs. Schwartz says.
“I read somewhere that Governor Muylder was a gambling man, that he racked up some serious debt in his day. The scandal broke about the time he was seeking reelection,” Beth says. “Ironic, don’t you think?” As she tries to set the twenty in the bucket, a breeze catches it, threatening to carry it away. She crumples it in and picks which squares she wants to bet on.
“Yes. Well. I look forward to teaching Jeanette again next year,” Mrs. Schwartz says, handing Beth four tickets for her bet. “Thank you for your donation.” And she continues on.
* * *
• • •
As Steve fusses with Deborah over how much money they can spare, Deborah catches sight of Beth. Even as she talks with Mrs. Schwartz, Beth watches Steve. Beth has no right to even be here; she left River Bend, bragged on social media about how she became a successful chef, how she worked at a fancy country club, how she married a man with money. She always looked down on this town.
Now she’s back, with her hands on Deborah’s husband. And that boy of hers has his eye on Deborah’s girls. The DeWitts need to leave, need to go back to their fancy life. Beth wears equestrian boots and skinny jeans, a wool peacoat. She has her hair pressed straight, except that the spring humidity makes it frizz at the temples. What a mess. The scarf she wears is silk or satin, something shiny and cold looking.
Slick and Mike Hudson wrangle the pig onto the grid, and the pig begins rooting around for ac
orns. Across the grid, Beth hugs her purse to her body and wrinkles her face. Little Miss Priss. When Mrs. Schwartz had come around with a bucket, taking money, Deborah had watched Beth pull a twenty from her purse, flashing the bill around for all to see before she set it in the collection.
Really, the woman is too much. Worse yet is that daughter of hers, her hair cut short, puffed out in an afro. At least try to fit in. That nappy-headed child looks like she, too, thinks she’s too good for this town. Just like her mother.
Deborah tries to clear her head. Her daughters. She’s here for them. Kelli plays tuba, and Deborah is surprised to hear how good she is, how confidently she plays. Even better, this is the band’s first performance since Mandy made drum major. Deborah is proud, and she tries to focus on that.
* * *
• • •
What’d you bet on?” Jeanette says, and Beth jumps. She hadn’t seen her daughter walk up. She’d thought herself alone at the back of the crowd. Beth shows her the tickets.
Before long, the crowd has dispersed around the park. Children run in the mud, playing tag. The chains on the swings clank and squeak as kids pump themselves higher and higher. The merry-go-round, having sat motionless and rusting all winter, creaks loud enough to be heard over the music. Boys make snowballs and throw them at the band members, trying to see if they can make them break formation; the band, for the most part, remains still, but when Skyla Williams takes a dirty slush ball on the side of her face, she pockets her piccolo and chases the boys down.
Jeanette soon wanders off to talk to one of her classmates. Her hair has grown out some, and she has picked it out into an afro. She wears a scarf that hides the curling iron scar on her neck, and earrings and eye shadow. Since December, Beth has given up the makeup argument. Now she wonders when her daughter became a young lady. It won’t be long before she’s an adult, before she goes off to college, where Beth won’t be able to protect her. Already, Jeanette is out of the house more and more, hanging out with kids Beth doesn’t know. When Jeanette is gone, Beth can’t help but imagine things happening to her. Horrible things. Car accidents, tornadoes, kidnappings, school bombings, mass shootings. And when Jeanette wants to go out in the evenings, Beth always imagines her getting separated from her friends. She imagines Jeanette in a damp mall parking lot, checking her phone and finding it drained. Jeanette turning to go back into the mall, only to realize it’s closed. A strange car pulling up, the car door opening, a thin strip of interior light showing around the door. Stale cigarette smoke wafts out. A man grabs Jeanette by the arm, hauling her in.
“We’re right back in the Thurbers’ coat closet,” Eliza says from deep in the well.
Beth shakes her head. She goes over to her daughter, intent on taking her back home. This Pig Plop is a waste of time and energy; who knows how long it will be until that smelly animal relieves itself. But as soon as Beth sidles up next to her daughter, a friend takes Jeanette by the arm and pulls her over to a group of boys. Beth has never felt more alone, more desperate. She feels sick, and she realizes she’s now close enough to the pig to smell it.
And who are these kids? They look like any other River Bend teens: most of them blond, although only one—the girl who’d grabbed Jeanette’s arm—looks like the color might be natural. The girl is shorter than Jeanette, but that won’t last. She’ll no doubt have a growth spurt in a few years and leave Jeanette in her shadow. By high school, the nice boys won’t notice Jeanette standing next to this girl; only the trashy ones will. And Jeanette will feel like it’s her fault, like she’s not good enough. Beth hates these blond kids. She wants so desperately to save Jeanette from the heartache they will cause her.
“Beth, how are you?” Linda says, approaching hand in hand with her stepbrother. Poor dumb boy, Beth thinks, noting the glee in Derek’s eyes. For a moment, Beth can’t remember what it feels like to hold a man’s hand in public. She doesn’t want to talk to Linda, doesn’t have anything to say, but Linda is still in the process of moving out, and Beth tries to keep things friendly. She doesn’t want Linda to up and change her mind, decide to stay. Really, Derek Williams is a godsend.
