Things You Won't Say (27 page)

J.H.’s voice was as bland as ever as he explained they would need to wait a few more days until Mike was scheduled to appear in superior court. That surprised Jamie; she figured Mike would need to go immediately.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” J.H. said. “He’ll be in and out in a couple hours.”

Jamie tried to say something, but her voice made a strange cracking sound.

“Do you want me to tell him?” J.H. asked, his tone finally softening.

Handing over the phone would be easier. But Mike deserved better. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll tell him,” Jamie said.

But when she went to find Mike, she didn’t have to say anything. He read the news in her face, just as she’d always imagined she’d be able to discern a tragedy in the expressions of
police officers who would come to the door if Mike was killed in the line of duty.

Time seemed to speed up during the next few days. Mike came upstairs more often, to cuddle with the kids on the couch, read books to Eloise, play checkers with Emily, and do Mad Libs with Sam. He built a fort out of sofa cushions and brought in flashlights and sleeping bags and he spent the night there with Sam, who was thrilled to be “camping out” with his dad. Jamie was glad to have him rejoin the family—or at least the kids, since he wasn’t seeking out her company—but she sensed a desperation underlying his actions. Once she reached for the video camera to capture him wrestling with the children, then she put it away without filming a single moment. Mike would probably know she was doing it to preserve a memory, in case it had to substitute for the real thing someday.

The day Mike was scheduled to be arraigned dawned sunny and bright. Maybe it was a good omen, Jamie thought as she laid out his only nice suit, the one he wore to weddings and funerals.

He came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets rolling down his broad shoulders and disappearing into the dark hair covering his chest.

“You think?” he asked, gesturing to the suit. “I was going to wear my sport coat . . .”

“Hold your head high, Mike,” Jamie said. “It was an accident.”

She brought him a white button-down shirt and selected a blue-and-red striped tie, then took his dress shoes out of the closet. The shoes were scuffed from Mike’s long walk home, so Jamie found a jar of polish and went to work on them until they gleamed. She straightened Mike’s tie and smoothed an unruly section of his thick hair, her fingers lingering on him, grateful for an excuse to finally touch him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” she asked. “Lou can watch the kids.”

He shook his head. “That’s the last thing I want.” His rough tone and words stung her. She thought he’d meant that he didn’t want her to witness his shame, not that he didn’t want to be near her, but she didn’t ask.

“I’ll have my cell phone on,” she said. “I may take the kids out, but if you need anything . . . Or if you change your mind, I can rush down there . . .”

Her words trailed off as she looked at him, remembering how he’d worn this same suit and tie when he and Ritchie were given the commendation for bringing down the armed robbery suspect. Maybe she’d chosen it subconsciously for that reason, to remind everyone else, too.

He’d also worn it when they’d gone to his brother’s second wedding in New Jersey a few years ago. They’d brought the kids along but had hired a teenager who lived down the street from Mike’s parents’ house to watch them during the ceremony and reception. It was a spectacular evening. Jamie had bought a new dress for the first time in years, snapping up a bargain from a deeply discounted rack at Marshalls. It was a silky silver with a neckline that dipped down to skim the tops of her breasts, and she’d felt like a younger version of herself after she blow-dried and curled her hair, put on lip gloss and mascara, and slipped into high heels. The wedding was sweetly traditional, and as soon as it ended, everyone went to the reception at a nearby hotel. A band was playing and the air was soft and warm and drinks were flowing freely.

Mike had pulled her close for a slow dance, and they’d swayed together while Van Morrison sang “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You.” Mike had sung along in her ear in his deep voice that was surprisingly on-key: “Fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness, ease my troubles, that’s what you do . . .”

But she couldn’t ease his troubles any longer. The only thing she could do was reach for her husband and hold on, feeling desperate to connect with him again. After a long mo
ment, his arms enfolded her. She tried to concentrate on Mike, on his warm skin and his smell, but the thought entered her mind that maybe Ms. Torres had done all these same things on the morning of her son’s funeral. Maybe she’d picked out a suit for him to wear. Maybe she’d held what remained of him and had never wanted to let go.

