Things You Won't Say (17 page)

The day had started off smoothly enough. She’d missed
Tabby and the other elephants, so she’d brought the kids to the zoo, and as a special treat, she’d let them sneak in apples and toss them over the fence. Lou had breathed in deeply, filling her nose and throat with the honest smell of hay and dirt and mammal. Being here grounded her, which she’d sorely needed after the tumult of the past few days.

Emily was wearing a pink dress and matching pink sunglasses with lenses shaped like stars. She’d rejected four outfits before settling on the ensemble this morning, and she’d asked Lou to paint her fingernails to match, but Lou had begged off, pretending to be allergic to the chemicals in the polish. She wasn’t sure how Jamie felt about nail polish for six-year-olds, and she didn’t want to mess up again.

“How can you tell she’s pregnant?” Emily had asked as she looked at Tabitha and wrinkled her little nose. “I mean, wasn’t she already pretty fat?” Lou had hoped Emily didn’t think the same thing about her.

“What we do is take a blood sample from behind her ear,” Lou had explained. “The skin is thin there, and when the blood tells us an elephant is ready to get pregnant, we put her with a male. You can kind of tell when the male is ready to . . . to, ah, make a baby.”

“What happens?” Sam had asked.

“They get excited,” Lou had said. That was generic enough, she’d decided. “Male elephants go through this period called musth, which gets their bodies ready for having a baby.”

“Musth,” Eloise had repeated, making it sound like “muss.”

“Then what happens?” Emily had asked. Her sunglasses had slipped down on her nose and she’d peered over them at Lou, like the world’s most adorable librarian.

“Then the female elephant gets pregnant,” Lou had said, neatly skipping over the whole description of intercourse. Bad enough to try to describe how humans did it—no way was she talking about elephant sex to this crew. “She stays pregnant for about two years.”

“Wow,” Sam had said. “That sounds boring.”

“She’ll probably be happy when she gives birth,” Lou had said.

“When is she going to have the baby?” Emily had asked.

“Sometime this summer,” Lou had said. “Do you know the crazy part? We’ve got this thing called an ultrasound. It lets us take pictures of the baby as it grows inside Tabitha’s tummy.”

“You can see inside her tummy? How?” Sam had wanted to know.

“We have to put the ultrasound wand in her butt.”

The kids had exploded with laughter. “In her butt!” Sam had shouted repeatedly, drawing a horrified look from an apple-cheeked grandmother who was holding the hand of a toddler.

They’d stayed at the zoo for hours, visiting the baby cheetahs and eating popcorn and ice cream cones and mimicking the antics of the monkeys. Lou had checked her cell phone as they walked to the minivan in the employee parking lot. No calls from Jamie, which hadn’t seemed like a good sign. She’d noticed Sam watching, and she’d erased her frown and tousled his hair.

“Did my mom call?” he’d asked.

“Not yet,” she’d said.

He’d just nodded, but Lou thought he looked sad, so she’d stopped at a vending machine and gotten a few bags of M&M’s.

Lou wasn’t much of a cook, so when they got home, she’d decided to heat up a frozen pizza. She’d turned on the oven, and about five minutes later, the smoke detectors had erupted. That’s when she’d realized Jamie stored pots and pans in the oven, including one huge plastic Tupperware bin—probably because the kitchen was so small and cabinet space was at a premium. So much for the pizza.

Lou found a bag of baby carrots and some Granny Smith apples in the refrigerator’s bins and cut everything up and ar
ranged it on a big plate, reflecting that she’d made this exact same snack for the elephants countless times. She brought the platter into the living room, where the kids were watching TV.

“It still smells bad in here,” Emily said.

“It’ll air out soon,” Lou promised. She filled Sadie’s bowl with fresh water, then let the dog out back. She felt her cell phone buzzing in her pocket as she was calling for the dog to come in.

“We’re on our way home,” Jamie said in a voice so raw and gravelly Lou almost didn’t recognize it.

“Is Mike okay?” Lou asked. Suddenly she had the wild hope that the whole thing had been cleared up. A misunderstanding—it could happen, couldn’t it?

“Not really,” Jamie said. “There’s a DiGiorno pizza in the freezer,” she continued. “Can you toss it the oven for the kids? Just take out all the stuff I store there before you preheat it.”

