Blue Stars (18 page)

“I don’t need this.” Ellen threw up her hands. It was so awkward to get
up
from a futon. And how much would that all-day parking lot charge her?

“Stop it.”
Wes dragged a footstool over and sat in front of both of them. He shook back his bangs, and pointed a finger at Ellen. “She’s been calling you, and hanging up, for weeks.” Ellen started to respond but was cut off. “She wants help but can’t ask for it.”

“Hey!”

Wes whirled on Jane. “She pays your insurance, your rent, your tuition—”

“I never asked—”

“Shut it! You’re up shit creek, Janey! I’m sorry, but this is not like one of your causes to take up on principle. It’s your life, it’s a baby’s life. And you have no clue.”

Jane glared but stayed quiet.

Wes pushed up his glasses. “Nothing’s going to get solved by you guys not talking. And we’re on the clock here.” Ellen felt a rush of trembly warmth for Wes, this cramped and book-filled apartment. “I mean, I don’t have the faintest idea, but, like … don’t we need a plan? She’s still a minor, right? Mom?”

For the first time Ellen turned to look at Jane, pulling at loose threads in a throw blanket. A line of small tender pimples ran along her jawline; she had taken out the two rings she usually wore in the top part of her ear. Ellen reached over to touch her sleeve. “How many weeks now?”

Jane sniffed. For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer. “Ten,” she said quietly. “And I’m going to keep it. My decision.”

Ellen shook her head, felt tears start.

“Mom,” Jane said, her own voice quavery. “Don’t. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry.”

Ellen leaned over to press her face against the unbearably precious ear of her rash, vexing child. Jane slumped against her. They held close together; a knot of pain unwound itself inside Ellen.

“Well, what about adoption?” she heard Wesley ask. “That’s a thing.”

“No,” Jane said, her voice muffled against Ellen’s shoulder. “Mom, I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“But it’s all anonymous,” Wes persisted. “Or not. She could probably even pick the couple herself, find people who—”

Jane shook her head against Ellen’s shoulder.

And Ellen surprised herself by whispering back, “I know.” It was true. Having to give away one’s own child … she felt all the force of Jane’s instinctive refusal and, for once, agreed with her. They pulled away and Ellen patted Jane on the leg.

“Let’s have you move back home,” she said. “For now.”

Jane blew out her breath. “It’s not that easy, Mom … There’s stuff going on at the house. I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can,” Ellen said firmly. She didn’t say it, but:
Fumigated for bedbugs.
And Jane just nodded. After that, there seemed little to discuss. Wes ran out to get Indian takeout; the three of them ate curry—just naan for Jane, who was nauseated—while listening to
Sound Opinions.
Wes showed off his latest conference proposal. Ellen got ready to drive back; Jane said she’d rather stay the night and go shopping for vintage the next day. Mother and daughter hugged;
détente.

Wesley followed her all the way down the stairs, confused by the sudden reversals, mostly unspoken. So that was it? Everything’s okay now? How did—

“Naturally! It’s all peachy,” Ellen said, reaching the lobby.

“Don’t do sarcasm, Mom. It doesn’t look good on you.”

“You’re a good brother.” She sighed. “But you owe me eighty dollars in gas money.” In a way it was a relief, to face the truth. Janey becoming a mother. Herself, a grandmother. (Serena would have a field day with
that
.) Now she would begin making lists: a crib, a car seat, an ob-gyn. All the pregnancy books, maybe a counselor or program for Jane to help with the transition. Who could she talk to at the university about part-time classes? Even continuing ed? Because Ellen would
not,
she swore, give up on a degree for Jane no matter how long it took.

“One thing. Did you … you haven’t told Mike about Jane, have you? Mom?”

“Hmm?” In the moment, her letters to Michael seemed to Ellen like a mirage on the horizon. She’d lost the thread. “No, of course not.”

“Yeah. Um, I’m just wondering if you should. Since she’s not going to. So he can be, like, prepared.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because he’s the father.” Wesley studied her carefully, to see if she could handle this.

Ellen backed up until the row of ridged steel mailboxes stopped her. “How do you know that? Did she tell you?”