Jamie would probably never meet Jose’s mother, but she knew their lives were inexorably twined, like the double helix of a strand of DNA. On days like today, and on the anniversary of the shooting, they’d be brought closer together before spinning off, each into her own private agony.

Mike pulled back, and Jamie felt a desperate, panicky urge to do something else for him—make him a nourishing lunch to bring along, maybe—but she forced herself to let go. She walked him to the door, feeling as if he was heading to an executioner’s. She wondered if the press would crowd around him as he entered the courthouse, or if any of his friends would show up.

Mike took his car keys from the hanging wall holder and slipped them into his pocket, then reached for his sunglasses. He patted his back pocket to make sure his wallet was in place, like he always did. She loved that habit of his. Sometimes she patted his behind for him and gave him a wink. “Just checking,” she’d say. Those lighthearted moments seemed so long ago. It was like trying to remember your life before you had children, she thought—the experiences were so divergent they were difficult to reconcile.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Mike said, his posture ramrod-straight.

J.H. had predicted Mike would be released on his own recognizance, but there was a slim chance he’d have to wear an ankle monitor. Jamie wondered what it would feel like, if it would itch and chafe and dig marks into his skin.

“I’ll be here,” Jamie said. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark lenses, she tried to let Mike know with hers that no matter what happened, she meant for always.

•••

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more notice,” Lou said. “Things are just . . . you see, it’s a family emergency.”

“I understand,” the manager of the coffee shop said. Lou could hear the metallic whirl of beans grinding in the background. “No hard feelings.”

Lou thanked him and pressed the button on her cell phone to end the call. She’d spent the past few days finding co-workers to cover her shifts, so now all she needed to do was stop in to pick up her final paycheck. Jamie hadn’t asked her to quit, but Lou had known it was the right thing to do as soon as she heard about the looming indictment. She’d slipped away during the chaos of breakfast to give her notice.

She’d also left a message for her boss at the zoo asking for a few weeks off. She had plenty of accumulated vacation time, so she didn’t think it would be a problem. She was planning to stop by and visit Tabby and the other elephants every day or two, and she still wanted to be there to oversee the birth, but she was hoping the zoo could call in more volunteers and keepers to cover the feedings, exams, paperwork, and tours that Lou usually handled.

Now she went back into the kitchen, where Jamie stood at the sink, scrubbing the big cast-iron frying pan she’d used to cook eggs.

“Are you okay?” Lou asked. She’d heard Mike leave early this morning to meet with his lawyer before heading to superior court, but Lou had stayed upstairs, partly so he and Jamie could have privacy and partly because Eloise was draped across her legs, snoring. Lou had wanted to shift her off, but she knew from experience Eloise would be a terror if she didn’t get enough sleep, so she lay still. By the time the other kids began to stir, Lou’s back ached and her legs felt numb.

Jamie shook her head, and Lou could see her eyes fill. “It’s going to kill him,” Jamie said.

Lou put a hand on her shoulder.

“He doesn’t want me there,” Jamie said, scrubbing the pan harder even though it already looked clean. “I think it’ll make him more embarrassed or ashamed or whatever he’s feeling. It’s like he’s angry at me, like it’s my fault he’s getting indicted. I don’t know what he’s feeling! He won’t talk to me about it! And last night I couldn’t sleep, and I kept thinking about the stupid water bill. I forgot to pay it this month. So I got up at three
A.M.
and went online to pay it and then I made the mistake of doing a Google search about Mike.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Lou said.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jamie said. “The comments section is the worst thing ever invented. A lot of people hate him, Lou. They really hate his guts.” She pressed her hand against her stomach and leaned over for a moment. “Then I started looking at apartments in New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?” Lou frowned.

“If the worst happens, we might have to move. Mike’s parents drive me crazy, but his brothers and sisters are okay, and that way we’d be around a lot of family and maybe we could even live with his parents so we don’t have to pay rent. I can’t have the kids suffer because of this. Everyone in school is going to be talking about it when they go back. I mean, high school’s tough enough without—”

Jamie stopped herself. “Henry,” she said. “Of course we can’t move. Christie is here. She’d never let us take him. What was I thinking?” She shook her head. “God! We can’t leave Henry.”