“Um,” Lou began, then she decided Jamie had enough to deal with. “Sure” was all she said.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Lou focused on airing out the house as much as possible, turning on ceiling fans and even opening the chimney flue. But the first thing Mike said when he walked in the house was “Is something burning?”

Then Eloise padded into the hallway and Lou turned to look at her, suddenly realizing her niece had something sticky-looking matting her hair—ice cream, probably—and her white T-shirt was covered with stains. Her face and hands weren’t all that clean, either.

“I threw up,” Eloise announced.

“Oh, baby,” Jamie said, rushing toward her. She buried her head in Eloise’s small shoulder, like she was the one seeking comfort. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you were sick.”

“She seemed okay earlier,” Lou offered.

“Her stomach wasn’t upset?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know,” Lou said. “She didn’t mention it.”

“Well, did she eat anything?” Jamie asked. She leaned back and brushed Eloise’s hair away from her face, then she put the back of her hand against Eloise’s forehead.

“Oh, yeah,” Lou said. “She had popcorn and ice cream.”

“M&M’s, too,” Sam added.

“Popcorn, ice cream,
and
M&M’s?” Jamie said.

“Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound like as balanced a meal as I thought,” Lou said. She was aiming for a joke, hoping to squeeze a laugh out of Jamie and Mike. She saw the corners of Mike’s mouth lift up briefly, but it seemed to take an effort for him.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Jamie said. “I’m going to put you in the bathtub and get you some crackers and juice.”

Lou felt a flash of guilt. Jamie’s skin was tinged with a violet-blue undertone. She seemed to have sprouted a few lines around her eyes, too.

“I’ll check on the other kids,” Mike said. He put a hand on Lou’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before walking out of the room.

“Sorry,” Lou called after Jamie as she hustled Eloise up the stairs. Maybe she shouldn’t have teased her sister about her detailed lists quite so much, she thought.

“Can you come up here a minute?” Jamie called.

Lou followed her into the bathroom, where Jamie was running water into the tub. Lou reached for a washcloth on the rack by the sink, but Jamie grabbed it first and began to clean Eloise’s face.

“I should’ve gotten them a better lunch—” Lou began.

Jamie interrupted her. “Lou, it’s fine,” she said. But her voice still sounded irritated. Lou didn’t blame her; Jamie hadn’t asked for much, especially considering all she had done for Lou over the years, and Lou had made one of her children ill and caused the house to smell horrible.

“I can give her a bath,” Lou offered.

Jamie shook her head. “Why don’t you go talk to Mike? Keep him company.”

“Okay,” Lou said. She could do that. “Was it . . . pretty awful today?”

“He couldn’t even talk about it,” Jamie said. “His new partner threw him under the bus!”

Jamie was silent as she worked Eloise’s stained shirt over her head, then removed the rest of the little girl’s clothes and tested the bathwater with her wrist before helping Eloise climb into the tub.

“I’m worried sick about what’s going to happen tomorrow,” Jamie said. She reached for the shampoo and squirted a bit in her palm.

“Why?” Lou asked. Jamie didn’t meet her eyes when she answered.

“The mother of the teenager who died? She’s holding a press conference.”

•••

Christie bent over at the waist, reached into her push-up bra, and hefted her breasts another inch higher. They were in danger of spilling out of the top of her blouse now, which was precisely where she wanted them. She sat with her legs crossed on the edge of the bed, nibbling a hangnail. Doug was ten minutes late, and she hoped he was stuck in a terrible traffic jam. Every passing minute meant more money in her pocket.

Doug’s wife was paying for a video Elroy would deliver in a manila envelope. Elroy had promised to edit the evidence so that Christie would be unrecognizable, which was a smart strategy. God forbid she bump into the woman at the gynecologist’s office.

Christie imagined the scene. Maybe Elroy would meet Doug’s wife at a neutral spot, like a playground. While her kids sat in bucket swings, calling out to be pushed, Doug’s wife would reach for the envelope. Her fingers would prob
ably tremble. She’d carry around the evidence until she got home. Maybe she’d wait until the kids were in bed, then she’d pour herself a big glass of wine and slip the DVD into the player. Even better, maybe she’d wait until Doug was home and suggest they watch a new movie together. Christie only hoped the house wasn’t just in Doug’s name—his wife deserved alimony, child support, and most of his assets. She’d overheard too many stories while working at the salon of women who’d lost everything, because they’d trusted their husbands to be fair. Christie always hid a snort when those sad tales spilled out. Who did these women expect to look after them, if they couldn’t even look after themselves?