“She doesn’t have to say it—she won’t, even. I think she wants to convince herself that it doesn’t matter, or maybe that she won’t say anything until after he’s back. But it’s him. I’m sure. I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

12

She quit him, cold. And the worst part was how easy Jim made it for her, because he was a good person. He didn’t make a play for her, a pitch for “them.” No guilt trip, no wheedling. He bowed out with grace. On the phone he cut off her stumbling apology: “It’s a good call, Lace. We’ll walk away intact. I don’t want to be the guy who makes your life any harder.”

Over the next few weeks she went crazy with need and longing.

Was Eddie thinking about her? No. No, and she shouldn’t expect it. She was a good Army Reserve wife, she knew what he was up against when he was out there. Lacey loathed these high-maintenance new girls who demanded Skypes and iChats, who laid into their tired guys with complaints about bills or the kids. Or just feeling neglected. Hell no: Lacey would rather staple her mouth shut than distract Eddie, or drag him down into the petty details of home life. That was her domain and she would die before letting him know, for example, how bad things were getting with money.

But there were other reasons Lacey knew Eddie wasn’t craving her, aching for her during their time apart, no matter what his situation was. And it was only now, during this second deployment, that she began to understand more. Yes, they weren’t newlyweds anymore, and yes, they’d both been around the block—too old for drama. But Eddie wasn’t the kind of man to waste a lot of time on endearments or tender emotional talk. Even before they married, Lacey noticed that he was into her only when it was leading to sex … and then of course the sex itself dropped off big-time once the wedding and moving in were finished. She’d told herself to get with the program: this was big-girl life, time to grow up and act like it. And then the army only solidified their growing formality, a distancing … nothing about this organization promoted impulsive romantic gestures.

She had so much more than she’d hoped for. Lacey was ashamed, but that didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t find contentment the way other people apparently did. How to admit that you’re missing something big and basic out of life? How to say it to another person?
I want to be touched more.

*   *   *

It was a Sunday afternoon midway through September. Lacey pulled into the parking lot in the shopping center in Yonkers, just north of Van Cortlandt Park. She idled there for a moment, studying the row of storefronts through her sunglasses. Vacuum sales and repair, HairCuttery, Payless Shoes. Squeezed between them was a smaller business, no awning out front, no big sign. But the flag and 9/11
NEVER FORGET
poster let her know this was the one:
U.S. Service Recruiting Center.

“Can I stay in the car?”

Otis was slumped low in the passenger seat, heaving long sighs to announce his displeasure. For a moment she wished he didn’t have to come on this particular errand, but then a harder part of her thought,
He’s not a baby, he needs to know what’s up.

“No, you can’t stay in the car. And I told you not to bring that outside the house.” A friend had loaned Otis some repellent video game full of screeching women’s voices and
blam blam
gun sounds. “Give me that. Otis,
give
it to me. Jesus.” She shoved the handheld player into the glove box and slammed it shut. Otis went
tcch
under his breath and Lacey told herself to ignore it. They’d been having a rough time. Ever since school started, Otis had been pushing back at her—arguing about TV time, putting off his homework until the last minute and then rushing through it, sloppy. Twice already his teacher had e-mailed Lacey with concerns: he wasn’t listening, he’d been digging pen tracks on the side of his desk.

Lacey wasn’t handling it well, either. Her patience was low; she was stressed about her cut work hours and trying to get a grip on the money situation. She didn’t need preteen bullshit on top of all that. And she had given up Jim! That was for Otis, though he didn’t know it, and his blithe ignorance of her sacrifices pissed her off even more.

“Well, are we going to go in, or what?”

“You better cut that attitude.”

“I’m just
saying
.”

Lacey killed the engine and swung out of the car, slamming her door. She tugged her jacket down. Striding across the lot her heeled boots clopped loudly on the pavement and her purse swung. She shook her hair back behind her shoulders. Otis dragged behind, and when she got to the door she waited pointedly while he caught up.
What?
Lacey pushed sunglasses up into her hair and stared at the door handle until he held it open for her.

“Thank you,” she said clearly, walking past him. She almost felt sorry for the guy at the front desk, eyes on his computer screen, unaware of her mood, but she let her inner bitch out nonetheless—clattering down her bag and keys in front of him, snapping out her words: “So, are there forms to fill out? For the food and gas cards?”

