Death Knell by Kathleen Maher by The View From Here

Death Knell by Kathleen Maher

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The Magazine on-line: http://tvfhmag.com Kathleen on-line: http://diaryofaheretic.blogs.com Copyright: Kathleen Maher Death Knell originally appeared in issues 30 to 36 of The View from Here Cover images for these issues of the View From Here: Diego Cupolo All people, places and events depicted therein are fictional and not meant to resemble any actual people, places, or events unless otherwise specified.

Death Knell Death Knell by Kathleen Maher

by Kathleen Maher

When Jeanne, a recently widowed young mother, moves halfway across the United States to Lawrence, Kansas, she hopes to escape a troubled past and start a new life with her two-year-old daughter. Instead she finds she has traded one set of troubles for another. Bereaved and lonely, she plunges headlong into an affair with a married man, Kevin, and tries to befriend Kevin's troubled friend Hal. But Kevin's passion for her and Hal's jealousy create a volatile mix. Death Knell is a short novel in twelve parts, which will run each month in the magazine throughout 2011. Kathleen Maher is a fiction writer based in New York City. A regular contributor to The View From Here, she notes that the term "death knell" interests her because it has two distinct meanings: It may be the sound of a bell tolling after a death, or it can be an omen presaging a death. Chapter One Everyone loves Kevin; even people who hate dentists love Kevin. He‟s good and generous and “easy does it.” I‟m watching him through a wall-size, one-way window. (I can see out; he can‟t see in.) He‟s under a cypress tree, rocking on his

heels, waiting to help the young widow in distress who will pull into his parking lot soon. This whole, full-service dental center, the best in Lawrence, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and huge, tranquil waiting room, is all his. He loves rescuing people. He‟s been rescuing me since sixth grade. Kevin was one of five black kids in our class of two hundred, and the last guy you‟d want to mess with. His mother Rebecca is from Jamaica. While we were growing up, Kevin ruled. But unlike the stereotype coolest dude in school, Kevin‟s off-the-charts-smart. No apology necessary. He‟s a natural artist everyone took seriously. Nobody laughed at Kevin. He‟s one of a kind. People here don‟t talk about someone being black or white or Asian. At least, not around me; but then I‟m one of a kind too: “Hapless Hal Albertson.” Kids called me Dumbo—until Kevin made them stop. When they picked on me all Kevin had to do was stare. If someone was beating me, he pointed his finger. He stuck up for me so often that by the time we were in high school, people had lost interest in me. After college, he‟d planned to get a Masters in media arts but switched to dentistry because his dad, who died of stomach cancer really fast, willed it; tuition included. Of course, his dad‟s

death was awful. But when it came to switching from video art to dental art, Kevin didn‟t skip a beat. The way he explained it to me, an outside profession would make his videos real. While if he‟d followed his first plan and climbed the art-school ladder, he‟d just get stuck. I had no plans after college except to get away from my mother, who started every day by vacuuming my insides out, leaving not one jot of confidence. Not one jot. So I asked Kevin if he‟d mind me following him to dental school in Kansas City. “Why not,” he said, “providing we‟re not roommates.” I knew that; we‟re not normal friends. He aced double courses and interned all four years so he‟s certified for dentistry, oral surgery, and endontics. I barely graduated. Not only did Kevin prep me for every test; he met with the teachers and vouched for me. Once I was finally certified, he urged me not to stay in KC, but to start a practice in Lawrence. He‟d already opened his and of course, being partners was out of the question. But he said, “Lawrence is familiar with you, Hal,” and he would refer patients to me. So why did I stay in KC? I didn‟t want to go back to Lawrence because of my mother. She was still living in the senior residence but I was always happier when out of immediate range. And—this is the main reason—I had a girlfriend, or thought so. For years this librarian and I met at Starbucks. We laughed, walked around, and always enjoyed a few hours together after work. One night she talked about making out (that means kissing a lot) with her old boyfriend. But when I tried to kiss her (I‟m a patient man—up to a point), she panicked. After that when I phoned, she screamed; when I stopped by the library, she called the security guard. Yet even while this thing with the librarian was becoming a problem, I managed to do what everyone assumed I couldn‟t: open my own office in downtown KC. The loan officer at the bank (where I have a mountain of student loans) extended my credit as far as I wanted. Problem is, my practice never had a prayer. First, the building housed four well-established dentists. Second, the economy crashed. Third, my mother got kicked out of the senior residence for threatening people. The doctor says it‟s

Alzheimer‟s. He says she‟s dangerous— mean to me or not—she‟s my mother. I‟ve got to be on hand, not two hours away. Kevin rallied for me as always. By now he‟d married Patrice, a pretty, lightskinned dancer. In fact, by now, their baby girl was walking. I was lying flat on my mat and staring at the ceiling and he invited—invited!—me to join his clinic as an associate pediatric dentist. Nobody knows my limitations better than Kevin, but he said not to worry about my huge hands and the tykes‟ tiny mouths and tinier teeth. Their cavities are superficial. And you know what? I really am great with kids. They like my jokes and love my coin tricks. Things were just settling down until a few months ago when Kevin‟s personal assistant Patti announced she was moving to Denver with her boyfriend. Glad hands all around; Patti was the world‟s worst bitch: like my mother in training. Then she got a phone call from her sister that was so sad I was sick about it; so sad that hating Patti seemed stupid. Her sister‟s husband had crashed into a concrete highway barrier at ninety miles an hour. My petty setbacks were nothing; I couldn‟t get the image out of my head. Then Patti‟s sister Jeanne—with the whole office coaxing her from the background—decided to move halfway across the country. Start over, we said, here with us. But selfish, bitchy Patti didn‟t even stick around to help Jeanne adjust, because Kevin will do that. He‟s outside, eager to rescue the young widow. He owns a bungalow, his home before he married Patrice. He was renting it to Patti and her lawyer boyfriend and now he‟s going to rent it to Jeanne. Last week he hired painters and carpenters to fix it up. A new-looking Taurus just pulled up. The twenty-five-year old widow eases out of the car and takes off her sunglasses. She resembles Patti—except she‟s beautiful. The middle of her blue dress is dark, damp from the heat. She steps toward Kevin and lifts her long hair off her neck. Kevin says something, his eyebrows lift, and he gestures toward his car. Jeanne nods. Yesterday, having arrived a day early, Jeanne and her two-year-old Colette checked into the Hampton Inn. In the cool, spacious room Colette jumped on one of the double beds and watched a cartoon. Jeanne stretched as if released from another psychic suit of armor, one of many. Her cell phone sounded from inside her backpack; she knew it was Patti‟s former employer, Dr. Kevin O‟Meara; he‟d called twice before while they were on the road. Jeanne sat upright before speaking. He asked how they were doing, she and the child. She said

fine. When he asked where they were on I-70, Jeanne lied, claiming they were about to stop in Blue Springs, Missouri, and would arrive tomorrow about two. Jeanne lied all the time now without thinking; maybe because since Paul‟s death, the truth—any truth—seemed impossible. But no more: for they had reached their destination after running away from grief and the house where the walls closed in. The next morning she watched her daughter splashing in the kiddie pool and another thirty-pound suit of steel vaporized. She felt light and free enough to dive and swim a few lengths. “Beautiful, Mommy.” They checked out late because they both had to shower and shampoo and dry their hair again. It had been worth it, though. Colette watched Jeanne apply lipstick and mascara. They were going to be fine. In the parking lot, however, she panicked: why was she staking everything on Patti‟s friends—a group of people she had never met? Colette climbed into her car seat on her own. “Let‟s go, Mommy.” In no time, Jeanne spotted the glass building shimmering in the heat. Her sister had said Kevin was a good dentist and a good boss—but not that he was a tall, sleek, black man who was absurdly handsome. Under a cypress tree, he moved as if trying not to dance to some rhythm that kept getting to him. Stepping from the car and removing her sunglasses, she saw with dismay that despite the air-conditioning, she‟d sweated through her summer dress during the brief ride. Damp rings descended from beneath her breasts down to her hips, and she could feel that her seat was the dampest of all. It seemed every day her anguish presented some new embarrassing symptom. Kevin bounded from the shade and introduced himself. Jeanne shook his hand and lifted her hair, a diversion from trembling. He was reassuring. Up close his good looks didn‟t intimidate her, because of a pronounced gentleness. Patti had said Midwesterners were obnoxiously friendly, but Kevin was merely encouraging. He invited them to lunch, but she said Colette was excited about the new house. He peered through the car window and winked at the little girl, who gave him a thumb‟s up. Pointing to his car, he asked them to follow and his soft baritone filled her with relief. Jeanne‟s car pulled alongside his and he motioned for her to roll down the window. “I‟ll keep you in the rearview mirror because the house is nearby but the streets are like spaghetti.” The bungalow was a sunny yellow. When Colette got out, unstrapped from

