Things You Won't Say (7 page)

“It’s so hot!” Jamie said as they paid the attendant at the front desk and pushed through the turnstiles that led to the public pool. “Let’s get changed and then I’ll lather you all up with sunscreen and you can jump in the water.”

It
was
going to be a wonderful day, she told herself almost fiercely. Sandy deserved it. Jamie had tucked an old issue of
People
magazine in her bag at the last moment. She’d put it down on a chair and insist on watching the kids so her friend could have a break.

As they walked up the cement path that led to the pool, Jamie felt something: a gentle tug on her hand.

It was Sam, her anxious kid, the one who sometimes chewed the collar of his shirt. He’d listened to her and Mike talk about Ritchie and his injury and he’d seemed to be okay. He hadn’t asked any questions, so they hadn’t elaborated. But now she saw Sam hadn’t taken the news in stride, not at all. None of them had. Mike with his workouts, she trying to stick to their usual routines, Sandy with her bright reports of Ritchie’s progress, the kids with their laughter and arguments . . . normal life wasn’t normal any longer. Maybe it would never be again.

Her son’s hand was cool on this warm day, and that was what broke her heart.

“But what if it happens again?” Sam said. Jamie didn’t have to ask him what he meant.

The question Eloise had unleashed was the same one echoing in Jamie’s head.

•••

Lou gave a quick knock on her sister’s front door, then pushed it open. She saw Sadie charging toward her, and she raised her right knee so that her leg was at a ninety-degree angle. That blocking maneuver was all that was needed to keep Sadie from leaping up and jabbing her nails into Lou’s thighs. Lou had tried to explain to Jamie that it was relatively simple to train a dog, but Jamie had waved away Lou’s suggestions. “I can’t even train my kids to put their dirty laundry in their hampers,” Jamie had said. “Can we start with that and work our way down the priority list?”

Lou gave Sadie a quick scratch behind the ears, then called out, “Who wants candy?” The sudden pounding of feet on the stairs sounded like a mini-avalanche. “Sorry, did I say candy?” she asked as the kids swarmed around her. “I meant Brussels sprouts.”

Lou fended off the mock attack from the children, laughing. She’d never felt a maternal longing or heard a biological clock ticking in her midriff or experienced whatever it was women were supposed to feel when they hit thirty. But oh, did she adore being an aunt—the kind who told silly jokes, threw the first snowball, and took the kids to see Pixar movies and let them load up on popcorn and tubs of soda. Lou didn’t do all that stuff to make the kids happy—she truly enjoyed it, too. Sitting around a dinner table discussing politics and home renovations with adults was the most boring experience she could imagine. Kids had so much more life in them, at least until life itself sucked it back out.

“After dinner!” Jamie was calling, confiscating the Hershey’s Kisses Lou was tossing into the air and letting the kids catch like raindrops. “Come on, guys, I just made you all hot dogs . . . Eloise, I saw you put that in your pocket. Give it back! Lou, can you stop that?”

Buzzkill,
Lou thought. Jamie used to go nuts over her Hal
loween candy as a kid—endlessly sorting it and awarding each piece a number of stars and scheming about how to get maximum enjoyment from the bag of sugary snacks. How had her big sister forgotten about the simple magic contained in a square of crinkly foil?

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Lou asked the kids. “A game of Hullabaloo? Or hide-’n’-seek? Or how about a massive pillow fight? I’ll take you all on!”

“Maybe a pillow fight isn’t such a great idea,” Jamie said, scooping the candy off the floor. “Remember a lamp got broken last time, Lou?”

“Oh, right,” Lou said. “Well, we can move the pillow fight outside.”

“Dinner first,” Jamie said. She led the way into the kitchen, and Lou hid a smile when she saw Eloise pull a Kiss from her other pocket and gobble it down.

“Thanks again, Lou,” Jamie said as she picked up a piece of paper off the counter and handed it to her sister. “I wrote everything down, but it should be pretty simple. They just need to brush their teeth before bed, and make sure everyone goes to the bathroom, too.”

“What if they don’t have to pee?” Lou asked solemnly. She peered at the paper: “Oh, it says right here that I have to make them do push-ups until they obey!”

Sam began laughing so hard he practically fell out of his chair.

“Get down and give me twenty, child!” Lou ordered, pointing at him. Sam’s laughter turned into coughing and he spat something onto his plate.

“He’s gross,” Emily said, crinkling her nose. “Can I go eat in front of the TV?”