*   *   *

Lacey made lists, dozens of lists—in her organizer, on her phone, on the whiteboard in the kitchen—where she racked up the different bills and fees and what they owed and what she couldn’t pay. The monthly mortgage was covered, okay, but after that things got chaotic. Car payments and insurance (including Eddie’s jeep, sitting in the garage untouched) got alternated, her college loan was mostly ignored until the Sallie Mae calls grew aggressive, and the training courses Eddie’d had to take for his last promotion were coming due. These could all be juggled and delayed, to some extent. But then: utilities and food, two credit cards at their limit (one with a 26 percent interest rate), Little League for Otis (cleats, glove, travel fees) … and last week she’d bounced two checks, one to the exterminator (ants), one to the ophthalmologist for Otis’s school-required vision exam.

With Eddie’s income cut by a third when he went from civilian to reserve pay, and the reduced schedule Lacey had to take on in order to be around for Otis, they’d been just barely managing. But last month her boss called a meeting and said due to how slow it had been at the gym they would all be taking mandatory unpaid furloughs every three weeks. Then she’d asked Lacey to stay behind and said she’d need to work the second shift from September through November: 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.

Lacey almost laughed. “There’s no way,” she said. “I don’t have anyone who can take my kid until that late.” Or her whole paycheck would have to go to a sitter.

The supervisor shrugged. “It’s all I have until after the holidays. It’ll pick up then.”

So she’d had to stay on the part-time schedule she’d worked all summer, and now the pileup of delayed bills and payments reached a breaking point. Last week she’d put off buying groceries day after day, waiting for money to come in, and that meant they ate out at fast-food places on her bursting credit cards. Then on Friday some screwup happened with the auto-deposit for Eddie’s check and she hadn’t been able to get a live human on the phone all day, with the result that she’d had to borrow forty bucks from Otis’s small stash in order to buy pasta, sandwich stuff, and toilet paper. She made one last list, people she might ask for a loan: Lolo, Martine … and then slowly crossed them out. Late last night Lacey thought
fuck it,
and went online to figure out where to go.

*   *   *

“Um, does Eddie know you’re doing this?”

Lacey shot Otis a sideways look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” They were on chairs in the tiny waiting area by the window. She was whipping through the clipboard forms the desk clerk had given her. Lots of programs donated goods or money for military families, which then got funneled through churches or recruiter stations. Lacey had chosen this one because it wasn’t too close to home, but not far enough away to require much gas.

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.”

“It’s just that, I don’t think it’s the officers’ families who are supposed to be, like, getting charity.”

Lacey put her pen down and sat back. “You’re worried about ranking protocol, huh? Or are you just ashamed of your mom, who’s accepting help when she needs it?” She let her voice carry around the dingy office, whose workers glanced up and then away. It was unfair, making Otis squirm in the heat of her reply, which wasn’t only about him. She’d cried earlier this morning in the shower, imagining what it would be like to come here. To hell with taking on more guilt about his embarrassment.

Otis shook his head, mumbled something that might have been
sorry.
Lacey blew out a long breath at the pocked ceiling tiles. She went back to filling out forms:
resources, earned income, dependent costs
.

“You don’t have to say anything, though,” she said, a few minutes later. “To Eddie. We don’t need to bother him, is all.”

*   *   *

The only man she’d ever been faithful to was the Asshole, and look how that had turned out. Growing up in Great Neck, Lacey’s boyfriends were mostly of the petty thief and vandalism variety, guys who were big men only among their crowd of friends, sweet at first but lazy at heart. She went through them like changes of clothes—those tight jeans and off-the-shoulder tops and fake-leather boots she would kick off at the end of the day and discard, a tangled pile in the corner of her closet. She wasn’t so different in this. Her girlfriends weren’t choosy either; they all rotated boys around according to complicated algorithms of reputation, cuteness, availability, or the chance to get back at some bitch who’d made out with your ex. Lacey’s boyfriends shaded into each other, overlapping. She’d officially call it quits with one only after securing her next position—that was the way they all did it, cycling through the halls and malls of adolescence, just marking time until real life began.