her seat, she jumped around. “Is this it, Mommy? Are we home?” “Yes. Isn‟t it pretty? Say hello to Dr. O‟Meara.” “Hello. Is there a back yard?” “There sure is.” Colette ran around the side of the house. Kevin and Jeanne followed, walking across the lawn at arm‟s length from each other. He opened a chain-link gate and they found Colette giggling, wrapped inside a striped hammock strung between purple ash trees. “Now you‟re stuck,” Jeanne said. “Not me.” Colette flipped the hammock and landed in a crouch. “Are you a gymnast?” Kevin asked. “I‟d like to be.” She‟d turn three the thirtieth of September. “You and my daughter Annabelle have the same birthday.” “Really? Like twins, but, I know, not real twins.” “Colette, has anyone told you that you talk very well?” “Yep. All the time. I‟m good at talking and pretending.” “Do you want to go to nursery school?” “The sooner the better.” Kevin laughed. “You‟re sure she‟s not thirteen in disguise?” Stepping close to him and whispering, Jeanne said, “She‟ll be a challenge, but right now she pats my back and says, „Everybody misses Dad, but don‟t worry. You and me are still here.‟” Kevin didn‟t move away but couldn‟t think how to respond. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved the keys. “Ready to go inside?” The back door opened to a utility room with a washer, drier, and a rack of gardening supplies Patti and her boyfriend had never used. The bungalow was pretty inside: smooth white walls, arched room dividers, and pale, polished louvered blinds. The two bedrooms, one small, the other larger, and the living room were carpeted in pale green. Colette ran to her bedroom and they heard her jumping on the bed, and singing. “Don‟t, Colette. You know better.” “It‟s all right; Annabelle jumps on everything.” Jeanne looked at him. Her husband had hated it when Colette jumped on the furniture; certain she‟d grow up dismissive of rules. Since his death, Jeanne and Colette‟s personal behavior involved only the rules that mattered. Kevin suggested they sit in an alcove separate from the kitchen. They sat across from each other. He stretched a long arm behind him for a briefcase stashed in a cabinet. “No need

to sign a lease until you‟re certain you want to stay.” Jeanne laughed and Kevin counted three lovely notes. “It‟s an oasis. I‟d like to sign a lease before you rent it to someone else.” “No need to worry about that.” He pulled from the briefcase forms and papers and handed her a pen, fighting the urge to sit closer to her. “Can I help you carry boxes inside?” She pressed her hand along her slender neck. “No, thank you. We‟re starting fresh.” She turned away—to cry. Kevin found a packet of tissues, sat in the closer chair, and pulled it even closer. She stared at her lap; unburdening herself wasn‟t right. But too late—she was already telling him: How, preparing to move, she‟d put half of Colette‟s books, toys, and puzzles in a box when she noticed drops falling on them, her own fat teardrops. Colette‟s books and games

meant more to Jeanne than all the things she‟d ever had or wished for. She had wept until: nothing to do but throw into knapsacks things she and Colette might pack for a long weekend. “I was afraid to ask how you were doing. It‟s a terrible tragedy.” He stood up to keep from holding her. “You‟ll want a TV and a DVD player. The cable installers are coming tomorrow when I can be here.” She started to protest but he continued: “My wife runs a nursery school. She‟s held a spot for Colette.” “Thank you.” Jeanne smiled slightly; and they both drew back. Bending her head, scanning the document, she asked, “Are you charging me half the rate?” Kevin pretended to rifled through his briefcase. “You‟re Patti‟s sister. ” “You noticed that, did you?” This bit of teasing brought joy to her face, which moments ago had filled him with

sympathetic sorrow. “There‟s a job available if it appeals to you, Jeanne: overnight emergency dispatcher—you‟ll either like it or hate it. But you‟d be paid during the training phase. And after that, the money and benefits are good.” She placed her palm over his hand with instinctive gratitude—and drew it away. “That‟s just what I want: a night job, so I‟m free to spend the days with Colette. I don‟t sleep much anyway.” Something shifted and roared inside him. Her eyes met his and she smiled, again in gratitude, stirring more fear and desire than he‟d ever known.

Chapter 2 next issue.

next month’s issue out: 4 th February Interview with Heidi Durrow

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between their bedrooms and found it was neatly arranged with Colette‟s extra bedding on top; Jeanne‟s in the middle; and freshly laundered towels below. So Kevin O‟Meara had gone to great lengths before he‟d laid eyes upon her. Unaccustomed to such thoughtfulness, Jeanne in her loneliness had imagined a romantic attraction to divert herself from grief. Suddenly parched, she downed a full glass of water at the kitchen sink.

When Jeanne, a recently widowed young mother, moves halfway across the United States to Lawrence, Kansas, she hopes to escape a troubled past and start a new life with her two-year-old daughter. Instead she finds she has traded one set of troubles for another. Bereaved and lonely, she plunges headlong into an affair with a married man, Kevin, and tries to befriend Kevin's troubled friend Hal. But Kevin's passion for her and Hal's jealousy create a volatile mix. Death Knell is a short novel in twelve parts, which will run each month in the magazine throughout 2011. Kathleen Maher is a fiction writer based in New York City. A regular contributor to The View From Here, she notes that the term "death knell" interests her because it has two distinct meanings: It may be the sound of a bell tolling after a death, or it can be an omen presaging a death. Chapter Two On his way out, Jeanne‟s new landlord Kevin stopped and looked at her. His eyes searched hers several beats longer than was comfortable and she stared at

the floor, embarrassed. Perhaps she just wasn‟t used to men being so sensitive but forthright. He dipped his head in apology. “I‟ll stop by early tomorrow afternoon to oversee the cable installer. Don‟t buy a DVD player or a television. I have extras.” “Extra TVs and DVD players?” “From my dental office.” Jeanne thanked him again, relieved he was leaving. Tomorrow she‟d be ready for the effect he had on her. If only her sister Patti had warned her how handsome he was, how caring and compelling…Oh, what was she thinking? Patti wouldn‟t say that about anyone. Alone in their new home, she and two-year-old Colette wandered through the rooms. Jeanne described what their day-to-day life would be like. Pretty white shades covered the little girl‟s bedroom windows but Jeanne offered to buy dimity curtains like the ones she used to have. “This is our home, Colette. You can fix your bedroom however you want.” “I don‟t know what to want though, Mommy.” “You could have a little desk and chair, a mirror, and maybe big letters on the wall spelling your name.” “I still don‟t know.” Colette sat on her bed and sulked. Jeanne looked in the linen closet

Kevin had drawn maps with numbered directions to the grocery store and a strip mall with a Target and J.C. Penny‟s. She bought entire wardrobes for herself and Colette without either of them trying anything on. If the clothes weren‟t right, Jeanne would return them. But they were fine; she could tell. Passing an electronics store, she bought Apple‟s newest laptop on impulse. At Hy-Vee she bought enough groceries to overflow two shopping carts. For dinner she and Colette ate toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches and fresh dark cherries. Afterwards, they swung together in the hammock, watching the sunset stream through the trees. Before bed, Jeanne read her daughter a book she had just repurchased, a beautifully illustrated story about a mouse living in a cathedral. Colette turned the pages and pointed to the mouse as if it were hidden, which it wasn‟t. “I like motels where your bed is next to mine,” she said. “That was fun, Colette, but this is our home. If you need me, my room is right across the hall. I bought four Angelina Ballerina nightlights. One for your room, one for the hallway, the bathroom…” “And one for your room, too?” “Yep. So if you get lonely or scared, wake me up in my new bedroom. I‟ll leave the door open.” Immediately after Paul‟s death, the urge to flee had tormented Jeanne. She had avoided their old bedroom at all cost. In the room they had called “the study,” she tried to sleep but could not. Every night she stared at the ceiling, her knees pressed to her chest. Throughout that sweltering July, she had felt chilled to the bone. And beneath a pile of blankets, her teeth chattered the second she unclenched her jaw.

Paul‟s lawyer found that her late husband had left her a good deal of money, most of it revealed in his will. She bought a new car and talked about moving somewhere far away, across the country. “Any place in specific?” the lawyer asked. Without thinking, Jeanne had said, “Kansas, close to my sister,” although she and her sister Patti had never been close. Of course she didn‟t tell him or anyone else how desperate she was to escape the lingering death and unspoken blame; how her friends either avoided or smothered her. And she couldn‟t think who on earth would understand how determined she was to be a good mother—not one full of grief and shame. Paul had worked long hours and his attention to Colette was dutiful, not doting. He had routinely said he loved them. Eventually, their lives would get better. Don‟t let regrets trip you up, Jeanne—he said that often, despite the fact that at twenty-five, Jeanne had no regrets. It was a mistake, he told her, to think so much. Just live your life; that‟s what it‟s for. Possibly he was groping for ways to convince himself, because Jeanne had never suspected him of despair. He had phoned to say he‟d be working late— expect him about eight-thirty. Jeanne had kissed Colette good-night, and stared out their bedroom window, watching the sky darken. Then, eager for her husband, she had dropped her shift and lay naked on their bed. When the phone rang, she had drawled, “Hello,” and listened to an awful pause swell into an official hesitancy until finally a man on the phone cleared his throat. And ever since, she slept intermittently if at all. Although, her first night in a motel, having left everything, even Colette‟s baby photos, behind (a realtor would sell the house), she had dreamed about her husband. In the final minutes before she rose, woke Colette, and drove another four hours west before checking into another motel with a pool, Paul had hovered. “Our life was so awful,” he said. “Still, I‟m surprised I had the nerve. Aren‟t you?” Not so much; the surprise was wearing off. Her first night in Lawrence, Kansas, she dreamed again. This dream, however, involved a Chick Corea song that proceeded slowly, coming from several directions, piano chords landing deep inside her body. As agreed, Kevin returned the next day to direct the cable installer. It was his house to rent and he knew where the cables should go. Colette was sucking on a blue Popsicle. Jeanne offered Kevin

