Friday evening I fumbled for my keys, juggling two bags of groceries and my purse, trying to get my front door open. I dropped the keys and howled out a long “Arrggh.”
As I reached down to grab the keys, the front door swung open. Blair stood in the doorway, arms reaching out for one of the grocery bags. “Let me help you.”
“Arrggh!” I said again, this time directed at Blair. He backed into the house and turned sideways in a please-come-in gesture. “I used my key. Sorry I freaked you out, but I need to talk to you. And you haven’t returned my calls for weeks.”
I walked past him into the kitchen and put the grocery bag on the counter, still panting from the scare. What was with men wanting to scare women?
Blair followed. “I’ve tried coming by, but you’re never home when I do. Finally I decided I would just let myself in.”
I looked him up and down. “Lie in wait, is more like it.”
He straightened his spine. “That’s what I’ve been reduced to, yes. Do you have any idea what this has done to me? How torn up inside I am?”
I frowned. He was torn up? The poor boy. I wondered how he’d like to spend five minutes inside my head.
“Did you know I was in the hospital?” I starting pulling groceries out of the bags and putting them away.
Blair opened the fridge so I could put the milk in. “Didn’t you listen to my messages?”
I glanced at the phone, realizing I hadn’t checked the machine in a while. I walked over and hit a few buttons. A mechanical voice informed me I had thirty-six new messages. Ouch. Okay, maybe I’d been a bit too distant. Blair didn’t know what was going on with me. All he knew was he kissed me once and I landed in the nuthouse. He probably blamed himself. “Blair, I’m sorry,” I said.
I heard rustling and the fridge door close. He was putting my groceries away for me. I turned and saw Blair’s eyes filled with tears.
He held a hand out to me, and then let it drop to his side. “I never—not in a million years—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“I—”
“Sit down.” I pulled a chair out from the table. “I’m going to tell you what happened. It’s going to make you run screaming from this madhouse, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”
And I did.
Blair sat at my kitchen table staring at me, his head moving back and forth like he was watching a slow tennis match. “What does all this mean? Are you—?”
“Crazy?”
He looked down at the table.
I shrugged. “No. Maybe.”
“Do you still—?” He pointed to the ceiling and made a swirling motion with his finger.
I looked away.
He got up from the table and started pacing. He stopped behind me, hands on the back of my chair. “Did I—?”
I turned my head, trying to see him in my peripheral. “You aren’t responsible for the voice in my head.”
I felt his hand on the back of my head as he fiddled with a strand of my hair. Goose pimples rose on my neck and ran down my arms. “I didn’t help.” He spoke quickly, as if anticipating the question. “You’ve been under so much stress. Kissing you just added more.”
“Stress?” I turned toward him.
He nodded. “You were under a lot of stress even before Kevin died. No one can blame you for reacting to it.”
“I was?” Why was I under stress before he died?
Blair blinked rapidly for a moment. “Yeah, you were pretty sick for a while there. You don’t remember?”
I turned back to the table. Kevin had been right. I’d forgotten too much.
Laura-Lea called it inappropriate self-disclosure.
Malcolm Peters had volunteered to open my third group session with his story of loss. He had launched into a bizarre monologue that began with his mother’s failure to breast-feed him and meandered to stories about the holes in his underwear, his childhood bed-wetting problem, and pet names he had invented for his various body parts.
He talked nonstop for twenty minutes. It was like he was holding the group hostage with words. Like his voice barred the doors and bound us to our chairs. He spoke to the floor, never looking up, in flowing tones that never allowed for interruption. “I was fifteen and my older cousin locked me in a room with two girls. He said he wouldn’t let me out until I had slept with both of the girls. If that isn’t rape,” he drew in a breath and shook his head slowly, “I don’t know what is.”
I choked out a cough. Janice and Grace both sucked their breath in. Richard Lieberman shook his head. “For the love of Pete.” He looked at Laura-Lea. “Are you going to put a stop to this?”
Laura-Lea blinked at Richard. “Do you want to share your reaction with Malcolm?”
Richard balled up a fist. “Are you serious?” He turned sharply in his chair to face Malcolm, who was still staring at the floor. “My reaction is shut up.”
I choked on a ball of discomfort. Beside me Grace slammed her spine against the back of her chair. Laura-Lea pouted. “Richard, you are not respecting group rules when you use that language.”
Richard’s face turned a pulsing red, like he was trying to push something out. Or hold something in. “He’s the one who’s not respecting group rules.” Richard flung a hand in Malcolm’s direction. “Nothing he’s said tonight is even remotely connected to why we are here. He’s just prattling on about outrageous … garble.” Richard had a point, but his anger made me uncomfortable.
Mimi Jones was sitting beside Richard, nodding her head at his every word. Apparently she wasn’t feeling as ill at ease as I was. She hadn’t spoken in the first two sessions, but now she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at Laura-Lea. “May I speak?”
Laura-Lea leaned forward, revealing her impossible cleavage, and gave Mimi a long blink. “You don’t need to ask permission.”
