The fireworks terrified Christopher. He shrieked so loudly that Bryte scooped him up and ran out of the pool area, stumbling over chairs and mumbling “Excuse me” multiple times as she hastily made her exit. Everett watched his wife and child leave. The darkened pool area was packed, making it hard for Bryte to move with ease, much less while clutching a screaming child. Every few minutes, the lights of the fireworks illuminated a path while simultaneously setting Christopher off again, his shrieks ringing out over the tinny patriotic music playing through the speakers.
Everett, embarrassed by the spectacle, wondered what he should do. Did he wait for her to settle their son down and return? Did he go after her and create another disturbance? He surveyed the various items he would have to collect in order to leave. There was no way he could accomplish that in the dark. They’d spent the whole afternoon at the pool and had participated in the potluck dinner there that evening. All around him were dishes and clothing and towels and several bags strewn about the area where they’d set up camp. He turned his attention back to the fireworks, reasoning that he’d just wait until the show ended, gather up their things, and leave. It had to be close to over, though down by the lake, he could see James and his buddies still lighting fuses and scurrying around.
Everett wondered idly just how much money the man had invested in fireworks, only to see it all go up in smoke. Literally. He smiled at his own joke. He felt someone’s eyes on him and turned to see Jencey looking at him. She smiled back, and he wondered guiltily whether she thought the smile was for or about her. Jencey turned her attention back toward the fireworks, but he didn’t. In the dark, he could make out her blonde hair, and the two blonde heads on either side of her, leaning into her.
He wouldn’t have pictured Jencey as the consummate mother, and yet it suited her. He thought with a pang of Bryte’s resistance to having more children, of her recent announcement that she might just look for a job instead. He never thought it had to be one or the other and didn’t understand why she was making it sound like it had to be. But whenever he tried to bring it up for discussion, she closed up like a book slamming shut.
Jencey was sitting with Lance, the “hero.” Everyone had been making such a fuss over him all day, slapping him on the back and thanking him. Come on, Everett thought more than once, the guy just did what any man would do who saw a child drowning. It seemed as if Jencey had fallen under his hero spell as well. Everett would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, seeing her at the pool where they used to watch fireworks, their fingers laced together and her leaning against him the way her daughters were leaning against her now. “Get a room, you two,” Bryte would tease. And later, after everyone had gone home, they would get a room of sorts, only it wasn’t a room at all.
He hadn’t gone to their spot in years, felt guilty visiting that place now that he and Bryte were married. It would hurt her too much to know he did that. And yet, sometimes he could feel it calling to him, the tree branches waving in the breeze, beckoning him to come . . . and remember. He shook his head and forced himself to look back at the fireworks, concentrating on the light arcing across the sky, feeling the explosions in his heart. Lee Greenwood sang “Proud to Be an American,” and on the other side of him, he could hear John Boyette’s mother singing along off-key but loudly. In his pocket, he felt his phone buzz. He looked at it. A text from Bryte: Took him home. Will you just bring everything when it’s over? I’m putting him to bed.
He texted back: Will do. Sorry you missed the rest of the show. Fireworks of our own later? and pocketed his phone. He would never admit what had put him in the mood.
After they’d started dating, Bryte had confessed to him that each time she saw him and Jencey together during high school her heart had broken a little more. He’d been so slow on the draw, unaware of Bryte’s unrequited love for him until Jencey was out of the picture and Bryte finally, after too much to drink one night, blurted it all out. Until that moment, he’d always thought of Bryte as his best friend, his confidante. And, actually, seven years of marriage later, she still was. “Today I marry my best friend,” their wedding invitations had said. And it was true.
The screech of chairs being slid back into place startled him out of his thoughts. He looked around as the floodlights around the pool came back on and people began the leaving process. He stood, stiff and sore, and stretched before gathering their things. It would take several trips to the car to get it all loaded. Someone poked him in the side, and he turned to find Jencey there, looking concerned. “Is Christopher OK?”
“Yeah. He just got scared.” He shrugged. “Funny because last year he loved them.”
She nodded. “That’s the age. One year they love Santa, the next they scream bloody murder if you get within ten feet of him.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Kids.”
He pointed at Jencey’s girls. “They’re beautiful.”
She glanced over at her daughters and smiled proudly. “Thanks.”
“I guess it’s not really how I pictured you, when I pictured you as an adult,” he said.
She squinted at him while nudging her daughters in the direction of Lance’s kids. “What do you mean?”
Now he’d put his foot in his mouth. “I mean, you just always talked about this supersuccessful life, and I guess I thought you meant this high-powered career. You know, Sex and the City kind of stuff.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I probably thought that, too, but . . . then I met my husband, and well, he wanted the life we built and I . . . didn’t stop to question it.” She paused. “I didn’t question a lot of things.” The last bit seemed more to herself than him.
“And where is he now?” he asked, giving voice to something he and Bryte had discussed after Jencey left the night she came for dinner. Jencey still wore a wedding ring, so they didn’t think she was divorced, and yet she was there alone, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Bryte had told him she’d even asked about the schools.
Maybe it was due to the beers he’d seen her sip throughout the fireworks display. Maybe it was because, he hoped, she trusted Everett. Maybe it was the fact that none of the neighborhood busybodies were around. Whatever the reason, Jencey didn’t hesitate to answer his question. “Jail,” she said, the word almost flippant, but he detected a catch in her voice. “Federal prison, to be exact.” She raised her eyebrows. “For the next ten years at least.”
His eyes widened at the news. “What’d he do?” He thought of the big, bad things—murder, rape, bank robbery.
“Wire fraud, mail fraud, money laundering, and bribing city officials.” She ticked off her husband’s offenses as if it were no big deal, but her eyes gave her away. “Turns out he was not the prince I thought he was.”
He pointed at her ring. “But you’re still married?”
She twisted the ring around self-consciously, lowering her eyes. “Not officially divorced. Not yet. And, until I am, I’ve sort of kept it on for the girls. And, I guess, for me. Old habits and all that.” She glanced back up at him. “Had to get used to the idea.”
“And are you? Used to it?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Still not sure what I’m going to do next. I have to reinvent my life, make a new life for the girls. I came back here because I . . .” She looked around at the pool, and he wondered if she too had memories. She took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I would’ve told you I came back here because I had nowhere else to go. But I don’t necessarily think that anymore.”
“What do you think now?” he coaxed.