something to drink. He thanked her for a beer and almost imperceptibly touched the back of her hand. Then, excusing himself, he left the room. Naturally, the cable installer was late. Jeanne was standing by the bookcases when Kevin asked to see her new laptop. Her face kept bobbing too close to his. She grew elated looking at him until she realized what she was doing. Abashed then, she inched away from him and stared at her hands. Except Kevin soon slid back into view. Her eyes kept drifting toward his full, sculpted mouth. Colette asked if she could play by herself in her room, as she often did— Jeanne pushed too many projects and puzzles on her daughter. Finally, a pimply faced man knocked on the door. Kevin wanted Jeanne to have the gamut of channels—he‟d pay for it. No, she would. Jeanne didn‟t watch much television but couldn‟t argue. The pretense of normalcy was too exhausting. So she let Kevin pay for the full cable company‟s package. While the installer snaked the cable through walls, he told her about the job interview he‟d arranged for her at the emergency dispatch center tomorrow afternoon. “Or is that too soon for you?” “Not at all; I need to work.” She nervously tapped her collarbone. “I‟m awake most of the night anyway.” “My wife will call you with our favorite babysitter‟s phone number. Giselle has already agreed to stay overnight with Colette, that is, if you really like the job.” “I know I will; thank you.” Jeanne was flustered—he was just too much for her. Yet Kevin apologized for leaving so soon. He had patients waiting; it seemed that lately he was working every Saturday afternoon. She followed him to the door but he slowed or stepped backward, laying a supportive palm flat between her shoulder blades. If it weren‟t for Colette and the cable installer, she might have sunk to her knees. Through the screen door, she watched his expensive dark car pull away. Seconds later a white Toyota with a faulty muffler parked across the street. A cumbersome man with dark hair and doughy skin opened the hatchback. Kevin must have been turning around in the culde-sac, because coming from the other direction, his car screeched to halt, almost pinning the other man to his Toyota. Jeanne crouched behind the screen door, eavesdropping before she realized it. “What the hell are you doing, Hal?” He presented a flat of marigolds. “I was wondering if your tenant might like these extra flowers.” “Is that so!‟ Kevin sounded angry.

“You were wondering…So tell me: just how many marigolds did you plant at your own house, Hal?” “My mother doesn‟t like flowers. But I like them and thought the young widow might, too.” “You stay away from her, Hal.” He held a finger in front of Hal‟s face and waved it—a threat, not a scold. “I mean it. You and your flowers and all your peculiar tendencies are the last things she needs. She‟s grieving.” “You could still introduce us.” “Haven‟t you been listening, Hal?” Kevin grabbed the flowers and dumped them in the Toyota. “Stay out of trouble and you might meet her on Thanksgiving. Until then, goddamn it, do not go near her!” He stood planted in the street until Hal drove away. Jeanne watched Kevin pat his pockets and look behind him. She winced at how much she liked watching him. “Jeanne!” he rapped on the screen door. “I‟m sorry to keep bothering you, but believe it or not, I left my cell phone here.” Without hesitating, he stepped lightly into the alcove and picked up the phone from beside her laptop. “No idea why I‟m so absent-minded. It‟s all right; I know my way out.” Turning away, he glanced at her with obvious fondness. It wasn‟t her imagination. Jeanne should rejoice in her new life that was falling perfectly into place. But along with the promise ahead, she recognized in the pristine air traces of flickering betrayals. Later when the day started to cool, she and Colette ran in the backyard through the water sprinkler. After they had dried off and dressed, Jeanne let Colette watch “Dora the Explorer.” She found her iPod so she could listen to Chick Corea‟s “Light as a Feather” while organizing the kitchen. Patrice, Kevin‟s wife, phoned after six p.m. “It was so hot today we couldn‟t enjoy the pool or I would have invited you. Are you and your little girl free for a picnic dinner?” “Thank you, yes,” Jeanne said. “That sounds wonderful.” “Kevin suggested a playground near you. He says you probably haven‟t discovered it yet.” “That‟s true. We haven‟t. Will, ah, Kevin—be joining us?” “No, he‟s playing tennis. The playground‟s set in a tangle of little streets. Best if we all walk there from your place.” From the moment Jeanne answered the door, she was struck by Patrice O‟Meara‟s buoyancy. Kevin‟s wife radiated a sense of uplift and resiliency, feelings Jeanne must have experienced,

but not often, not steadily—not with the bright certainty coming from Patrice. Colette said “hi” to little Annabelle and pulled her hand. “Wanna see my bedroom?” Jeanne and Patrice peeked in. The little girls were talking and laughing and jumping on the bed. “I hear they share the same birthday,” Patrice said. Her voice lilted rhythmically. She had lighter skin than Kevin and was a few inches shorter than Jeanne with almond-shaped eyes. She wore her hair pinned in a tight knot like the dancer she was. “Emphasis,” Patrice laughed, “on was. In real life, I teach and run a preschool but Kevin always says I‟m a dancer. He‟s never seen me dance. I guess he likes the idea.” “Patrice, how about a glass of lemonade before we leave? Or white wine?” “A little white wine right now sounds inspired.” At the playground the little girls ate three bites and ran off to crawl through brightly colored plastic tunnels. The

mothers called them back. “Drink your milk, please.” Patrice had brought chicken salad, fresh bread, and cold peach cobbler. “Dancing,” she said, “isn‟t a lifelong art or profession. Not even for the best. But I‟m still not ready to admit I‟ve given up. Maybe I‟ll teach a class—after I take a refresher course. “So what about you, Jeanne? Is it contentment? Or do you hold out for your real hopes and risk disappointment?” Jeanne laughed. “I worry about that all the time! But everybody acts like I‟m asking something rude.” “I know,” Patrice said. “Bad enough when it was just me, but now I‟m Annabelle‟s example, good or bad.” For once Jeanne wasn‟t alone: a pouch of constant loneliness closed tight and disappeared. At dusk, preparing for home, Colette threw a tantrum. She cried and kicked sand at Jeanne. When she finally quieted down and they walked back, Jeanne confided in Patrice. “Colette has not so much as whined since Paul died. She says, „Don‟t worry, Mommy, we‟re still here. And we‟re together.”

If the girls weren‟t so tired, their mothers could have talked all night. When Patrice left, Jeanne realized she hadn‟t gotten the babysitter‟s phone number. She had asked first thing, but almost immediately they had both forgotten about it. Considerate Patrice phoned right after breakfast with the number. “Sorry about that. Would you and Colette like to come over and swim? You can relax before your job interview. And oh, Kevin has to accompany you.” “Is he an interviewer? I thought it was the police chief and a supervisor.” “No, if Kevin had his way, you‟d already be running the place. He‟s supposed to accompany you to the secret location. He‟s an emergency deputy, and authorized to escort you to the building. Standard procedure. ” Patrice laughed. “And to tell the truth? The man‟s supremely delighted to have the privilege.”

Chapter 3 next issue

next month’s issue out: 4 th March interview with Brunonia Barry

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When Jeanne, a recently widowed young mother, moves halfway across the United States to Lawrence, Kansas, she hopes to escape a troubled past and start a new life with her two-year-old daughter. Instead she finds she has traded one set of troubles for another. Bereaved and lonely, she plunges headlong into an affair with a married man, Kevin, and tries to befriend Kevin's troubled friend Hal. But Kevin's passion for her and Hal's jealousy create a volatile mix. Death Knell is a short novel in twelve parts, which will run each month in the magazine throughout 2011. Kathleen Maher is a fiction writer based in New York City. A regular contributor to The View From Here, she notes that the term "death knell" interests her because it has two distinct meanings: It may be the sound of a bell tolling after a death, or it can be an omen presaging a death. Chapter Three My mother‟s attendant, Bill, asked if I could pay him the fifteen hundred dollars I owe him. “Give me half an hour,” I said,

“tops. And Bill, anytime you or your family want free dental care, I‟m your man. Free, not barter.” He nodded and smiled—perfect teeth. “Maybe someday. Right now we‟re busy. I got that scholarship, Hal. Thanks for the recommendation.” I was real sorry Bill had to wait for his money. The world needs more guys like him: big, strong, and able to tame the wildest old ladies. So I raced to this particular ATM inside a gas station that so far has taken every credit card I‟ve tried. My Toyota‟s got a worn-out muffler and needs a quart of oil every day. But luckily I made it there and back. Bill thanked me without counting the money and promised he‟d look after Momma again tomorrow. Early September is still summer and the heat this week was serious. Either way I needed to wash my mother, which is never pleasant but really bad when the temperature hasn‟t dropped below ninety. Naturally, she bitched and fussed. “Pretend I‟m Jesus,” I said, soaping between her toes. “That‟s a laugh, Hal. Like I‟m St. Peter.” “Why not, Momma?” She let loose a barrage of disgusting reasons why not. But I soldiered on. “All

