I told her that my mother wouldn’t be able to sign the form. ‘Why?’ the secretary asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Are they divorced? Is your mother…?’ She looked up at the ceiling, as if heaven were up there. I gave her the packet back, telling her that, never mind, I didn’t need to go to a counselor after all. It was too hard to explain.
Stella was still complaining. ‘And that woman was such a germophobe, especially after your father left. Everything had to be spotless. One time, she wouldn’t let me in because my shoes looked too filthy! And they were perfectly clean. Nothing wrong with them. She even tried to clean after her first stroke, but finally I said would you stop? Life isn’t all about cleanliness. Life isn’t all about having the dishes stacked perfectly and all the pictures straight on the walls.’
But don’t you miss her? I wanted to ask Stella. I couldn’t think of anything bad to say about my mother, even though I knew the things were there.
Then Stella looked at me. ‘Did I ever tell you I almost cheated on my husband?’
I stared at her, slack-jawed at the inanity of the question. ‘Uh, no. I can’t say you have.’
‘Skip and I were fighting. We fought all the time.’
‘Over what?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Things. It’s hard to be married. There was one time though when I really thought things were over. I stormed out of the house and got in my car. I didn’t know where I was going. I just drove. I ended up at this bar, the Crest. I don’t know what it’s like now, but it used to be that you didn’t go into the Crest. Not if you were a nice girl, or any kind of girl for that matter-the median age in that place was about fifty. I was only twenty-three or so when this fight happened. I pulled into the parking lot and slammed the door and just walked right in there. Most of the guys nearly fell off their seats when I walked in. There was this man sitting on the last stool, nearest the back door. I walked right up to him and sat down and I ordered a whiskey sour.’ She chuckled. ‘Have you ever had one?’
‘I’m seventeen,’ I reminded her.
‘They’re delicious,’ she said. ‘You should try one. Maybe I’ll make you one, when we go home. Anyway, the bartender said they didn’t have any sour mix. He poured me a glass of whiskey, without me even asking. I drank it down. I was so mad at Skip, I remember. So mad. And some man was just staring at me, and he asked what my name was and I told him and then I…I slipped my wedding ring into my pocket. It was the craziest thing. But this man stood up and he offered his hand and I stood up too. And we just…walked out the bar. He opened his car door. I got in. No words at all. He drove to the Amity-it’s not there anymore, because it burned down in the Seventies, but it used to be this motel near the bridge. I just followed him into a room.
‘The whole time, all I could think of was my wedding ring in my pocket.’ Stella took a breath. ‘I was sure it was going to roll out and under the dresser and I’d never be able to find it. And then someone else would find it, and they’d see my initials and Skip’s initials and our wedding date and they’d know it was mine.’
‘How would they know?’ I asked.
‘Cobalt is small,’ Stella explained. ‘People know.’
‘But what about the guys at the bar? Don’t they know?’
Stella shrugged. ‘None of them would ever say anything. They probably weren’t supposed to be at that bar in the first place. It was the middle of the day, after all.’
She stubbed out her cigarette on the porch rail. ‘The ring was fine, though. Still in my pocket. And I didn’t go through with it, anyway. The man had to pee as soon as we got there. When he shut the bathroom door a little, I left.’
‘Did you ever tell your husband?’
‘Good Lord, no. I don’t even know what we were fighting about. Probably nothing.’ She chuckled, then sighed. ‘Marriage can be such a bitch, Summer. It really can. It’s hard for people to be truly happy together. Some people just can’t take it. And that’s okay.’
I stuffed my hands underneath me. ‘Do you think people that leave their families are despicable?’
‘Predictable?’ She tilted her ear toward me. ‘What’d you say?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Never mind.’
The same devil horns kid whizzed by. Truthfully, I was a little astounded to see any kids in Cobalt. The town seemed more like an island of old ladies, all of them as candid and batty as Stella. Then again, there was Samantha. And the kid down the street. The Arab that wasn’t an Arab.
I stared at the dirt between the porch’s wooden slats. ‘So is that kid Crystal was talking about really weird?’
‘Kid?’ Stella looked at me blankly. ‘What kid?’
‘That…’ I searched for his name. ‘That Philip kid.’
Stella leaned back, thinking. ‘That father of his was getting out of his car once. I was right there, and I was so tempted to ask how he puts his towel thing on. I’m dying to know. Is it a hat, or is it a big long scarf? Does it ever fall off?’ She looked off in the distance. ‘And why does he wear it all the time, anyway? Someone told me it was because of his religion. But what kind of crazy religion makes you do that?’