I say, “Really, Connie. I’m fucking freaked-out right now,” and a million things flash through my mind, but mostly it’s those books I read as a preteen: 6 Months to Live, I Want to Live, Too Young to Die. “Cancer,” I say out loud. “It’s some sort of blood cancer.”
Connie immediately sobers up. “Come on, Julie. Let’s not be dramatic,” and when I look at her with real fear in my eyes, she pulls me to her and she’s so bony I don’t expect her hug to be as comforting as it is, but I can tell she’s watching my back in the mirror, and trying not to grab at the bruise, because she’d seen me flinch when I pulled my shirt off. “Did you get wasted and fall down again?” she asks, smiling into my hair, knowing I’ve pulled myself together since college, and I can’t help but laugh, because even if Connie is not my best friend, it turns out she’s exactly who I want in this bathroom with me. She’s all I’ve got in this tiny new town and she’s still hugging me, but I’m trying to break free to put my shirt back on and she won’t let go and it’s some kind of joke I don’t get, and that’s why I love her, because she can make me laugh in a nonsense way, and she says, in a spooky voice, “I think it’s growing.”
I laugh and give her one final push. “So comforting, Con.”
She squints her eyes at my reflection, as if she might actually be noticing something, but I pull my shirt down and her eyes snap back to mine, and she says, “Yeah, I’m kidding. Couldn’t be.”
10
JULIE TAKES HER turn talking to my parents. She puts them on speaker. The picture Julie paints of the house is a bit rosier than the truth. She feels the need to protect us against criticism. It was her idea not to tell my parents about my gambling problem. “They’ll offer only worry and help, and we don’t need either,” she’d said. I felt both better and worse because of this decision. I thought of our vows.
On the call, my mother pipes in with advice and recommendations on what could be done to improve the place, sight unseen. “Have you replaced the hardware in the bathroom and kitchen? That goes a long way. A fresh coat of paint and some new switch plates for the lights. It’s those little details that can make a home feel really clean and new.” Julie leans her head on the back of the couch, stretching her neck and rolling it along the edge of the upholstery gently. The bruise also goes unmentioned. I turn my finger into a blade and run it across her neck. She lolls her tongue out of her mouth. She knows what she should do to save her own sanity. She waits for my mom to finish so that it’s my dad she cuts off.
“Thank you for all of your advice!” Julie’s voice is so chipper and believable. “I should probably get to the hardware store before it closes! I hope the two of you have a lovely weekend, though.”
My mother responds, “You let us know when you’re ready for visitors, okay, Julie? We’ll be there in a jiff. Say goodbye to James for us!”
“Will do! Talk to you later!” Julie exaggerates the gesture it takes to end the call. “That they can be here in a jiff is not a comfort to me.”
I take her hand. “That jiff is longer than it used to be. I’d say you’re on the up-and-up here.”
She frowns. “Do you want to go to the hardware store?”
“Not really, right?”
Julie sighs. “She has a point. Maybe if we put a little work into the house, it’ll start to feel like our own.”
Julie, at heart, is a people pleaser, a straight-A student. She’s had a series of jobs she hates but can’t help being the best at. If someone gives her advice she deems sound, she’ll act on it immediately. Julie pulls on sneakers and a jacket. I follow her out and still can’t quite remember which way to turn my key in the door to lock it. When I get down to the driveway, she has already installed herself in the passenger seat and put the keys in the ignition for me. “Thanks for driving.” It is never something I mind. I watch Julie relax in the seat beside me and we pull away.
We turn onto a side street and then out onto the main road. The farther we get from the lake, the more modest the houses become. Wider spaces separate them. The flat road winds through a tree-lined canopy. Otherwise we’d see all the way to the horizon. When the street spits us out into full light, we pass motels, then condo complexes, town houses, small ranches, and then a section of big old mansions wreathing the center of town. A defunct fountain sits in the middle of a square that’s mostly grass with triangular beds of geraniums and lamb’s ears. “Could you get any more white-bread?” I ask.
“I’m so glad you care about plants,” she says. “I appoint you head of our landscaping.”
“If you insist,” I say. I think of how I will transform the empty plot of dirt at the back of the yard into a raised vegetable garden. I will ask what Julie wants to eat and grow it for her.
The parking spots in front of the hardware store are full, as are the ones at the pharmacy next to it. “I mean, it’s a miracle these places stay in business what with those shopping centers out by the highway. I’m surprised there are this many cars,” Julie says.
I pull into a spot around the corner in front of the town hall. “These shops are probably more expensive, too.” I let myself out.
“But they’re owned by human beings, not corporate giants, and that’s why we are choosing to shop here.” Julie slams her door as punctuation.
Inside, Julie picks the most expensive faucet for the bathroom sink. She chooses the least expensive plates for the light switches, saying, “I can compromise.”
We watch as our paint is mixed: Gentle Cream for the bedroom, Mascarpone for the living room, Wind Chime for the kitchen, Croquet for the bathroom.
“Croquet isn’t a color,” I say.
Julie rolls her eyes.
“Croquet doesn’t even tip off what color it might be. Is it green?”
Julie shows me the paint chip. “Gray really, with a greenish tint, I guess.”
She lists off items I can grab: a painting tray, rollers, primer, brushes. I gather. I turn the aisle corners expecting to run into another customer, but we’re the only ones in the store. “Where do you think all the people are?” I ask Julie.
Julie looks around as if she hadn’t realized we were alone.
The girl in the stiff blue apron helping us can’t be older than sixteen. When she talks, she hides her braces by cupping a hand over her mouth. I look to Julie because I know this is the sort of thing she’ll be charmed by. She is giving the girl a smile I’m sure she thinks is friendly, but it exhibits pained pity instead. “What’s fun to do around here?” Julie asks. “It seems like there must be people around. Where are they hanging out?”
The girl looks stunned, as if she’s been accused of something. She shakes her head and continues ringing up our items.
A man on the verge of retirement hobbles out of a windowed office to make sure we’ve found what we need. “Jenny took good care of you?”
Julie is quick with the effusive praise. “Couldn’t have been more helpful. You’ve got a keeper here.”