the popes, Momma, have always had menservants—friendly brutes whose only job is to sponge them off before bed.” “You‟re a damn liar, Hal.” She swore and cursed, pounded and scratched but after I washed her feet, I slid a soapy wash cloth over her speckled, wrinkled body. (She refused to remove her underwear, which, as ever, was fine by me.) While she watched her “Funniest Bloopers” show, I rinsed off the soap. But when I brought out the lotion, she got out of her chair, and stooped and stiff as she is, tossed it at me. I got out of the way, of course; I‟m not that slow. But we struggled through the whole maddening process of getting her butt back in the damn vinyl chair. She kept screaming Fthis and F-that and F-the day I was born. So okay, Momma, no moisturizer. Finally, I manhandled her into her cotton housedress. When I dabbed lavender-water on her hair and neck, you‟d think I was dousing her with lighter fluid. She won‟t even wear dentures. Of course she thinks I‟m lying about being a dentist. But hey, hurray for me! I got Momma clean, cooled off, and smelling fine. By the next morning she‟d found paperback books to throw at my head. But at noon, just as promised, Bill arrived. Since it was Sunday, I went to Kevin‟s office and lay on his waiting-room floor with its thick, clean carpeting. Before long, I calmed down. Kevin and I play tennis more nights than not. He gives me a handicap but still wins. I can‟t give him a real game but he doesn‟t complain. So just forget that thing with the marigolds. Kevin O‟Meara is and always has been my only friend. My brother Lincoln was also a great tennis player. In fact, he‟d joined a traveling league right before he got sick. My mother thought Lincoln was God. If only we‟d buried him right, he would have pushed the stone away. I loved Lincoln, though. He said our mom‟s love for him was just another version of her bullshit cruelty to me. And, Lincoln said, he for one knew I was better than him, because I was for real. “No idea why everyone loves my shit so much. But they expect it and I‟m too wussy to stop faking it. And the more you fake it, Hal, the more you lose track of

what‟s not fake. You end up totally ignorant about who the hell you even are—except fake. Whereas you? You couldn‟t fake it to save your life.” Lincoln said this when he wasn‟t sick and then again after the bone-marrow transplant when he was dying of leukemia—fifteen years ago. And I‟ll tell you this: I will never forget him saying that. After calming down at the dental office, I parked around the corner from Kevin‟s, because Patrice, who‟s always treated me kindly, probably likes marigolds. Whenever I visit, Kevin spends five minutes with me before retreating to his home office. He leaves the entertaining to Patrice, so it‟ll be easy to ask her about the flowers. When I rang the bell, she called to me from the fenced-in backyard. “Hold on, Hal. I‟ve got to get these girls out of the pool first.” She answered the door wearing a long, wet skirt. Annabelle and a little girl with dripping blonde hair giggled at me. “You‟re looking good,” Patrice said. “Have you lost weight?” “Maybe. Kevin‟s working me hard on the tennis court. And I‟ve got a new exercise DVD.” “I should do that.” Patrice laughed. “I want to start dancing again, but not until I‟m leotard-ready.” I hadn‟t noticed how plump she‟d gotten—still pretty, but pretty fat. “Come inside, Hal.” Somehow I could tell Kevin wasn‟t home; the house felt really soothing. “I‟ve got extra marigolds, Patrice.” “Do you? Kevin‟s „landscaped‟ the garden, so we can‟t put them in the ground, but they‟ll be pretty in pots.” Annabelle‟s tiny, soaking-wet friend offered me her hand. “How do you do? I‟m Colette.” “My name is Hal; glad to meet you, Colette.” “Hal, my pal. My mommy‟s getting a job.” “And your daddy?” “My daddy‟s dead.” Leave it to me to say the worst thing possible. Why hadn‟t I connected this child with the young widow? Patrice was kneeling beside Colette, whispering. “I‟m sorry, Hal,” the child said. “There‟s no need to tell people about my daddy first thing.” “It‟s okay,” Patrice said. “No need to apologize either, right Hal?” “Absolutely. No need,” I said. The two little girls ran off, holding hands. “Patrice, you must be a great nursery school teacher.” “Well,” she sighed. “I‟m better at that than I ever was at dancing.” I asked, “So what do you say about those marigolds in my car?”

She made iced tea and I planted the flowers in big clay pots. She even had potting soil. “You must have met Colette‟s mother.” “Jeanne‟s more beautiful than anyone I‟ve ever met,” Patrice said, “and not just because of her looks. There‟s something wonderful about her. Just talking to her makes me happy.” “I‟ve wanted to tell her ever since I heard what happened that it‟s enough to break your heart. But Kevin says, don‟t go into that. And I can meet her at your Thanksgiving dinner.” “You‟ll meet her before that, Hal.” “Today, you think? After the job interview?” Patrice shook her head and I knew what she was going to say: “Kevin will be snappish if you‟re here when they get back.” “I know. The emergency center‟s serious and Jeanne will be focused on that. Kevin says I have boundary issues. But so what? Where‟s the harm in me?” “Next week,” Patrice said, “maybe the four of us can have a picnic before or after tennis.” Earlier that day, when Patrice had invited Jeanne to relax by their pool before her interview, she wasn‟t ready for it. If she knew Kevin was away, she‟d love spending time with Patrice. That buoyancy and uplifting grace—even her voice on the phone conveyed a reassuring brightness. She thanked Patrice but claimed she had too many errands. “Wouldn‟t Colette rather come and play in the pool?” Jeanne laughed. “Of course, she would. Thank you.” She packed a change of clothes for Colette and helped her into her bathing suit. In time she would establish a bond with Patrice so tight that any nonsense about Kevin wouldn‟t exist. The energy overload he‟d caused was a fluke—lightning striking twice. It wouldn‟t happen again. And yet she steeled herself in case he, and not Patrice, opened the door. As it happened, he swept open both doubledoors at once. Unwittingly, she stared at him as Colette ran inside. Recovering in a heartbeat, she waved good-bye without looking. But during a mysterious interval, Kevin had invited her inside for a minute. “Don‟t tell me you don‟t have a minute, Jeanne.” “I really don‟t. You know how it is…” She backed away, hands cupping her mouth as she spoke. Light and swift, Kevin reached her car in time to open the door for her. Jeanne paused. His eyes found hers as he stepped around the door so they were both between the open car window and the driver‟s seat. He stood so close to her

for a second that when his hands encircled her waist, it seemed tactful and necessary to keep them from falling into each other. She tucked her chin, certain that if she looked up, they‟d start kissing. His hands squeezing and lifting her aside, he slid outside the car door, his hand already on the door handle. But in that second when he was holding her, Kevin undressed her. She was wearing a short flowered dress and her worn-out sandals with ankle straps, but in a flash, she stood naked, the dress blown off her body, flying away as she fumbled for her keys. Kevin wore jeans and a burnt-orange polo shirt but in that same flash she had felt his all sleek naked strength. Collapsing into the car, she trembled while fastening her seatbelt. His hand still on the door handle, his face came so close she felt his breath on her cheek. “I won‟t ask what your errands are, Jeanne. But come here a little before three. The center isn‟t far but it‟s hidden.” His smile when he closed the door was gentle and as she started the car his expression turned wistful and vaguely apologetic. At home she took a long, cool shower and lay on her bed with a washcloth covering her eyes. She dressed carefully, covering herself despite the heat. She twisted her hair up. Her linen slacks and a long-sleeved pink blouse looked appropriate for overnight work. She put on a necklace she‟d bought at J.C Penny and took it off—better without it. With bright pink flats on her feet, she arrived at the O‟Meara‟s right on time. She walked around and opened the backyard‟s gate. From the deck surrounding the turquoise pool, she called to Annabelle and Colette who splashed and kicked wearing floaties. Patrice smiled from her perch on the diving board. “I don‟t want to get wet.” “Stay there then. I‟ll see you after you‟ve become the new crisis dispatcher.” Kevin appeared, sliding open the glass divider, his manner calm. Leading her through the house, he seemed cautious. In the driveway he suggested she ride with him. The place was only a few blocks away. “I‟d better follow in my own car, or else no matter how close it is, I‟m likely to get lost next time.” His fancy metallic black car was a Honda Accord, not the BMW she had assumed. She followed it around two corners and down a straight, unpaved road. Kevin parked beside a vast stand of flowering oleander. Jeanne parked behind him. “The crisis center,” he said, “is around this hedge and down the road. Ordinarily, you should park in front of the building. But,” he touched her hand, “do you mind walking a bit? I want to apologize for coming on so strong.”

Without realizing it, Jeanne sighed and arched her neck, taking in the vivid blue sky. Eyes back on earth, she squared her shoulders, facing the moment. “And I thought it was just me. But it‟s unfair, Kevin, and,” (she balked at saying “wrong”) “…and not right.” Staying arm‟s distance, he stepped in front of her and gently pressed his index fingers on her covered shoulders. “Jeanne, I don‟t believe it‟s wrong. It‟s too extraordinary; I have never felt so overwhelmed.” His fingers glided down to hers. “I want you more than I imagined it was possible to want someone.” When she didn‟t take his hands, his fingers fell away, but he stepped closer to her. She couldn‟t look at him. “My heart‟s all torn up over you,” he said. “You‟ll kill me if you laugh.”

This made her giggle. She held a hand to her face, apologizing. Once started, her nervous giggle was difficult to stop. He shook his head for being an idiot. “Men tell you this all the time, don‟t they? I‟m not like that, Jeanne. I‟m different and what‟s happening between us isn‟t ordinary.” She was still laughing, hands covering her mouth. “You‟re not angry,” he said, “that‟s good. I have never strayed from Patrice. Ask her. Ask anyone. Before you, Jeanne, I was a devoted husband. Patrice will vouch for me.” He lifted his arms and dropped them. “Kevin, do you really want me to ask Patrice if you fall for other women? Until now—until me?”