Someone knocked on the hotel room door, three raps in quick succession. Christie ran her finger over her top teeth to sweep away any lipstick smudges, took a deep breath, and went to pull the door open.

Doug’s eyes lit up as he got a glimpse of her: Ka-ching! He’d hit the jackpot, and he didn’t even have to pay for the hotel room. That $2.49 he’d spent for her milk was the best investment he’d ever made.

“Nice to see you again,” she said, stepping back to let him in. He gave her a kiss—fortunately not a lingering one—and treated her to a whiff of what smelled like an entire container of Axe body spray.

He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a blazer over it, and he seemed to be sucking in his gut. Infidelity chic, she thought. Macy’s should create a new line.

“You look hot,” he said.

She ran her tongue over her lips, slowly. “So do you,” she lied.

He took a step toward her, then hesitated. “So, ah, should we . . . um . . .”

Christie smiled. He was making this too easy. She’d been worried he’d launch himself at her—she imagined he’d be all paws and slobby kisses, a human golden retriever—and she’d
have to slow him down. She wanted everything to look and sound good on tape. Plus she was making a rather generous hourly rate. Why not draw it out?

“Can I get you something from the minibar?” she asked.

He nodded. “A beer sounds good.”

“Sure,” she said. She took her time opening the bottle and pouring its contents into a glass, then handed it to him. He nearly dropped the glass, and she saw him wipe his hands on his pants. His palms must be sweating—she could see the droplets of perspiration on his upper lip, too.

“Sit down here,” she directed, patting the cushion of a chair. That would put Doug’s face directly in line with the video-recording device Elroy had attached to a light fixture. There was another chair opposite Doug’s, and she took that one, crossing her legs and allowing the slit in her skirt to fall open, revealing a long expanse of thigh.

“Okay,” he said. He sat down, his eyes ricocheting between her thighs and her cleavage.

“Do you know what gets me really hot?” she asked.

He shook his head mutely.

“Hearing you talk about what you want to do to me,” Christie said. She leaned back her head and stared at him from under heavy-lidded eyes.

She could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“I, um, want to kiss you,” he said. “Then lick your boobies.”

Boobies? She struggled to keep a straight face. “Tell me more, big boy,” she breathed.

“Then I want to take off, um, your clothes,” he said.

Please don’t ever try to get a job working on a phone sex call-in line,
she thought.

“Then what?” she prompted.

He frowned, thinking hard.

“Maybe you could walk around for a little bit.”

“I’m wearing a black lace G-string,” she said. “Should I keep it on? And maybe keep on my high heels, too?”

“Yes! God, yes!” he said.

They were finally getting somewhere, but only because she was steering him, like he was a horse and she had a firm grip on his bridle.

She waited, but he didn’t add anything to the scenario she was trying to help him paint.

She leaned forward. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

“Then I’m going to, I’m . . . then I’ll take out my . . .”

“Yes?” she breathed.

He burst into tears.

“I can’t do it,” he sobbed. “I’m married.”

“Oh, shit,” Christie said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, misunderstanding her disappointment. “You’re really pretty and everything, it’s just . . . I love my wife.”

Maybe she could still salvage this.

“But I bet she doesn’t understand you, does she?” Christie asked. She leaned forward.
Keep your eyes on the boobies, Doug.

“No, she does!” Doug protested, wiping his eyes. “She’s great. She takes care of the kids and she makes really good buffalo wings and she drives whenever we go on the Beltway because I hate doing it. I just . . . I’m turning thirty-five this year and I feel really old.”

“Thirty-five isn’t old!” Christie said quickly. “It’s actually quite young!”

“I found a gray hair the other day,” Doug confessed. “I had to pluck it. It hurt.” He began to cry harder.

Jesus,
Christie thought.

“Have you ever cheated on your wife before?” she asked.

Doug shook his head. “Never.” He sniffed. “Do you have a tissue?”

She tossed him a box from the table by the minibar. Would they still get paid? she wondered. She’d better still get paid for this.