“Take it easy,” Jamie said to Sam. “Did a piece of hot dog go down the wrong way? Have a sip of water . . . there, that’s good . . . Emily, come back here. You need to eat at the table.”

Jamie turned to Lou. “She keeps trying to watch
Pitch Perfect
because it’s on HBO now, but it’s way too old for her.”

“Annabelle saw it,” Emily protested.

“Who’s Annabelle?” Lou asked.

“She’s in Emily’s grade,” Jamie said, before whispering to Lou, “Annabelle also wears shorts that barely cover her butt.”

“Why do they even make clothes like that for kids?” Lou asked, and Jamie shrugged. “You got me. But all it takes is one queen bee wearing them and you’ve got a trend.”

Lou watched as Jamie walked over to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of white wine, and poured a few inches into a glass.

Jamie glanced at the kids, then moved a few feet away and lowered her voice again. “I’m nervous,” she confided. “I don’t know why . . . I saw Ritchie a dozen times in the hospital . . . It’s not like rehab is going to be that different.”

“Auntie Lou, can I sit on your lap?” Eloise asked.

“Let me talk to your mom first, okay? You guys finish dinner and then we’ll play,” Lou said. “Go on, eat! But don’t choke like Sam. Chew your food, like elephants do.”

“I didn’t know elephants had teeth,” Sam said.

“Twenty-four pearly white chompers,” Lou said. “Actually they’re kind of yellow. Elephants don’t brush enough. Obviously your mom didn’t give them a bedtime list.”

She winked at the kids, then turned back to her sister and, following Jamie’s lead, kept her voice low. “He’s still the same guy,” Lou said.

“But he isn’t, exactly,” Jamie said.

Lou didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t nearly as good as her sister at providing comfort. So she just tucked a handful of Kisses in Jamie’s purse, which was stuffed almost to bursting, even though it was the size of the carry-on bag Lou took on airplanes. Lou found purses bizarre and unnecessary encumbrances. She kept her driver’s license and a credit card tucked into her iPhone’s case in one pocket, and her keys in another.

“Thanks,” Jamie said. She unwrapped a Kiss and slipped it into her mouth, keeping her actions covert so the kids didn’t see. That was the Jamie that Lou remembered. “I’m armed with wine and chocolate,” Jamie said. “What more could I need?”

“How does Mike feel about it?” Lou asked. “Is he upstairs chugging a beer and smoking a cigar?”

Jamie smiled, which had been Lou’s intention. “He’s getting out of the shower. He went for a long run again today.”

Lou nodded. Jamie didn’t look so good, even though she was dressed up—well, dressed up for Jamie, which meant a simple khaki skirt and blue sleeveless top, but for Lou that would’ve been practically black tie. Jamie’s face was strained, with smudges of purple beneath her eyes, and she was twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger. That was a nervous habit dating back to her childhood. Once Jamie’s hair had gotten so ensnarled that their mother couldn’t remove the knots and had to cut out a chunk. Jamie had cried, and her mother had done something to make her feel better. “What was it?” Lou had asked. “I can’t remember,” Jamie had said. “Did she make a face? Sing a silly song?” Lou had pressed, but Jamie had just shaken her head and shrugged. The memory seemed a fingertip beyond Lou’s reach, and the more she strained, the faster it slipped away, like a dream that began to fade the instant one awoke. A few sharp fragments were all Lou could cling to: the smell of something sweet—fresh flowers in a vase? or that perfume?—and the pink headband Jamie had worn for weeks to disguise her missing chunk of hair.

“Mike hasn’t been sleeping,” Jamie was saying. She took another big sip of wine. “And at work they tried to pair him with a new guy, who talks all the time and drives Mike crazy.”

“Can’t he switch?” Lou asked. She reached into a kitchen cupboard for a glass and filled it with water from the Brita pitcher on the counter; she was as familiar with Jamie’s kitchen as she was with her own.

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “But I’m not sure that will solve the problem. I think partnering with anyone who isn’t Ritchie is going to be difficult for Mike. It would be like having your beloved husband leave you, then having a new guy move into your house the next day. Can you imagine how strange that would feel?”

“Probably not the best analogy for me to relate to,” Lou joked.

“I’m sorry—” Jamie began, but Lou waved away the apology. Why did people, even her own sister, automatically assume she wanted to get married and have kids? Children didn’t sleep nearly as much as animals, and they were a lot louder.