He smiled an amused, besotted smile. “You‟re right; don‟t ask Patrice. But it proves my point. I can‟t think straight since I met you.” Her skin burned. “You are married to the nicest woman I‟ve ever met. But it doesn‟t make a bit of difference.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Think about Patrice, Annabelle, Colette. Kevin, you have to stand back.” She shuddered, fighting tears. “This was supposed to be an apology. But I can‟t do it; I‟m not sorry, Jeanne. I‟ll stand back, just as you ask. I‟ll wait in the shadows until I find a way for us, a good way. You‟ll see.”

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Jeanne easily adjusted to working overnight. And why not? After nursery school, Patrice often (or no—almost always and soon routinely) took Colette home for lunch with Annabelle, allowing Jeanne to sleep an extra hour or two. Patrice said the little girls entertained each other, which meant she could relax. Jeanne doubted it was effortless, but was grateful nonetheless. “They play this fabulous game,” Patrice told her. “In class, I offer prompts for imaginary play but they go nowhere. Colette, however, remembered one: She and Annabelle play fairies every afternoon. They catch me spying and throw me into the dungeon—that is, the powder room. They fly around looking for constantly changing safety areas. Otherwise people like me will break the spell. Loud enough so I can hear them, they beg the ceiling for magical powers. Often a wild animal kills one of them. And the other one throws Annabelle‟s blanket over the dead fairy and whispers to her until she wakes up, restored.” Jeanne laughed. “You contributed more than a prompt, Patrice.”

“Not really. Your little girl is off the charts, Jeanne. She‟s already starting to read and already starting to work with numbers.” Jeanne knew that, but not how advanced Colette‟s imagination supposedly was. Babysitting her while she and Annabelle played did sound like fun—enough fun to soothe Jeanne‟s distress over Patrice‟s huge, continual favor. One afternoon—Indian summer— Jeanne arrived in time to watch through the door hinges. Colette spied her mother right away and led her to “the dungeon” across the hall. When released, Jeanne and Patrice drank sparkling lemonade in the kitchen. “Did you bring bathing suits?” “I did.” Jeanne patted a large tote bag. “And towels and sunscreen.” “We have those,” Patrice said. “Come on. I‟m ready for the pool.” The mothers crept toward the slightly open door—something Patrice insisted on; the girls were too little to spend hours without any supervision. They were curtseying. Stepping back, Jeanne explained that Paul had taught Colette to curtsey before his mother visited. But then it turned out she had to visit early, for Paul‟s funeral. Patrice took Jeanne‟s hand for a second. “Don‟t feel as if you can‟t talk about it with me,” she said. “I don‟t have any idea how hard it is, but I do know how fast people shut you out if your words frighten them.” Jeanne nodded. “That‟s why therapists get paid to listen. I‟m doing all right, though. Between Colette and the job…Of course, having you for a friend doesn‟t hurt.” The girls claimed their mothers were spying again but Patrice said, “Last call for swimming. Last call of the year.” Changing in the powder room, Jeanne wished she‟d brought her other bathing suit. The athletic two-piece squashed her breasts so they rose like half moons over the top. Slinking into the bright sunlight, she felt embarrassed, her slender body as pale as milk. Seeing buoyant, light-brown Patrice in the pool, she tightened the bathing suit‟s straps and tugged at the back. Patrice said, “Stop fussing. It‟s just us.” After making sure the diving board was safe, Jeanne dived cleanly and swam two fast lengths before floating beside Patrice. “Oh, that feels good.”

“Did you swim in school?” Patrice asked. “No, just as a kid, and then again when I was pregnant.” “I tried swimming for exercise but didn‟t stick with it. I‟ve gained so much weight this year I put away the scale. Last week I had to buy even bigger clothes to replace the first bigger clothes.” “Are you doing all the same things?” Jeanne asked. “Maybe it‟s your thyroid.” Patrice laughed. “Not a chance. It‟s my cookie, cupcake, candy bar, and milkshake habit. I hate getting fat. But ever since January, I‟ve felt the need to eat lots of sweets.” They swayed waist-deep, watching their daughters bobbing about in water wings. “Maybe there‟s something going on with your blood sugar,” Jeanne said. “In any case, you‟ll exercise when you‟re ready.” “An aerobic step class; that‟s Kevin‟s mother‟s plan. Rebecca from Jamaica is what Kevin calls „a darling tyrant.‟” “You must like each other or she wouldn‟t say anything.” “Rebecca? I love her. But she certainly would say something. Kevin is always telling her to butt out, much as he loves her.” Jeanne said she had married Paul because his love had felt friendly and safe. “I had a hot-tempered boyfriend in high school. I never guessed Paul was depressed. Although, near the end, he was not friendly.” Patrice said, “Well, I married Kevin because here was a man who could go anywhere and be anything.” Jeanne suppressed a catch in her breath. Just in time, she said, “Patrice, you‟re both like that.” “You know that‟s not true.” “It certainly is true. You can obviously do anything you want.” “Thank you, Jeanne. I consider myself lucky that Kevin decided to stay here and be a dentist. Except lately he‟s pulling ahead of me. It‟s almost as if he‟s got his arm out blocking me.” She shook her head. “Listen to me to complain when I‟ve got no reason. He‟s says he loves me, come what may.” Annabelle was wailing, “Stop!” Colette had splashed water in her eyes. “We should go. The girls are tired.” “Tomorrow then?” Patrice asked. “If you‟re certain. You can‟t supplement my sleep every day, Patrice. And you shouldn‟t. Next month, I‟ll take them for lunch and you can take aerobics. Or we can start tomorrow.” “No, thank you,” Patrice said. “I‟ll tell you when I‟m ready.” Jeanne packed up quickly. Leaving was a relief. Just hearing about Kevin stirred up too much guilty pleasure. She might love Patrice more than herself and still do wrong.

Jeanne and Colette walked to the park during the late afternoons and played. After dinner, Jeanne read to her. Then they prepared for Giselle, Colette‟s babysitter, who arrived at eight p.m. Jeanne chatted with her a few minutes and kissed Colette, who squirmed out of her arms, declaring she wasn‟t a baby. Jeanne drove to the secured building, passing the O‟Meara‟s before the turn. From eight-thirty p.m. to six-thirty a.m., she answered emergency phone calls and participated in an online certification class. Her supervisor, who had disliked her initially, softened during the second week. Jeanne fixed her cocoa the way she liked it; never asked for a different TV show; and never bothered her after she fell asleep in her lounge chair. Before seven a.m., Jeanne returned home and woke Giselle. After asking how the night went, she invited her to breakfast but Giselle always declined and dashed off. Jeanne woke her little girl and they ate breakfast together. At eight-thirty she brought Colette with bows in her wavy blonde hair to nursery school. Patrice, while greeting the other children and parents, always managed to squeeze Jeanne‟s hand. There was no good reason Kevin should disapprove of Patrice‟s friendship with Jeanne. At first, Patrice recalled, he had raved about the beautiful, bereaved young widow. He‟d rented her the bungalow and gotten her the job, which fulfilled Jeanne‟s primary hope—to spend most of the day with her child. But now Kevin grimaced whenever Patrice mentioned her new friend. “She makes me happy,” Patrice said, explaining their everyday, including Saturday, get-togethers. Kevin couldn‟t be bothered. On Saturday afternoons, he fixed Hal‟s botched dental cases and later, he and Hal played tennis. It disturbed him to think of Jeanne in his home—moving and laughing through these very rooms—when he was elsewhere. “What about your other friends?” he asked Patrice. “Lila and Nikki?” “I don‟t know. Jeanne and I—it‟s a girl thing. But I‟ll try not to report every little thing we do.” What was he supposed to say? Kevin wanted nothing more than to hear every little thing they did. And once he learned why entering his home was so disquieting—Jeanne had been here and now was gone—he anticipated hints of her in the air. In the entranceway, he listened for a chime that had just ceased—an outlandish notion. He suspected he knew where Jeanne had sat, where she had walked. He envisioned her smile, her face lit with pleasure.

So he began asking, “What happened today? What did you do?” It turned out he really did sense whether they‟d spent time here or met somewhere else, a playground or shopping mall. On those days, despite his bluster for Patrice‟s sake, he‟d already registered a kind of gloom. One Sunday driving home from visiting Kevin‟s mother, Patrice hit upon a solution for spending time with Kevin and Jeanne—and Hal. “If Jeanne and Hal liked each other, even a little,” Patrice said, “the four of us could go on a picnic, see a movie, I don‟t know…it might bridge the gap.” Without answering or glancing at his wife, Kevin exited the turnpike and pulled to the side of the road. “Patrice, do not introduce Hal to Jeanne. You think he‟s awkward. But he‟s mentally ill-equipped.” Annabelle in the backseat asked, “Why are we stopped?” “Your daddy and I are talking.” “Talk but keep driving.” She kicked the car seat. Taken aback by Kevin‟s tone, Patrice didn‟t think to correct Annabelle‟s rudeness. “Apparently,” she said, “this talk is too important for driving.” “Enough!” Kevin yelled. “Not another word!” Patrice could hardly believe it. Kevin never lost his temper. He was famous for being nice. Everybody liked him; everybody loved him. Kevin loved helping people. Life came to him so easily that he always donated a few minutes, offered a name and number—no big deal. But as the car hummed along in silence, she realized that when Kevin helped Hal, an attitude sneaked in. She hated detecting this, but couldn‟t deny it. With Hal, Kevin‟s generosity wasn‟t casual. Rather, he exerted subtle pressure. Sitting on a swing, Patrice said, “Yesterday I wondered about you, me, Hal and Kevin going on a picnic and Kevin acted like I had committed a crime. Seriously, I‟ve never seen him like that. He‟s been rotating dental patients to give Hal work. But Hal gets on everybody‟s nerves. Maybe Kevin‟s especially, although they certainly play enough tennis together.” Jeanne moved from the playground‟s swings to a springy climbing platform and rummaged through her purse. “I don‟t need to start seeing anyone, Patrice. It‟s mean of me, thinking this guy Hal would be good because I‟d never take him seriously.” Patrice watched her twist her hair up with a clip and swing her feet in the air. Colette and Annabelle wanted a double birthday party. Patrice loved the idea. It

