Standing there with those strangers at the pool all looking at me, I thought of that calf, and about Cutter splashing around all desperate-like every time he got in the water. He wasn’t strong enough, either. But I was supposed to be strong for him. I thought of all the times I’d been cruel to him, ignored him, said awful things to him. I hoped he knew I didn’t mean any of it. I felt the tears sliding down my face, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I didn’t care if those strangers saw me cry.
The adults held a little meeting and decided I should go to the old lady’s house, the one who always brought Alec and Lilah up to the pool. She always had good snacks, so I figured it wouldn’t be awful to go with her, even if she was a stranger and my mom told me never to go with strangers. My mom also told me to keep an eye on Cutter at all times, and I didn’t do that, so maybe I deserved whatever happened to me at a stranger’s house.
But when we got there, nothing terrible happened. The old lady—who told me to call her Zell—made me a glass of Coke in a bright turquoise metal cup that turned as cold as the ice she put in it. My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow the Coke, so I just held the cup in my hand until it got too cold to stand, then I put it on the coffee table and watched the condensation drip down the sides while the old lady—Zell—went to find me a coaster.
Her house was nice. Cozy. The kind of house you’d see on a TV show. Zell also seemed like she could be on a TV show, playing the plump neighbor who’s nice but kind of obnoxious, the one you just have to love because she means well. She stared at me while I took a polite sip of that Coke, and that’s what I told myself: She means well. She’d brought me there, hadn’t she? She’d taken me in when she didn’t have to. The whole lot of them could’ve left me there, crying and wailing like I was, all of them hoping I’d get myself together and get myself home eventually.
But they didn’t leave me. They huddled like a football team and made a decision. Maybe they drew straws and Zell got the short one. But however they made it, she was the one elected. She told me I was going home with her as if it were the best news she’d ever heard. And when we left, the other people walked out with us, each of them promising to check in on me later, like they actually cared. Alec and Lilah’s dad said, “Feel better,” and looked really sad, and I wished I had a dad like him. I knew they didn’t have a mom, but sometimes I thought a dad would be better anyway. I mean, if you had to pick just one.
As I drifted off to sleep on Zell’s couch underneath the afghan she put over me when I couldn’t stop shivering, I thought about the sign at the pool’s entrance that said: WE’RE ALL FAMILY HERE. Maybe, I decided, it wasn’t a lie.
EVERETT
Jencey Cabot was sitting at his kitchen table, looking for all the world like she belonged there. Like she’d just been by last week to drop off some blueberries she’d picked and was back to eat the muffins Bryte made from them, or whatever women did with one another when he was at work. He tried not to stare at her, taking in the changes that had occurred since the last time he’d seen her, which wasn’t nearly as long ago as Bryte thought. He couldn’t let on about that. So far Jencey was doing a good job of pretending it had never happened. Was it possible she’d forgotten?
His gaze flickered back over her. Damn but she was still beautiful. Whether her hair was still the same color blonde as it had been in high school or she’d had some help keeping it that color didn’t matter. Except for the faintest lines around her eyes and a bit more wisdom in them, she looked just like the girl he’d loved first. He forced himself to look away and smile at Bryte, who was all revved up about what had happened at the pool that day. She’d talked of nearly nothing else.
“So then what happened?” he asked, feigning the same level of interest, when all he wanted to do was grill Jencey about what she was doing back in town and ask her if she was mad at him. She had a right to be.
“Well, they took him in the ambulance. But the saddest part”—Bryte and Jencey exchanged mournful glances—“the saddest part was his older sister. They didn’t take her with them, and it just broke her heart. So she’s falling apart and we’re all just standing there wondering what to do.” Bryte looked at Jencey again, and he could see the faintest bit of that old hero worship in her eyes as she did. “Jencey was really great with her.”
Jencey shrugged. “She’s close in age to my daughters. I just talked to her the way I do with them when there’s a crisis.”
Have you had a lot of crises in your life? He refrained from speaking the words aloud. He liked to think her life in Connecticut had been good, better than the one she’d left behind. The one that had once included him.
“Well, you got her calmed down.” Bryte stood and began clearing the plates from dinner, shooing Jencey back into her place when she attempted to stand as well. “I was useless.”
Everett didn’t like the tone this conversation was taking. His wife was regressing in front of his eyes. Where was the confident, capable woman she’d become in her twenties, sans Jencey? He wasn’t sure that Jencey’s reappearance in their lives right on the heels of the infertility issues was the best thing. He’d been close to talking her into subjecting themselves to all of it again, shoring her up for battle. He couldn’t afford for Jencey to reduce her to that uncertain girl she’d been back when they were in high school. That girl could never have gone through all that his wife—grown-up, confident Bryte—had.
“I’m sure you weren’t useless, honey,” he spoke up.
He saw Jencey’s eyes cut over to him and away in a flash. So she didn’t like him calling Bryte “honey.” Interesting. Or maybe he was just reading too much into the situation. Projecting. Isn’t that what Bryte called it when he said things he wished were true as if they already were? Did he want Jencey to be bothered? To be jealous?
Yes, he did. God help him, he did want Jencey to eat her heart out over how it had all turned out. Never mind the way things had gone down that last time. Never mind that things might’ve been different.
“Everett?” Bryte asked. “Would you mind getting Christopher out of his seat?” Without waiting for his reply, Bryte handed him a wet washcloth. And why not? This is what they did every night. This is who they were. This was the choice they’d all made.
He used the washcloth to attempt to remove the remnants of dinner from his son’s face as Christopher squirmed and whined his disapproval. Jencey watched the domestic scene silently, and Everett wondered what she was thinking. Satisfied with his cleaning job—the rest would come off in the bath—Everett released the booster-seat tray and helped him down. Christopher immediately went to Jencey, sidling up to her with a charming grin as he thrust a toy car in her face to impress her. Like father, like son, he thought, and suppressed a grin of his own.
“You’re quite the little charmer,” Jencey said, and pulled Christopher onto her lap.
Bryte turned around and looked at the three of them there at the table—the boy in Jencey’s lap, Everett sitting beside them. He could only wonder what Jencey’s thoughts were, but he could take one look at his wife to know what hers were. He caught her eye and winked. I love you. You’re my wife. This is our son. I wouldn’t want it any different. Bryte smiled and turned back to the dishes.
“So where’s the little girl now?” he asked, circling back to the most innocuous topic of conversation he could find. It was awful of him, but he was actually glad for the scene at the pool today. It had given them all something to talk about, allowed them to detour away from the land mines that lay in any other conversational territory.
“Well, she’s with Zell. Remember Mrs. Boyette? JJ’s mom?” Bryte started loading the dishwasher, speaking without turning around.