You can’t leave me, either,
Lou thought, feeling her muscles tense. What would she do without Jamie and Mike and the kids? She wondered if the story written by the blogger had played a role in the prosecutor’s decision to try to indict Mike. It would be partly her fault if Jamie and the kids had to leave!

She felt like she was about to cry, so she changed the subject.

“Where is Henry?” she asked.

“Christie’s, for now,” Jamie said. “I thought it would be better for him to not be around today. And I found a baseball camp we’re going to send him to for a few days . . . it’s expensive but I think he really needs to get away. I know he’s absorbing a lot of stress.”

“That’s good,” Lou said. She tried to think of something concrete she could do to help. “Do you want to take a nap or something?” she asked.

Jamie shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.

Lou wasn’t sure why not—Jamie looked exhausted—but her sister seemed to need to keep moving. She was attacking the counters now, scrubbing them down like she was punishing them for something.

“I’m going to take the kids to the pool,” Jamie said, using her wrist to push her bangs off her face. “If I stay in the house I’ll go crazy.”

“What can I do to help?” Lou asked.

“If you could gather up the bathing suits, that would be great. They might be hanging on the back of the bathroom door, or maybe they’re on the floor by the washing machine . . . Shoot, Emily still needs a new suit. I meant to pick one up weeks ago. We’ll have to run by the mall on the way.”

“Okay,” Lou said.

“And we should stop by CVS and get some shampoo, because we’re almost out. There’s one in the mall.” She shook her head. “Mike’s going to be arraigned and a boy is dead and I’m going shopping for shampoo. What’s happening, Lou?”

Lou took in the rings of blue-black encircling her sister’s eyes, and the way her hands trembled. Suddenly Jamie dropped the sponge and put her hand on her stomach again and bolted. A moment later Lou could hear the distant sounds of retching.

“Is Mommy okay?”

Lou looked down to see Emily standing there, her big eyes staring up at Lou.

“Her stomach’s just upset,” Lou said. She didn’t know if Emily bought it; she was a bright kid.

“We should get her some ginger ale,” Emily said.

“Yeah,” Lou said. “That’s a good idea. She mentioned something about going to the store, so we can get some then.” She pulled Emily close for a hug, feeling her niece’s small, soft arms wrap around her neck.

“C’mon,” Lou said. “Let’s get ready.”

After she’d gathered up the bathing suits and towels, Lou tapped her knuckles gently on the bathroom door. “Meet you outside!” she said brightly. She managed to wrangle all the kids to the minivan and get them strapped in, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about baby cheetahs.

“Even when they grow up they don’t roar like the other big cats,” Lou said. “They’ll just purr when they’re bigger. And did you know they only need to drink water once every three or four days? They get liquid from their food.”

“I want a baby cheetah,” Emily said. “Can we buy one?”

“That’s dumb,” Sam said. “It would claw you to death.”

“I don’t want a cheetah to kill me!” Eloise wailed.

“Tell you what,” Lou said. “The zoo sells stuffed cheetahs. How about we go visit this week and you can pick one out to sleep with?”

“Me, too?” Eloise asked.

“All of you,” Lou promised.

Jamie came out of the house then, glancing around warily. Lou waved at her, hoping Jamie would know it meant there weren’t any reporters lurking. Jamie walked toward the minivan before shaking her head and doubling back to lock the front door.

“I can drive,” Lou offered. At Jamie’s grateful nod, she slipped the minivan’s keys out of her sister’s purse and started the engine.

“Can we watch a movie?” Eloise asked as Lou backed out of the driveway. “I want
Nemo.
”

“
Nemo
’s for babies,” Emily said.

Eloise began to cry and tried to hit her sister, but her car seat’s restraints prevented her from stretching far enough to connect. Emily leaned closer but still just out of Eloise’s reach and stuck out her tongue.

“Emily, that wasn’t nice. Say you’re sorry,” Jamie instructed.

“Sorry,” Emily said in a tone completely devoid of sincerity.

“You know we only watch movies on long car rides,” Jamie said. “This is a short one. You can listen to music.”