might be the girls‟ first clear memory. Of course the party would be at the O‟Meara‟s big, beautiful house. Jeanne had to stop being ridiculous about Kevin. It was inevitable they‟d see each other. Although, it would certainly help if other people were present—lots of them. The three-year-olds each invited four playmates. For the main activity, they chose freeze dance, freeze dance, and more freeze dance. And for lunch, hamburgers with lots of ketchup. Kevin‟s mother Rebecca arrived before the party with two pink leotards, matching tutus, and magic wands filled with sparkles. After helping the girls change into magical fairies, Rebecca told them, “Don‟t point your wands at people. Use them only when necessary. And never hit anyone.” Annabelle and Colette skipped around, so excited that Patrice made them wait in Annabelle‟s bedroom. Jeanne had made a three-tiered white cake with raspberry filling and chocolate icing. In the living room, Kevin adjusted his new video camera. “It has more memory than most computers. The girls‟ third birthday is a guaranteed keeper.” Jeanne kept busy in the kitchen. She‟d barely seen Kevin—a brief glance caught his smooth dark forehead. Holding a basket of miniature sailboats and rubber ducks, she came

within arms‟ reach. Kevin was beside the sliding glass door, but outside. He pulled it open and turned, standing in front of her. She stepped into the autumn afternoon and he said, “Don‟t worry, Jeanne. We‟re doing fine.” But then he gathered her hair in one hand and let the other mold the back of her neck. “Maybe,” he whispered in her ear, his mouth brushing her cheek. Jeanne skittered away. “Don‟t tease me, Kevin. Please.” “I‟m not teasing.” His voice was soft but stern. “I forgot myself. But we‟re fine; don‟t worry.” Inside, he looked around the room that was filling with children; he looked past his wife and past his mother and saw nothing. Jeanne squatted by the mini-pool and set the toys adrift. Returning inside, she opened the glass door herself; Kevin was almost hidden behind his camera and tripod. He recorded the children as they arrived and gave the girls presents, which Patrice whisked away for later. The lens found Jeanne crouched beside a small boy. Her silky, honey-colored hair fanned in the air. She wore loose, light-blue jeans, rolled above her ankles, the left pants‟ leg rolled slightly higher. Kevin‟s mother called her into the dining room. And Jeanne flowed—fluid as a stream. He

next month’s issue: 6 th May June 03 2011: our last issue

could swear she smiled over her shoulder straight into the camera. The lens focused close on her breasts for several seconds, and she was gone. Until—she twirled out of the dining room, followed by a bright chinging sound. He paused, confused, until he realized his mother had given her finger cymbals. She twirled and twisted across the room, cymbals ringing—pure, sensuous rhythm in motion. The performance was for the children. The camera focused only on her. She sat on her heels, adjusting the cymbals on the children‟s fingers. After the girls blew out the candles, Jeanne arranged little pieces of cake on paper plates. The lens zoomed in when she licked her fingers. The three women ate two bites each off plastic forks. Kevin recorded Jeanne‟s lips opening and closing. He recorded her sipping tea, her eyelids fluttering when she swallowed. People dispersed. Jeanne stepped outside to collect the left-over toys and Kevin followed. Half hidden by the house, he scooped her into his arms and kissed her like his life depended on it. His mouth was moving down her long, beautiful neck when his mother called from the living room: “Kevin, God only knows what you‟re doing out there! But Patrice needs you in front, to say good-bye to the children and their parents.” Chapter 4 next issue

Chapter Five If Kevin‟s in a good mood when we‟re playing tennis at his country club, he says, “Hal, let‟s hear your running joke.” “What joke?” The subtleties go over my head and Kevin knows it. We play tennis almost every evening after he eats dinner with his family and I eat pizza across the street from the dental clinic. The so-called joke has to do with my obsession regarding zero in tennis equaling “love.” I still don‟t get it and sometimes forget and ask him for the zillionth time what love has to do with missing the ball. If he‟s in a good mood, he tells me it‟s because the French word for egg sounds like the word love and an egg supposedly looks like a zero. Or, it could refer to playing tennis for love, not money

(although playing tennis for love costs a lot of money if you‟re playing indoors at night at a country club.) But that‟s not why we play—not for love, not for fun, but to save me from going home to Momma. In the locker room I tell Kevin that I really appreciate it—and I do—but I can‟t afford any more evening tennis. I‟ve timed the whole thing so that when I thank him, I‟m ready to go but he‟s slipping into a nice shirt. Kevin always takes the time to look good, which in his case is pretty much perfect. While in mine? The best I‟m ever going to do is—keep clean. This should give me a few extra minutes to get away before he discovers any more details about my present status. And yet, he does so much for me, so much, it would be rude if I didn‟t reiterate: “You know how much I appreciate you teaching me tennis, and all the work you give me at the dental clinic. But, Kevin, I don‟t have the money for Momma‟s evening nurses; just covering her daycare is killing me.” He nods; he knows and I push the door, hoping to get to my car, before he can ask (again) about Kansas City. Have I auctioned the dental equipment? Who took over my office? Did I sell the condo? But my get-away wasn‟t fast enough and we‟re in the parking lot where my car won‟t start. I turn the key and pump the gas, praying: Dear Lord, please start my car. Good thing my prayer is private, because Kevin would scoff at an average guy‟s plea: Come on, baby. In fact, his disgust for my Toyota might make it to burst into flames. No such luck: the balky engine died in its sleep. He taps on the window. “Pop the hood,” and after one look says, “All right, Hal. Get your stuff and come with me.” In his car he phones Kenny on Twenty-Ninth Street and asks him to stay open late. On the way to an ATM, he says, “I‟ve been sweet-talking Kenny all month to trade my lease on this noisemaker for an Acura with a decent sound system. Last week when I was over there, I noticed a used Honda Civic that would be perfect for you, Hal.” I shake my head. “Kevin, no matter how sweet the deal…” “I know that; don‟t worry.” He‟s stopping at one ATM after another and finally hands me a lot of cash. “Don‟t let anybody know. I mean nobody. Do you understand? ” “Of course. But Kevin, I‟ve no idea when I can pay you back.”

“That‟s okay. First things first: Count out fifteen thousand for your mother‟s nurses. Otherwise, I‟m afraid you‟ll turn to burglary. And Hal? You would be the worst burglar.” We laugh at that. “I‟d knock stuff over, turn on lights—and unless there was a pile of money in plain sight I wouldn‟t have a clue what to steal.” “You have no choice but to earn an honest living,” Kevin says. “So use the fifteen thousand for your mother. That leaves you eight thousand for Kenny‟s Civic.” Several months ago, when I pretty much moved back here from K.C. because of Momma, Kevin‟s mother Rebecca had arranged a place for her at the Wichita Memory Center. But Momma shrieked and cried so bad I didn‟t have the heart. I have it now, but the open place is long gone. When we were kids, the only person in town who didn‟t lay off me when Kevin glared was Momma. When we were in high school and her mind was okay, just mean, he told her she was evil to call me names. And you should have been there. Everything stopped. Momma turned around and walked away! Kevin called after her, “Hal, let‟s watch the Royals game.” We drank beer and watched TV in the living room. Of course, Kevin wasn‟t allowed in the house after that. But still, that afternoon was a cosmic wonder. At the car dealership Kenny and Kevin do this fist over fist thing that Kevin‟s told me is something white guys do when they‟re trying to act cool with black guys. “Hal, long time!” Kenny starts to pump his fist but for me an ordinary handshake is a challenge: squeeze hard, real hard, one shake, two… “Hal,” Kenny says, “have you lost weight?” I wish I could ask Kevin if weight loss is the new-style greeting. But I know he‟d say, “Don‟t be stupid.” But first Patrice asked me and now Kenny, and in reality it‟s impossible. My body type is what my Momma calls “lumbering.” Combine that with me calming my nerves by eating three or four pizzas a day. Once I asked the woman in K.C. I thought was my girlfriend if she had lost weight. She had returned from vacation looking trimmer. But when I asked how many pounds she had lost, she got angry. Was I implying she needed to lose ten pounds—or twenty? Was I, lumbering Hal, spending my time thinking about how fat she was? “Hiya, Kenny, how are you?” We look at the cars. Kevin and Kenny are joking around. Ordinarily, Kenny doesn‟t trade leases, like switching an Accord for an Acura. “The only time the dealer gets a bad deal.”

