Cinde comes out of the bedroom in the Juicy sweatpants and I shake the thoughts of Zenn from my mind.
She takes the Pritzer Insurance mug from its spot on the shelf, pours me a cup of coffee and slides the mug across the table. She removes the lid from the sugar bowl and pushes that toward me as well. I scoop some into my mug. I can’t tell her I don’t care much for coffee, and I’m certainly not going to ask if she’s got some chocolate syrup to make it better.
“I do want to apologize about yesterday,” she says, sitting down. “I know I was obnoxious.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I was just …”
“Embarrassed. I know. My fault.” She bites at the edge of her fingernail. “Usually it’s Zenn walking in on me. Poor kid.”
I don’t even know what to say to that.
“I mean, not with Mike. We’re not together anymore.” Her voice is tinged with a subtle regret.
She seems vulnerable this morning, all her bravado and teasing gone. I relax a bit and glance around the kitchen, my eyes coming to rest on that ceramic turtle by the window and the row of smooth, round stones.
She says, almost to herself, “Apparently we were not meant to be.”
I stand up.
“What’s wrong, hon? You need milk?”
I shake my head and take the two steps to the window. I study the stones, like I did yesterday. Yesterday there were eight. Today there are nine.
“Oh, those. Yeah, Zenn is always picking them up.”
There were definitely eight yesterday. Part of my weird math thing is that I count everything. I don’t even realize I do it, but I know how many fluorescent lights are in my lit class (twelve) and how many diapers I change most days (lately it’s only six), and I know that yesterday there were eight rocks and today there are nine. I glance at each one, from light to dark, and the very last rock is the deepest gray, almost black, with a white streak down the middle.
The refrigerator buzzes, a dog barks outside. Cinde spins her mug slowly and it makes a quiet scraping sound against the table.
Is that my rock? The last one I left on the gravestone? There are thousands of rocks on the beach and I’m sure at least some of the others look like that.
“Did he tell you Mike just got outta jail?” Huh? I turn back and shake my head, trying to participate in the conversation. My stomach feels churny and tight. Zenn’s dad was in jail?
“Yeah. I suppose that’s not something Zenn blabs to everyone.”
I shake my head and think of the fractal from Zenn’s jacket — the darkness, the violence, the fear. The sensation of falling, or crashing, or … colliding. Panic. Regret.
She opens her mouth to talk again and I realize I’ve got to leave. I shouldn’t be here, and definitely shouldn’t be hearing any of this from her. If Zenn wanted me to know about his dad, he would tell me. I’m confident that he will tell me, maybe some night in the not-so-distant future when we are curled around each other, catching our breath from kissing, and he feels so close to me that he tells the whole story. I shouldn’t be hearing this from anyone but Zenn, when he’s ready.
I look up at the wall clock in fake surprise. “Oh, wow. I didn’t notice the time. I’ve got to go.”
Cinde hangs her head. “Shit,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t’ve told you about that. Zenn’s gonna kill me.”
“No, it’s fine.” I try to reassure her. “I just really have to go.”
“Don’t think bad of him, okay? It didn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Oh, I know. Of course it didn’t.” Now I sound falsely cheerful and patronizing.
“I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“No!” I say. “You don’t have to. I’ll see him later. No big deal.” For some reason it seems very important that Zenn not know that I stopped by and chatted with his mom. “Thanks for the coffee.” Her smile back is sad and forced.
All morning I jump between thinking about what Cinde said about Mike, about kissing Zenn and about that gray rock on his windowsill. It’s a weird stew of thoughts that leaves me feeling a bit horny and really confused.
Mike was in jail, possibly for years. Long enough, anyway, that Zenn never got to know him. What the hell did he do? Murder a few people? Run a drug ring? Sexually abuse some kid? Is that why Zenn never said anything about his dad?
My mind runs in circles. Zenn still doesn’t text; he’s probably working. Restless, I end up at the cemetery. I’m not exactly surprised to find that my rock is gone and a new one, orange and flat, sits in its place. I don’t have one to leave today, but I take the orange one anyway. Could the rock in Zenn’s kitchen be mine? Seems unlikely … and yet …
My curiosity gets the best of me. A part of me wants to wait for Zenn to tell me, and a part of me has to know now. I’m a problem solver, a puzzle puzzler, it’s what I do. And I definitely need something to distract me from the fact that I can’t stop thinking about his mouth.
So I do end up at the library after all, sitting at a computer. I type in Bennett sentencing with the eraser of my pencil (because, you know … my hands). I get a couple of hits about a Milwaukee drug dealer named Julias Bennett being sentenced for cocaine possession, but after a quick glance, I know it’s not him.
I try simply Michael Bennett and get results about a Michael Bennett who serves on the board of education in someplace called Evansville.
I know Zenn grew up in Spellman, so I try Michael Bennett Spellman WI and as I scroll down I find one article that makes my hands go numb, my temples throb, my throat tighten.
It’s a headline I’ve seen before:
BABY SURVIVES CEDARBURG CRASH THAT KILLED PARENTS
Chapter 25
How the hell did this article come up in a search for Michael Bennett?
My eraser hesitates above the computer mouse. Something heavy — a large, gray stone — settles in my stomach as I click on the link and continue reading the article.
A young Port Dalton couple died in a two-car crash Sunday evening when their car was struck by a pickup truck that had crossed the centerline. Miraculously their infant in the backseat survived, with only minor injuries.
I press my hand to my forehead, feeling like I might be sick. I skim down, past the picture of my parents. And then I find it.
Police say the driver of the pickup truck, 25-year-old Michael Franklin of Spellman, was traveling home from a Super Bowl party southbound on Cedarburg Road when he crossed the centerline, clipping the back of the Toyota Corolla occupied by Thomas Scheurich, 26, Lynn Scheurich, 25, and their 4-month-old daughter. The Toyota was hit broadside by a third vehicle and then spun into a utility pole. Both husband and wife died at the scene. Their baby is now with family members. Franklin was unharmed, but the pregnant passenger in his car, Cinde Bennett, 23, was taken to Columbia St. Mary’s for observation.
Police believe that alcohol was a factor in the crash and Michael Franklin faces two charges of DUI manslaughter.