Jennifer put the cereal box back in the cupboard, put away the milk, wiped down the counter. Looked around the small, sunny kitchen with satisfaction, hung the dish towel neatly on a hook by the oven.
“Y’know, I have a cleaning lady. You don’t have to do all those things for me plus clean.”
She turned to look at Lars, who was much improved since his hospital stay. After breakfast, he would telecommute—amazing, genius concept—for a couple of hours, then nap. His job title was something she could never remember that hadn’t existed thirty-one years ago. Computer stuff.
“Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure. Okay if I head out?” She checked her watch. Watches were almost gone; everyone used their cell phones to tell time. She liked watches; she had no interest in giving them up. “Starts in forty-five minutes.”
He flapped a big meaty hand at her. “Sure, sure. See you tonight. Your mom still joining us for dinner?” At her nod, he added, “Listen, don’t worry. You’ll love it.”
“We’ll see,” she replied, and went for her jacket and car keys. “If it’s going to cut too much into my time here, it doesn’t matter how much I love it.”
“Well, that’s the spirit, I guess. And don’t tell me about the so-called ‘snacks’ you’ve left me. Carrot sticks and granola aren’t snacks; they’re what you feed petting zoo animals.”
“Tough nuts. And there’s more where that came from. I know you haven’t been eating the rice cakes, just crumbling them up and tossing them. You will devour your rice cakes, Lars. If you’re good, you can put some Greek yogurt on them.” Greek yogurt put Yoplait in the shade, she had discovered.
“Aw, jeez, just leave already.” But he gave her a smile that made his small eyes seem to disappear in a fit of good humor, and she took that as her dismissal.
Today she was taking a tour of the U of M campus, which she anticipated would be different from the tour she’d taken thirty-one years ago. Her mother had never touched her college fund in all the years Jennifer had been in Hell, though due to inflation that money would pay for only about half of the tuition for the nursing program.
To her amazement, Lars had offered to pay the balance. He’d casually made the suggestion a few days after his discharge from Fairview. She had practically moved in at that point, was essentially his caretaker as he slowly regained his health and strength. She’d left only late at night to go back to her mom’s house to grab six or seven hours of sleep. She’d be right back in his house before the sun was all the way up.
“You don’t have to do all this for me.” He’d been on the couch with the remote nearby, comfortably clad in flannel pajamas and propped up with pillows. The remains of his breakfast were still on the coffee table and she started to clear away the dishes. “Y’really don’t.”
“Of course I do. It’s my fault—again—that you’re in some difficulty.” While she waited for Betsy to come fetch her for another three decades of torture by boredom, Jennifer had followed her own adage. She had controlled the things she could and let the rest work itself out.
“Listen, you were a dumb kid back then. You paid for it, okay? We’re square.” She’d just hummed in response and wiped down the coffee table. “You like it, though, right? I mean, it’s not all for my benefit. You still want to be a nurse? I remember you going on about it in school.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” she’d replied, and it was the truth. “Sorry about the cliché, but I’m taking it one day at a time.”
“You should go back to school,” he’d suggested. “Get your GED and then take some college classes. I’d be glad to help pay.”
Shocked, she’d just stared at him.
“What? I got the money. So who cares?”
“I can’t let you do that.” Preposterous. She should be giving him money. She would, if she had any.
“Ah, bullshit. You’re not listening again. Enough with the punishing yourself. You explained what happened. Not just that. I mean, jeez, you came from Hell to try to make it up with me. ’Sfar as I’m concerned, that was more than enough. But you can’t live out the next decade making me eat that awful fucking granola. I won’t have it, Palmer, no way. Go to school already. If that money helps you, what the hell do I care?”
“You could go to college,” she’d pointed out, and he just laughed at her.
“Too old.”
“We’re the same age,” she reminded him.
“Too fat.”
She said nothing, and her tact made him laugh harder.
* * *
Then: the incredible, most amazing thing. Betsy had popped up when Jennifer was on her way to restock Lars’ pantry with stuff that wouldn’t give him a heart attack. And there she was, sitting on the hood of her mom’s space shuttle, like the new devil hanging in the Minnesota suburbs was “a thing” (lots of things were “a thing” these days).
“Keeping busy?”
Jennifer had almost dropped her purse (she had a purse now, and a wallet, and clothes—her mother had brought her to Target the day after the fire). “Yes, ma’am.” She quit fumbling for her car keys and said, “Would you please let me say good-bye to my mom before you take me? And maybe give me a minute to explain to Lars?”
Betsy’s answer was to frown. “Take you where? Do we have plans I forgot about? Oh damn, that’s it, isn’t it? I need to start keeping a calendar. One that doesn’t burn up in a house fire.”
Jennifer hadn’t expected her to play dumb. Or worse—toy with her. “To Hell, obviously,” she’d replied, almost snapped. “That’s why you’re here. I failed.”
“Failed.”
“Yes.” Oh cripes, was this how it was going to go? Did she have to confess all before Betsy took her away? “I gave Lars a heart attack. Then I left him alone to go to your house.”
“The guy was a walking time bomb—having recently been around a time bomb I know what I’m talking about—and could have popped a valve at any time. You probably saved his life by getting the ambulance so quickly. Then when you’d done what you could and visiting hours were almost over anyway, you saw I was in trouble and came to help. And then you confronted your worst fear by running toward a burning house to distract people so I could get Will away.” Betsy shook her head. “I mean, Jesus.”
“That’s . . .” A generous interpretation of events, she’d been about to say, because completely wrong, you well-meaning dope probably wouldn’t have gone over well. “Not how I see it.”
“And now you’re here . . .” Gesturing to the house. “Fifteen hours a day, busting your ass to nurse this guy back to health. Of course I’m not going to take you back to Hell. You passed. You did great.”
“I did?”
“Sure. I didn’t expect you to fix everything, to make it all perfect. But you owned your shit. Repeatedly. That’s plenty good enough.”
“Oh. Huh.” She wasn’t Hell bound? She could stay? “Wow. Okay. That’s . . . wow.” She looked up into the other woman’s kind eyes. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You’re not going to hug me, are you?”
“No.”
“Great.” A sigh of relief, and then she hopped off the car. “I just wanted to check on you, is all. And to thank you for your help.”
“Okay.” She had years, maybe. Decades, possibly. To fill however she could. Any way she wanted. It actually hurt to try to grasp that. A mortal lifetime yawned before her.
“I wish you the very, very best of luck.” She held out a hand. Jennifer shook it, felt like she was falling, or getting too much oxygen. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again. In Hell, I mean.”
“Oh, me, too! In Hell.”
She’d stepped back so Jennifer could get to the driver’s side door. Stood there while Jennifer climbed in, buckled her seat belt (it was the law now), started the car. Rolled down the window so Betsy could finish.
“Tammy sees you,” she said softly. And was gone.
Jennifer clutched the steering wheel and wept thirty-one years of tears.