The look Lulu shot me told me she would rather be going to get her son herself. But she was too winded, and I was too ready. I quickly slid through the tear in the fence, or as quickly as a woman with curves could. The tear was small and the edges of the fence were jagged. It didn’t surprise me when one of them scored into my back.
I winced, but kept moving. After wriggling my ample hips and bottom through the fence, my legs came through easily. Looking back, I saw a hint of blood, my blood, across the wood. Whatever. I would bandage up later.
Jack waded out of the stream and hobbled over to me, and I scooped him up into my arms, giving him a half-guilty, half-grateful hug. “What were you thinking, Little Man?”
He mumbled something in baby speak, something that sounded like “He talks” or “He walks.”
Kids are so weird.
Letting him go, I ushered Jack through the tear. Obviously, he made it through much easier than I had, artfully dodging my bloodstain with plenty of room to spare. I, on the other hand, wriggled around like a fish caught on a hook, no doubt ruining my favorite pair of jeans in the process.
Jack scrambled away from me and jumped into his mother arms.
“You shouldn’t be holding him,” I said, getting to my feet and checking out all the dirt that was now caked into my outfit.
Yep. Ruined.
“I’ve got him,” she said, keeping her eyes away from me.
“But the doctor—”
“Goddamn it, I said I’ve got him!”
I reared back, knowing better than to push my best friend any further.
“Ester,” Lulu said, turning to the prim woman. “I need you to—”
“Get a contractor to fix that fence?” She shot me a look before continuing. “I already sent a text. He’ll be here within the hour.”
“Thank you.” Lulu sighed in the way you would expect to hear from someone who had just heard their husband had come out of surgery fine. But this was a fence. It was a stupid fence that blocked woods that Jack was barely in. Yes, I had screwed up, but was it really that big of a deal?
“Lulu, I’m sorry. I was making lunch. I didn’t—”
“Look, I need to lay down for a bit,” she said dismissively. “Just … just make sure that fence gets fixed.”
“All right,” I muttered at her back as she walked away.
“I’ll show myself out,” Ester said, shooting me another withering glance. “After all, I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
She smirked as she walked past Lulu, giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it hurt. Maybe Ester was right. Maybe I had been here too long. Maybe after everything that happened, this wasn’t the place for me.
I turned back to the woods, staring out into the trees as though I could see my future among them or something.
I felt so alone. Even here, even among Lulu and the town where I had spent the first seventeen years of my life, I felt like an outsider. If only Mom were here. If only I could retreat into her the way I always used to when things went wrong. I never felt alone so long as I knew she existed in the world. And maybe that was the thing. Maybe now that she was no longer in the world, alone was all I would ever feel.
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried not to cry. Instead, I just kept staring out at those woods. And the funny thing was, for a second, it felt as though something might be staring back.
Chapter 2
By the time dinner rolled around, things had calmed between Lulu and me. I would like to think that was because Lulu realized she had overreacted about the whole ‘scary-woods, must-have-fence’ thing. But in all honesty, my chicken piccata probably had more to do with it. Lulu loved that recipe, and she had ever since my Grandma No Neck taught it to me during that summer I spent in the mountains.
That, paired with a bottle of wine, and Lulu could loosen up after just about anything. She was pregnant, though, so I would have to hope the piccata was especially potent tonight.
She scooped what was probably her third helping onto her plate and started to dig in.
Looks like it’s doing the trick.
My eyes gravitated from her to Jack, who was half covered in macaroni and cheese and completely over whatever perceived trauma Lulu inexplicably imagined he would face once he got three feet past the tree line.
“It’s different this time,” she said through a heaping mouthful. “What is that?”
I smiled. “I started adding in tabasco.”
“Really? Since when?” She stabbed at a cube of chicken with her fork.
“About seven years ago,” I said, wincing at all that statement revealed.
“Good God!” Apparently the effect hadn’t been lost on Lulu, either. “It has not been that long since we’ve spent real time together.”
“High school,” I said. “Not that I didn’t beg you to come with me.”
“Not this again,” she said, grinning and wagging her finger at me. “What was I going to do in New York, Char? I’m not pretty like you.”
“That is insanely untrue. For one, everyone thought we were twins growing up. You’re a freaking supermodel.”
“No,” she answered, grabbing Jack’s leaking juice cup and tightening the lid. “You’re a supermodel. I got magazines in the attic to prove it.”