“How’s Ernest?” Linda asks. Now that she has a substantial baby belly, she keeps her hands braced on her back.
Beth shrugs. “About the same.”
“Mind if I stop by and see him this afternoon?”
Derek visibly bristles, but says nothing.
“That would be nice,” Beth says, still watching her daughter.
Linda leans in and hugs Beth goodbye before taking Derek’s hand again and moving off to talk to someone else.
Without Linda to distract her, Beth can feel Steve’s presence in the crowd, like a quiet surrender. She feels herself leaning into it. Her hands grow warmer with him near, as if in anticipation of a touch. All winter they’ve been meeting at least once a week, but it’s not enough. She wants more than she can get from him.
Jeanette and her friends are near the band now, a stone’s throw from where Mandy stands, cueing the next song. Mandy is skinny, so like her mother at that age. In fact, if Mandy had red hair, if she were a few inches shorter, she could be Deb’s clone. And yet there’s a confidence to Mandy that Deb always lacked.
The girl is trouble.
The whole family is trouble.
Beth searches the crowd and spots Deb still across the way, talking to Mikey. She watches for a moment, hoping to see some hint of flirtation—Deb’s hand on his bicep, maybe—something that would ease her conscience, but Deb stands an arm’s length away.
Beth knows she needs to end it with Steve. She can’t let her children get mixed up with that family. She can’t let them get trapped in this town like she was. But, oh God, she wants to curl up inside the man, to incubate there until she can burst back out of him, strong and healthy. He’s behind her now, so close he blocks the wind. So close she can smell him, the cigarettes and Aqua Velva. She stretches a hand back slowly, and finds his hand similarly stretched. She just touches him, just grazes him with her fingertips.
* * *
• • •
Deborah sees the touch. The brazenness of it all. She’s had enough. She’s been quiet long enough. She’s put up with enough. As she makes her way over to her husband, she feels her face heat up, her whole body shaking. She wants to bark commands and make him obey. She wants to bring him to heel.
She’s on them all too soon. Instead of wielding words, she finds herself mute, her voice having left her. She grabs her husband and yanks him away from that woman, that whore. Beth looks startled, as if she’d thought they were alone. As if she’d forgotten Deborah was even there. This is almost worse than her publicly flaunting the affair. Beth has completely forgotten about Deborah.
Deborah lunges at Beth, grabbing handfuls of hair, clawing at her face. Beth offers no resistance. Even though she’s been waiting for this, waiting for an attack, now that it’s here, she’s in shock. She realizes she doesn’t actually know how to fight—has never had to—and at first, she shrinks away. This makes Deborah even madder. She launches herself at Beth, and the two crash through the chicken wire fence, stumbling onto the pig grid. The pig squeals and skitters into the far corner. Something in Beth awakens and she kicks Deb, her boots slipping in the mud. Her jeans are so tight that she can’t move well, her thighs straining at the fabric. The best she can do is kick at Deb’s shins, spattering Deb’s shoes with mud.
Deborah knocks Beth down. A swipe of Beth’s legs, and Deb is also down, the two women slapping and clawing inexpertly. The band stops playing and breaks formation in confusion as the town crowds around the grid. The pig scampers around the two women and escapes where the chicken wire has been knocked down, Slick giving chase. Deborah grabs handfuls of mud and rubs them into Beth’s hair, and Beth pushes Deb’s face down onto the grid.
Steve watches from a distance, a dumb smile on his face—what man wouldn’t
want his women fighting over him?—but when it occurs to him that both women mean business, his smile evaporates. What if Beth actually hurts Deb? What if she hurts the mother of his children? He knocks his way through the crowd, trying to come to Deb’s rescue, and brushes past Tabitha Schwartz, who nearly topples over. Trash, she thinks. This town has only changed for the worse.
Linda wants to intercede, but can’t squeeze through the crowd with her belly. Derek would intercede, but there are women mud wrestling, so . . . Kelli Brody buries her face in Dan’s shoulder, wanting to pretend the whole thing isn’t happening, and Dan pulls her to him, her tuba knocking into his bass drum. The sounds makes her jump away from him, to glare at him like he had attacked her. Just as Steve is about to jump in, Mandy lunges, breaking Beth and Deb apart, getting one quick kick at Beth’s shins before pulling her mother away. Her uniform is muddied in the process, but it’s worth it to get to kick someone.
“You leave my family alone,” Deborah yells, while Mandy pins her arms behind her back. Beth lies breathless on the grass, her peacoat caked in mud.
The silence that follows is brief, broken by the distant squeals of the pig as Slick finally catches it. In the aftermath, Beth feels deflated, tired. Even Eliza is breathless as she berates Beth.
“Was it worth it?”
Beth looks up and sees Jeanette, her hands over her mouth. Are those tears in her eyes? What has she done? How will she live this down? She looks around until she finds her son. He isn’t looking at her but at Kelli, who glares at him.
The House of Deep Water Page 24