“So how bad is Mike’s insomnia?” Lou asked.

“Awful. He watches TV most nights and dozes on the couch,” Jamie said. “Or if he starts out in our bed, he comes downstairs for a snack at three
A.M.
He’s just . . . I don’t know if it’s depression. Maybe the beginnings of it. The other day he was staring out the window and Emily was trying to get his attention and she had to call out, ‘Dad!’ three times.”

“Maybe he needs a little more time off,” Lou suggested.

“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “I’m thinking the opposite. That he needs to stay busy. And having other cops around who know what he’s going through might help.”

Lou started to say something, but she heard footsteps approaching. When she turned around, there was her brother-in-law, his broad shoulders filling the doorway to the kitchen.

He reached out and gave her a hug, like he always did. He smelled of soap and felt like a brick wall. Lou adored Mike. He was just easy; he put his feet up on tables and drank beer straight from the bottle and didn’t feel the need to make constant conversation—all traits Lou shared.

“Steroids, huh?” she joked, squeezing Mike’s huge biceps, and was rewarded with a grin.

“Kids, thanks for babysitting Lou for us tonight,” Mike said.

“We’re going to make you pee before bedtime!” Sam yelled.

“Don’t ask,” Lou told Mike.

“Not sure I want to know,” he joked as he reached into the refrigerator to grab a Red Bull.

“I’m finished,” Sam said. “Do I get my candy now?”

“Dishes in the sink first,” Jamie said. “Don’t forget your silverware . . . you, too, Emily. Lou, you’ve got my cell number if you need it, right?”

Lou furrowed her brow. “You mean that thing you call me on all the time?”

Jamie rolled her eyes and gave Lou a quick hug. “I love you, you know.”

Mike was reaching into his pocket and frowning. He checked his other pocket, then looked at the kitchen counter.

“What’re you missing?” Lou asked.

“My keys,” Mike said.

“Did you leave them on the hook by the door?” Jamie asked.

Mike shrugged and went to look. Lou followed him with her eyes, feeling a tinge of worry. When she’d first glimpsed Mike in the kitchen doorway, she’d noticed his sheen of good health—he was tan and fit, his hair still damp from the shower, his black thin-knit shirt straining across his chest. But then he’d moved closer, and she’d noticed the dull exhaustion in his eyes, and the lines in his forehead that seemed to be permanently etched. How many of those caffeinated beverages was he drinking a day? she suddenly wondered.

“I’ll go help Mike look,” Jamie said.

Lou turned her attention back to the kids, and eventually Jamie found a spare set of keys and they headed out. It wasn’t until the kids were asleep and Lou was reaching into the refrigerator to find a snack that she solved the mystery.

On the middle shelf, next to the eggs, were Mike’s keys.

•••

“Say a wife suspects her husband is cheating,” Elroy said as he dipped a French fry into a pool of ketchup and ate it as daintily as a cat. The fries looked incredible—crisp and plump and golden brown. They’d probably been deep-fried in a hot bucket of fat. But Christie’s scale had betrayed her again this morning, inching up another pound for no good reason, so she’d just shaken her head when Elroy offered to share.

“She needs proof, right? Because if she confronts him he’s gonna say no. Or maybe she already has, and he’s got excuses. Too many excuses. His BlackBerry is for work and if she asks him for the password all of a sudden, he’ll know she’s onto him and he’ll delete all the messages. She can’t follow him around without being spotted. She’s picking something up, something she can’t quite prove but she knows is real. That’s when she comes to me. It’s like when birds sense a storm is coming and they suddenly strip a bush clean of its berries. Who knows how they know? Maybe an invisible change in the air. But they’re always right.”

Christie nodded as Elroy nibbled on another fry. She’d never seen a guy eat so slowly; most men she knew wolfed down their food. The combination of his soft voice with the hint of a southern accent and his deliberate movements was oddly hypnotic.

“Some of the time they’ll have another woman in mind. A co-worker, a neighbor, an old girlfriend—someone who gives off weird vibes. I tell you, bloodhounds got nothing on women when it comes to sniffing this stuff out. So they want us to follow hubby and see if he’s up to no good. But maybe he only sees the other woman once every week or two. That’s a whole lot of money to be paying for stakeouts; my rate’s a hundred an hour plus expenses. Most of them can’t afford it for too long, and their husbands would notice if thousands suddenly disappeared from the bank account.”