Mimi cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say that I agree with Richard.” She picked up a long, manicured hand and placed it on Richard’s knee. “I see beyond his harsh words, into his meaning … his intent.” She left her hand where it was, and turned her gaze on Malcolm, who was still studying the floor. “Richard’s point is that this group has a singular purpose. Isn’t that right, Richard? And you” —she flicked her other hand toward Malcolm— “are off track.”
Richard turned in his chair, shifting his knees out of Mimi’s reach. “He’s not just off track. He’s a train wreck.”
Laura-Lea stood up, both hands in the air, like she was counting down the starting beat for the string section. “I hear what all of you are saying. Richard, I hear your frustration. Mimi, I hear and appreciate your empathy. Malcolm, I would like your reaction to Richard’s comments.”
Malcolm’s head bobbed on his chest, from laughing or crying, I couldn’t tell. “I don’t understand what you said.”
I left the session expecting to hear the sounds of basketball, but all was quiet. Inside, the gym was dark, except for a line of light that shone from under Jack’s office door. I crossed the gym and rapped softly on the door.
“Yeah?” Jack’s voice called, then the door opened. He wore a rumpled suit jacket, his tie hung in two straight lines from his neck, the collar open. He finished the look with a pair of faded jeans.
“Hi, Jack.”
For a moment he just looked at me, as he would a stranger, then he said, “Kate. Hello.”
“No b-ball tonight?”
He pointed to a plastic orange chair and I sat, a creeping feeling in my stomach. Something was wrong. He sat down in the other orange chair, our knees nearly touching. His blue eyes were red rimmed. He cleared his throat.
“Big Tim was shot and killed last Friday. Today was the funeral.”
“Shot? H-how?” I said.
Jack ran a hand over his face. “He was walking to the store to get some milk for his mother and got caught in gang crossfire.” He looked away, his jaw working like he was trying to swallow something.
I touched his knee, a fast tap of sympathy. “Just like that? He just went to the store and …”
“Yeah, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Did they catch the guys who did it?”
Jack snorted a sound of disgust. “Police are looking into it, but it’s a nearly impossible task. No one talks to police, they’re all too afraid. They can collect evidence, but without witnesses to identify the people involved …” He shrugged.
We sat in silence with the truth we both understood. A life can be wiped out without anyone being held responsible. Without anyone saying they were sorry. I looked at his wrinkled suit jacket. “Did you perform the funeral?”
Jack leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. “Yeah, at the Baptist church down the street. Most of the kids from basketball were there. Tim’s mom and aunt, and his brothers and sisters.” Tears ran down Jack’s face. He made no attempt to brush them away.
I clasped my hands in my lap. “I wish I’d known. I would have come.”
He sat back. “I have no way of getting ahold of you. Although, to be honest, it never occurred to me to try. You live around here?”
“No.”
He waited.
I gave a half smile and said, “I’m from Greenfield.”
He stood. “Nice to see you again, Kate from Greenfield. Can I walk you out?” He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale under his five o’clock shadow.
“Yes, thanks.”
He walked me to my car in silence, then, “Good night, Kate.”
I opened the driver door and stood, looking at him over the roof. “Where’s your car?”
He pointed to the side of the building. A bicycle was propped against the wall. “My wheels. I don’t own a car.”
I looked down the dark street. Most of the streetlights were burnt out, giving the road a Sleepy Hollow feel. “Can I offer you a ride home?”
He shook his head. “Biking will help clear my head. But thanks anyway.” He pointed at me with both hands. “Maybe another time?”
“Sure.”
He walked backward toward the bike. “I’m glad you stopped by tonight, Kate.”
Mandy looks at me as if I’ve suddenly grown a third eye, but I can’t stop smiling. She glances down at the paper on her desk, then at me. “Can you tell me why? Did you get another job?”
“No. And I won’t, not for a while.”
She gestures to my resignation letter. “Aren’t you happy here?”
“Yes, very much. I’ve enjoyed this job, but things have changed for me at home and I need to step away.”
“What if I move you to part time?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but no. It wouldn’t work.” I have to squelch a burst of laughter that’s threatening to burst out of my mouth. I don’t want to offend Mandy, but I don’t want to give her all the details of why I’m quitting. I want Kevin to be the first to hear.
She reaches across the desk, trying to hand my letter back to me. “Can you stay for a couple more months? Just until the Christmas rush is over?”
This pulls on my heartstrings. I love working here at Christmastime, sharing favorite books with frenzied shoppers who fill the store with energy and purpose. But I need to be firm. For once, I have to stick to the plan I’ve made, no more waffling. No more excuses. I pull myself up to my full height, all five feet, four and a half inches.
“Sorry, Mandy. I wish I could, but …” She gives me her pleading face, an exaggerated frown and big eyes. It’s comedic, and I know she’s resigned herself to the fact that I’m leaving. I stick my hand out and she looks at it for a long moment before shaking it.
“Come back anytime, Kate.”
I grab my purse and head out the door. “Thanks!” I holler, glad to have finished the task. I step out onto the sidewalk, head up, ready to start a new phase of my life. I check my watch. Five thirty. Kevin will be home soon. I walk home humming.