“From me?” Kevin clutches his heart—wounded. They pull punches and pop hoods until Kevin turns thoughtful and waves a finger. “Remember that metallic blue you showed me?” Kenny says just a minute, and steps into his office where he strokes his computer. Tomorrow he‟ll have the metallic blue Acura and Kevin can trade the lease on his Accord, same terms and conditions. “But only because it‟s you, Kevin.” They do some more knuckle bumping. “All right, my man,” Kevin asks, “what have you got for Hal? Is that beige Honda still available?” It is—pre-owned with only thirty-eight thousand miles on it. Kenny makes an exception and lets Kevin go with me instead of him on the test drive. “Fifteen minutes, though. Don‟t drive around all night.” It‟s almost eleven and we‟re cruising along when Kevin says, “Drive over to Third Street. Or, no, I forgot she‟s working. It was our kids‟ birthday today.” I know he means Jeanne. And while I may never figure out whether to ask someone if they‟ve lost weight, I know exactly how Kevin feels. He‟s flying on his own generosity, which you‟ve got to admit, is amazing. Kevin‟s the only person who has fun with me. Of course, I annoy him and certain topics are off limits. Jeanne and Colette are off limits. I can‟t ask about the little girls‟ birthday party. All I can say is thank you. “What you need to do, Hal, is capitalize on your niche as a pediatric specialist.” “I don‟t know how to „capitalize,‟ Kevin. But kids like me and I usually do okay on their teeth.” “So we‟ll start marketing that. Turn left ahead. And Hal, remember—you can‟t tell anyone about this. My wife and mother don‟t even approve of you working for me. Fond of you as they are, they‟re seriously against me lending money. They don‟t say it to my face but they think I put subtle pressure on you. What they don‟t know is that I‟d do that to you, working in my clinic or not; loan or no loan.” “Kevin, do you want to drive? You‟re a better judge than me.” “No, I‟ve checked; it‟s a steal. Just go inside and negotiate.” “I can‟t.” “Yes, you can. Paying in cash gives you leverage. Besides, I‟ll exert my subtle pressure.” Within half an hour, I get the car for eight thousand, including tax. Outside, Kevin reminds me to keep it secret. We both know I‟ve got to take special care to hide it from his mother. Rebecca looks at you askance and knows more about you than you know yourself. She‟s always

been kinder than kind to me. But she disapproves of Kevin fixing my problems. It‟s good he‟s good. But with me, Rebecca says, there‟s more going on than meets the eye. And she‟s convinced Patrice that he manipulates me so much that good could turn bad. They want Kevin to leave me alone. But if he did, really? Where would I be? The night of Colette and Annabelle‟s birthday party, Jeanne worked her first shift alone, having finally earned her accreditation. Hour after hour, she banished the memory of Kevin kissing her in the afternoon shadows. But anytime her concentration relaxed, every sensation returned in full. He had held her so close his spirit coursed through her. And now an endless wave crested inside her. Eventually, she knew waves crashed. Her moral failing would devastate them. But until then she would do anything for Kevin: betray her best friend; abandon Colette. No, wait! Abandon Colette? How could she? But the unthinkable had been thought. Sometime after three a.m., a woman called 911. Her twenty-year-old son had slit his wrists. Jeanne asked if he was alive. He was, and she quickly but gently told the mother how to staunch the blood. “Press hard.” She continued speaking, asking about vital signs, until the ambulance arrived. Half an hour later a hospital official phoned to commend her: The young man had survived. Jeanne wept violently and then in spurts, finding her composure just before the morning dispatcher was due. She washed her face in cold water. Her hands ached. The nights had grown longer. Turning onto her street, she saw Kevin‟s car in the dimness. Having thought the unthinkable and then forestalled a suicide, she vowed to betray no one but herself. He was out of his car and taking her hand. He touched her face, and sensing some trauma, asked what happened. She shook her head. He whispered something like, “It‟ll be okay,” and Jeanne resisted falling into him because just Kevin‟s presence relieved her dread. They stood on the stone path leading to her front door—which was his front door. “Did you get the rent? I mailed it last week.” “Jeanne, please.” His arm was behind her if she wanted support. But he didn‟t press her. Together they stood in front of the yellow bungalow, watching its windows reflect the brightening day. Assuming a perfect stillness, Kevin said, “I love you.” Without turning her head, she whispered, “You don‟t know me.”

“I do, Jeanne. But if I didn‟t, I would love you just the same.” Her eyes brimmed and he asked if he had intruded. “If you know me,” her voice gave her away, almost teasing, “you know that‟s impossible. Kevin, what if—?” She looked at him in confusion and his eyes sent a rush of light into hers. He touched her cheek and she trembled, ready to do anything. But he said, “All right, Jeanne, I‟ll keep waiting.” She turned around and watched him walk to his car. In the street, he smiled at her and his slow, sweet, sad expression suffused her with loneliness. Kevin spent the morning locked in his office watching the birthday video he had made. He stared at his diagnostic monitor, transfixed as Jeanne danced across his living room floor. He‟d been watching her for hours when Hal pushed open the door. And yet even Hal‟s bulk and bluster in no way affected the spell cast by Jeanne‟s bare, high-arched feet stepping one around the other. Bells sounded over muffled voices and the picture swirled out from her feet to follow her shifting hips before zooming in on her breasts and neck and face. “Wow! Who‟s that?” “Dammit, Hal!” Kevin simultaneously clicked off the monitor and switched on the lights. “This lady‟s cavity is a deep pinpoint.” “I‟ll take her. You take Mrs. Vickers. We‟re watching her gum line.” Before lunch, Kevin said the video was part of an online tutorial. “Digital video art is time-consuming and expensive. I‟d rather you didn‟t mention it to anyone.” “Okay. But who was that?” “I don‟t know. It‟s an assignment.” The Monday afternoon before Thanksgiving, Jeanne and Patrice were drinking tea while Colette and Annabelle played with a dollhouse on the dining room table. Annabelle spoke for the brown plastic man of the house. “Hal isn‟t right for Jeanne.” Colette, holding the brown woman, imitated Patrice‟s lilting voice. “How do you know, honey?” “Do not question me, Patrice. I‟ve known him since high school.” The real Patrice giggled and leaned toward Jeanne. “Guess we better mind what we say.” Jeanne laughed. “I think it‟s too late.” The girls threw the plastic dolls inside the dollhouse and ran off to play Princess Annabelle and Princess Colette. “I know it‟s silly of me to keep pushing you and Hal together,” Patrice said. “He has every reason to feel lonely, but I don‟t

think he is. He does his best and hopes for the best.” Jeanne would shudder over this conversation after she got home. “Have you told Hal that I‟m his Thanksgiving date?” Patrice passed one hand over the other like an umpire. “No way. You heard the girls. Kevin says ten times a day that Hal is all wrong for you.” Jeanne bent her head so Patrice wouldn‟t see her deceitful face. “Why?” “Well, he‟s not in your league. But why not have a little fun in the meantime? It makes Kevin furious if I suggest Hal could be fun. He gets tired of fixing the teeth Hal has botched. But he sure plays a lot of tennis with the man.” Jeanne carried their tea cups into the kitchen and asked Patrice what she could bring for the Thanksgiving dinner. “Pies and what else?” “Rebecca does all the cooking. Oh, and I should have told you sooner: We‟d love it if Colette spent the night. I know you have to work, and Giselle will be on her semester break.” “You know that? You know everything.” Without thinking, Jeanne bent down and kissed the top of her best friend‟s head.

Chapter Six

“How many years have you been coming to Thanksgiving, Hal? Dinner is at four. Usually you show up at two. But Christ, it‟s not even noon.” “That‟s not true. It‟s closer to onethirty.” “Don‟t listen to him,” Patrice says. She‟s wearing a soft orange dress and looks considerably thinner than the day we planted marigolds. She takes the

chrysanthemums I‟ve brought and kisses my cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Patrice. You look really nice.” “Thank you, Hal.” Kevin stomps off. His mother Rebecca takes the flowers while Patrice hangs up my coat. When she turns around, I‟m positive it‟s safe to ask her, “Have you lost weight?” “I have,” Patrice says. “Thanks for noticing.” “Are, um, Jeanne and her little girl coming?” “Yes, but remember what we talked about on the phone.” Patrice raises her eyebrows. “Don‟t act overeager.” “I won‟t.” She casts her eyes upstairs, where Kevin is presumably locked in his office. “He‟s not himself today. I think he‟s frustrated by this new video software he bought. So hold back on Jeanne, Hal, and don‟t be offended if you have to watch the ballgame alone.” “I won‟t be offended. Can I help with anything?” “I don‟t think so. Why don‟t you watch TV in the den?” She brings me a beer and a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, same as every year. I carry in my dishes during a commercial. Rebecca is drying her hands and waves me toward the table. I‟d rather not sit down but I certainly don‟t want to dismiss Rebecca O‟Meara. Kevin‟s mother is beautiful and cheerful like Patrice, but much tougher: no nonsense and no hoping for the best instead of taking charge. We sit at a big oldfashioned farmhouse table and she clasps her hands. “A new facility for elders is opening in Eudora, Hal. As an advisory, I‟m pushing for Alzheimer‟s programs.” “You know I regret not following through on the Memory Center.” “You‟re not the only son who couldn‟t move his parent out of her lifelong home on the first try. I see it all the time, and not many have to confront anyone as angry as your mother. But be prepared early next year. It will be better for both of you.” Patrice zips downstairs, shaking her head. “I don‟t know what‟s wrong with my Mr. Nice Guy husband. We‟ll be lucky if Kevin even eats with us.” “Patrice, he sees me all day every day at the dental clinic and coaches me through tennis lessons at night. He probably needs a break.” She offers me another beer, which I gladly accept before returning to the football game. Ever since Kevin handed me twenty-three thousand dollars in cash, he‟s had two pieces of advice for me. One, I should use Thanksgiving weekend to settle my accounts in K.C before I end up in foreclosure and repossession. I don‟t tell him I‟m already

