It was too beautiful. A clear pink morning sky like the storm had never happened, and it didn’t seem honest. If you took a picture of this morning, there would be nothing ugly in it.
She was snoring. She was parked in the middle of the bed, her arms and legs splayed in all directions. Her sleeping face looked different somehow. It was not the serene face she usually wore. Her breath got shorter, and the muscles around her eyes and mouth constricted—she seemed to want to speak—and then she relaxed again, but even relaxed, she looked worried.
Sounds in the driveway. I peeled back the covers quietly, went to the window. Chuck’s folding chair had been whipped across the lawn and he was walking toward it. Already in his work clothes. Wet hair, he’d just showered. When he got to the chair, he paused. He took a step back, took his hands out of his pockets. I waited for him to kick the chair. But then he bent to pick it up. He tried to fold it. It wouldn’t fold. It was broken. He carried it back with him anyway and set it by the ohana door.
After taking a moment to survey the damage, Chuck made his way down the driveway to his car, which was parked next to the boys’ car behind the fallen tree. Hands in his pockets again. His feet were slow and heavy. He stopped to throw fallen branches out of the driveway and into the grass. Where was he going so early? Work? Breakfast somewhere before work? Breakfast with Brenda? He hadn’t come in to get coffee. Was he making it in the ohana or going out for it now?
He got into his car but didn’t leave. He just sat there, looking at the house.
Footsteps on the lanai, and then the boys walking down to their car in matching strides. Board shorts, flip-flops. Jed’s shirt was too big for him. Cam’s was the same orange as her Wynonna wig.
Chuck got out of his car.
The boys stopped.
Chuck waved. He said something I couldn’t hear. The boys looked at each other, then walked faster to their car. Chuck said something else. He was standing in front of their car now. And then it was the three of them, standing together. Chuck reached for Jed. Jed stepped back. Then—this surprised me—Cam stepped forward and hugged his father. And then—more surprising—Jed put his arms around the both of them. Only for a second, but still.
After that they were talking again. I love you, I’m sorry, I love you. That’s what I imagined they were saying.
The boys drove away first. Chuck stood there and watched them, and then he got back into his car. He started the engine. At the end of the driveway, he turned on his blinker. No one saw this but me. The road was empty.
I showered in the boys’ bathroom so I wouldn’t wake her up. I scrubbed as if I were covered in his blood. My skin was red and raw by the end and I deserved that. When I reached for the towel, I remembered how I’d switched the towels when we first moved in. These were the yellow ones Chuck and I had used in San Diego. It felt like I hadn’t seen them in years.
Spandex crops and a tunic I hadn’t worn in a while because that was what I found in the laundry room.
And then a car. In the driveway. Doors slamming. The police. The police, the police and blinking lights and questions and I don’t know why I ran to the little mirror in the hallway first. To see if I looked like an innocent person, maybe.
The necklace—my black side of the yin and yang—was perfectly framed by the dip in the tunic. I couldn’t be wearing this; this tied me to her. She would confess and this would tie me to her. My hands were trembling. I tried to unclasp it, but I couldn’t. I tried to yank it off. I couldn’t. Breathe, Nancy. I tried again. The clasp opened. The necklace fell to the floor. I left it there.
I ran through the living room. Something rancid—Portico’s tank with new colors in it. I didn’t stop to see what they had added. I opened the door. Too beautiful again. No spinning lights, no police. It was a giant truck. Big Island Tree Service printed on the side. Had I made this appointment and forgotten? But they hadn’t answered the phone. Had they? I was going crazy.
I walked down the driveway. Act normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.
A man in a hard hat revved a chainsaw. They would cut the tree before moving it.
“Hey!” I called, walking closer. “Did I call you?”
“You Chuck?” The man laughed.
“No,” I said seriously. I stared at my feet for too long. What if this man had known Peter. What if the other man, who was still in the truck, had known Peter. A small town.
And then I realized the man was waiting for me to speak. “Thank you for coming,” I said, and turned—too abruptly, that was awkward, don’t be awkward—and walked away. Should I turn back around? No, that’s worse. Keep walking. But oh God, that was so awkward. They would tell the police later that I had seemed off. Keep walking. Keep walking. You’re fine. You’re fine.
?
Yes, Chuck had a coffeemaker in the ohana now. I hated that. And I hated that his clothes were in a laundry bag from Tyke’s and I didn’t even know where Tyke’s was. He’d found an extra pillow somewhere. He had two pillows now. His futon bed looked uncomfortable and depressing, and good because he deserved that, but it also looked like a prison bed, and that’s what I deserved.
Standing there in Chuck’s new life, I heard her words: We are born alone and we die alone. And I wanted to tell her this. I wanted to tell her everything. “He has a coffeemaker now, and I was thinking about what you said, how we are born alone and die alone.” I wanted to go into the house and wake her up and say this to her.
But I couldn’t go to Ana now. She had swerved the car and she had done it on purpose. She had known exactly what she was doing when she swerved the car. Hadn’t she?
For now, I thought, as I opened the door, be kind. She’s dying, Nancy. It’s only a little while longer.
?
Things I hadn’t noticed in my rush out of the house: Ana’s tarot cards spread out over the dining room table. All those antique ovals and all of her faces inside of them. Her cheesy TV psychic expression and Portico threaded through her fingers like rope. Portico’s tank had pasta in it now, heaped like hair. On top of the pasta was Ana’s blue Buddha. And then, movement. I held my breath and looked in from the side.
“No.”
Maggots.
Anger. Adrenaline. The tank was heavy but felt light. I wanted to throw it off the lanai. I set it by the doormat instead.
Sound of the chainsaw. The tree service had removed a good chunk of the tree—just enough room to pass. I could leave now. I could be free.
“Naaaaaaaan?”
The sound of her voice. I froze. A cool tingling up my spine and up my neck and up the sides of my ears. I thought of something she’d told me once: Your body is smarter than you are.
“Naaa-aaaan?”