Chapter25.html

“Why can’t you cooperate with me?” Kevin says, running a hand through his hair. I notice it’s thinning at the top. I can see veins of scalp snaking through his short-cropped hair. When did that happen? Is he going bald? “I’m building a whole new life here.”

We’re in the kitchen, at breakfast. I hold the coffeepot in my right hand, poised above Kevin’s favorite mug, but I don’t pour. “We don’t want a whole new life, Kevin. We want our life, the one we planned since high school.”

Kevin’s arms fly in a gesture of frustration. “Plans change. People change.” He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “I’ve changed. I want more from life than just getting by.”

I gape at him. “We’re not ‘just getting by.’ We have a house, two cars, our bills are paid, there’s money in the bank. We’re doing well. Great, even.” I pour the coffee and set it down on the kitchen table.

He stands, arms crossed, looking at it as if it might be poisoned. He presses his fists onto the table, supporting his weight. “Exactly. And why is that? I’ll tell you why, it’s because I’ve worked hard to make it that way. But you decide to quit your job without even telling me. It seems the only thing you want is to drag me down, hold me back.” He sits down hard on one of the kitchen chairs and the table shakes. The coffee flops around inside the cup, but doesn’t spill. “Don’t you see? I’ve been offered the world. Donna has told me time and again that the sky is the limit for someone like me. She’s shown me the brass ring, and I want to reach for it.”

I skid a chair over beside him and sit. I touch his arm. “Kevin, I’m not—”

He holds a hand up in front of my face. “I want the whole show, Kate. I don’t want to sit here in this go-nowhere town for the rest of my life. I have a real future and I’ve no intention of blowing it.”

His face turns red and he shouts, “See? You’re doing it right now. I’m talking about the brass ring, a future filled with possibilities, and all you can do is sit there talking about the past, and how you love this nothing of a town.”

I blink twice, then again. His temper, his yelling—coming from nowhere—startle me. We’ve disagreed before. I know there have been times I’ve stretched his patience thin, but he’s never yelled before. I’ve never seen his face bloat with anger, swelling his eyes and stretching his skin with violence. Some small instinct tells me to be still, be quiet, don’t move. But I push against it, shoving aside the warning that the man I’m speaking to now is not like the man I once knew. “Nothing? How can you call Greenfield nothing? You love this town. You’ve always talked about staying here and raising our children in a safe—”

Kevin shoots out of his chair, roaring like a grizzly. “You talk as if everything were already decided. Like there’s nothing left to discuss.” He rakes his hands over his face. “You don’t hear a word I say. You won’t listen.”

I stand and put a hand on his shoulder. He turns fast, raising his hand. In a flash I see his palm, then feel a sharp sting, the force of which throws me off balance. I grab the back of a kitchen chair to steady myself. I’m not even sure what happened, not sure where the pain came from. I look at Kevin, his mouth is open, his hands limp at his sides, the red fury gone from his face. In fact his skin is pale and slightly green, as if he’s suddenly caught a stomach flu. I shake my head, once, twice, imitating him as he shakes his head, no, no.

I raise my hand to my face and feel the burning spot on my cheek. Kevin’s eyes fill with tears, he keeps shaking his head, whispering, “No, no.” His hand reaches toward me, to steady me, catch me. I grab hold of it, like a lifeline, a buoy in dark waters.

He leads me to a kitchen chair, our movements stiff and shuffling like we were suddenly very old. We sit, slow and jerky, side by side, his arm around me like a cloak, his other hand rubbing my hand and arm. I cling to him, hide my face in the crook of his neck. I’m shaking, bereft as a refugee. I close my eyes.

Kevin holds me close, tucking me under his arm like a child. “It’s over. It was nothing. I didn’t mean it. Okay? I love you; I’d never hurt you.”

I nod. I cling to his neck. I say, “It was nothing.” I want it to be okay now. To be over. To have never happened at all.

At 2:28 I pulled up in front of Glen Hills Community Center, miles from Dr. Alexander’s office. He hadn’t believed me when I had called him, hadn’t even listened to what I had to say. I felt no compulsion to keep the impromptu appointment. I sat in my car, looking up at the bright blue doors. The community center had begun to have an effect on me. A kind of attraction I couldn’t define. When I wasn’t there, I thought about being there.

I closed my eyes and was immediately able to conjure up the sensations of being in the group-therapy room. I could smell it (damp gym odor mixed with coffee). I could see the faces: Janice jabbing a tissue at the tears that wouldn’t come. Grace who flittered on her chair like a nervous hummingbird. Mimi, who was constantly touching people and displaying her cleavage despite the fact hers could never compare to Laura-Lea’s extraordinary buoyancy. Bobby, who obviously pined for Laura-Lea.

I wondered what Bobby’s story was. What loss had brought him there? He hadn’t shared his story yet. Then again, neither had I. I usually sat staring at my shoes, feigning indifference while I absorbed every detail of the conversations.

I was beginning to feel connected to these people somehow. Even Malcolm held a fascination for me. What possessed a man to rattle off the most bizarre personal events imaginable to a group of people he didn’t even know? I could barely recall my memories, and even though they were coming back over time, it was a slow, unsteady process. But being there, with people who were at least as muddled up as I was, felt like balm. Perhaps in time they would help me piece together the remaining missing pieces of my memory. Maybe then I would feel brave enough to share them. And tell them about the voice that haunted me.

Plus I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to sit and soak up the atmosphere for much longer. Soon Laura-Lea would insist I share my story with the group. It was expected. At the last session I saw her eye me at the beginning and look like she was about to say something to me. I ducked my head down, letting her know I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I didn’t relish the prospect of talking about Kevin’s death.

I sat in the car until the clock read 2:30, in an act of stubborn determination. Then I got out and did a quick sprint to the hall. Once inside I noticed an odd fluttering sensation in my stomach. Nerves? Guilt? I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be downtown getting lectured to by a psychiatrist. And who would be here on a Thursday afternoon? Not Laura-Lea, not the group-therapy gang, not the basketball players.

Jack. That’s who would be here.

When we had talked the night before, I had felt a sense of … what? A kind of relief, I supposed. The news of Big Tim’s death had been a shock, but it had felt good to be on the other side of grief for a while. To be the one offering comfort rather than receiving it.

I pushed open the gym doors and was surprised to see a group of teens milling around under a basketball net on one end of the gym. A boy held the ball under his arm and spoke to the small group gathered there. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but the feeling in the gym was hushed, subdued. These must have been friends of Big Tim, apparently skipping classes in order to gather together here.

I stopped short, holding the door open, not wanting to disturb the conversation. Jack came out of his office and walked over to the group. No one noticed me. The moment Jack stepped into the circle, Sekeena began to sob. Jack tucked her under one arm and gave her a hug. She clung there, crying into his shoulder. The boy with the ball put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and Jack returned the gesture, reaching out with his other hand and grasping the boy’s arm. The rest of the group stepped closer, a circle of shared grief.

I stepped back into the foyer and closed the door silently. I would have been an intrusion on the group of longtime friends. I’d only known Tim for a short time. In my car again I pulled away from the curb, the image of the group, clinging to each other, sharing their tears and hurt, swimming before my eyes. A pain, like a toothache, filled my heart. Losing Tim was tragic, but to see them huddled together, shouldering each other’s grief made me … jealous.