there; no way out; it‟s just a matter of time. But I‟m surprised Kevin hasn‟t figured that out already. Two (and this is very strange), if instead of taking care of business in K.C., I‟m stupid enough to spend all Thanksgiving day at his house, I must promise not to get into a conversation with Jeanne—even though Patrice has said I might invite her to the movies or something. He continually warns me against talking to her at all. “Are you serious, Kevin? No talking?” “Forget it, Hal. Talk whatever fool shit you want.” Without realizing it, he lays down the law about Jeanne every time he sees me. I shouldn‟t bother her, he says, because she‟s a new widow and new to Kansas, and like, why can‟t I get this? She and Patrice are best friends. Yeah, but still: “You mean I‟ve not even supposed to say, „hello?‟” He opens his mouth, shuts it, and shakes his head. “What the hell. She‟s smart. She‟ll know how to deal with you.” It takes Kansas two hours to lose to Michigan. Kevin still hasn‟t come downstairs. The doorbell rings and Patrice answers it while Rebecca and I wait in the wide-open entranceway. Jeanne steps into the house with two pies, which Rebecca takes into the kitchen. Patrice tells Jeanne, “Make yourself at home,” and goes upstairs again, probably after Kevin. The little girl Colette jumps out of her jacket and mittens and runs off with Annabelle, who I haven‟t seen until just now. So it‟s me and Jeanne in the entranceway. She smiles. “You must be Hal; I‟m Jeanne.” And ding-dong: I‟m standing there as if a movie star has climbed out of the screen to meet me. Except she‟s not like a movie star at all; not in my experience anyway. I once saw Cate Blanchett in a hotel lobby: beautiful, yes, but not unreal. Jeanne has her hand out for me to shake but I don‟t notice until she gives up and takes off her coat. “How did Kansas do?” “What?” “Patrice said you watched the game.” “That‟s right. I watched the game. Kansas lost.” This incredible being Jeanne closes the closet door and says she‟s glad to meet me; she‟s heard so much about me, while I‟m sucking in my stomach so hard I stop breathing. She breezes past me into the kitchen, having knocked me flat. While Hal watched TV and Kevin remained upstairs, Jeanne folded white napkins into fans, an eight-step procedure she had learned working summers at a resort in Vermont. Rebecca declared the turkey was done and set it

on a rack to cool. Patrice dribbled vinaigrette dressing on the salad, arranging portions on little china plates. And Annabelle was calling, “Grandma, can you help us?” “In a minute, child.” She rinsed and dried her hands before going to Annabelle‟s bedroom down stairs. “Is it all right with you,” Patrice asked, “if the girls wear the tutus Rebecca gave them? I know that‟s why Annabelle called for her grandmother—to help her change clothes.” “Better than all right,” Jeanne said. “Anything to save Colette‟s best dress from stains.” Sitting down, Patrice held one of Jeanne‟s folded fans. “Look how lovely. From now on we can‟t have Thanksgiving unless the napkins look like elegant little hats.” Pretending to be sneaky, she said, “Let‟s have an aperitif before Rebecca can disapprove.” She retrieved a corked bottle from the refrigerator and poured sherry into two little glasses. “Beautiful dress, Patrice. I‟m relieved that even the cooks dress up.” “Oh, I don‟t cook. Rebecca does. How did you know to make mincemeat pie? It‟s Kevin‟s favorite.” “My father likes it.” Jeanne sipped the strongest driest sherry she had ever tasted and confessed, “I tried on three outfits before settling on this.” She wore a full skirt, a wide black belt around her small waist, and a silk top. Her long hair was twisted up and held in place by a sharp clasp. Patrice smiled in disbelief. “I can‟t imagine you looking less than perfect no matter what you wear.” “Yeah, right. Patrice, now that I‟m certified, let me take the girls after nursery school.” Having told the fairy princesses to play quietly, Rebecca returned in time to hear this and agree. “Then you can join the gym, Patrice.” “She‟s been after me for months. You keep us honest, Rebecca.” “Somebody has to.” She held her daughter-in-law affectionately by the shoulders. “You‟ve lost most of the weight you gained but not all of it. Besides, if you don‟t exercise you‟ll gain it back by New Year‟s.” “See?” Patrice turned to Jeanne. “What are you drinking?” Rebecca asked. “Tio Pepe, want some? One little girl‟s mother gave it to me for the holiday.” “You don‟t need to play games with me, Patrice. In fact, yes, please pour me a bit.” The three women clinked sherry glasses: “Here‟s to us.” “And,” Jeanne said, “I‟ll take the girls for lunch starting Monday. Now that the

supervisor isn‟t watching me, I can catnap between emergencies.” “Good enough,” Rebecca said. “I suppose it‟s my turn to interrupt Kevin from whatever he‟s doing upstairs.” Patrice said, “Thanks.” And to Jeanne: “I don‟t know what‟s wrong with him. Something‟s worrying him but he won‟t say what. Oh, hurray for Rebecca. Here he comes.” Kevin descended the stairs whistling, his mother behind him. He didn‟t seem worried to Jeanne, but streamlined and relaxed. Except when his gaze fell on her, it shifted from happy to sad and to such emotional intensity, her face stung. He carved the turkey, whistling again, while the women carried different things to the table. Rebecca said, “Wash your hands everyone,” and Hal waited in line with the little girls who had been showing him how fairy princesses fly. After setting a platter of sliced turkey on the table, Kevin rearranged the place settings: Hal next to him; then Patrice and Jeanne, with his mother and the girls on the opposite side. He said grace, and when he poured the wine, Jeanne thanked him at halfglass, her voice sounding like a faint chime. His anger and concern dissipated as he filled his own glass. Now that Hal and Jeanne were in the same room he decided Hal posed no real threat, at least not now: the sublime and the ridiculous. Hal asked, “What‟s this purple stuff in the salad?” “You mean the radicchio?” Patrice said. “It‟s a little spicy.” When Colette said she liked it, Hal and Annabelle agreed. Patrice asked Kevin why he wasn‟t making a Thanksgiving video. “I thought since you erased the girls‟ birthday party by mistake, we might have a holiday series.” Hal craned toward Jeanne, recognizing her from Kevin‟s diagnostic monitor. “So you‟re—?” Kevin stomped hard on Hal‟s foot. “Ouch!” He complimented his mother‟s cooking and explained to Patrice that “Thanksgiving‟s too static for video. Talking heads and a lot of chewing.” When they each named what they were grateful for this year, Hal said, “I‟m thankful you guys lock your toothbrushes in a cabinet. So they don‟t pick up germs whenever someone flushes the toilet.” Colette and Annabelle giggled. “Nice dinnertime sentiment, Hal.” “Kevin,” Rebecca said, admonishing him. He pushed his food around and kept his wine glass full. The little girls asked to be excused until dessert. Patrice took requests. “Pumpkin or mincemeat, with or without ice cream.”

Everyone wanted pumpkin and ice cream except Kevin. Jeanne served him a dark slice of mincemeat pie. He waited until the rest were eating before tasting it and then leaned past his wife to ask, “You made this pie for me, Jeanne?” “Patrice said it was your favorite.” Kevin said it was excellent. After two bits he had to shut his eyes; it tasted like love, or rather like making love. After loading the dishwasher (for the first of three loads), Jeanne said, “I can‟t believe it‟s already time for work.” She kissed Colette good-bye. “Be good, honey, and I‟ll see you in the morning.” Kevin fetched her coat from the closet as his mother talked to Hal in the den. Patrice was arranging left-overs in the kitchen. Standing behind her, Kevin adjusted her coat collar and whispered, “Don‟t give up, Jeanne.” She turned her long neck, which Kevin stroked. He quickly kissed the nape and stepped in front of her, his hands clasped her wrists. “I mean, don‟t give up on me.” Walking her to her car, he wrapped an arm around her, sheltering her from the cold night. She touched his mouth with one finger. No kiss good-bye or she might not be able to live her life. Did he know that? Kevin watched Jeanne‟s car drive away and as he approached his house Hal was holding the door open a crack. Once he was inside, Hal said, “Secrets, secrets. Kevin‟s got a secret. “Kevin shook his threatening finger in Hal‟s face. “Don‟t say that again, Hal.”

Chapter Seven For a week Kevin wondered at the awful disquiet whenever he came home. He no longer heard the ringing silence well after Jeanne‟s bell-like voice had fallen away. He no longer sensed how she had moved through different rooms. Then at dinner Annabelle announced that Jeanne made the best toasted cheese sandwiches. And he remembered that now Jeanne was taking the girls after nursery school, while Patrice took an exercise class with his mother. Jeanne hadn‟t graced his home since Thanksgiving. Patrice had fixed red beans and rice from one of his mother‟s Jamaican recipes. Kevin wasn‟t interested in the meal, normally one of his favorites. Patrice didn‟t notice because she was too busy talking. “I had a dancer‟s body until I turned thirty. Jeanne‟s only twenty-five but Rebecca says if she keeps practicing yoga, she‟ll stay fit her entire life. I‟d love to do yoga with Jeanne. Step class with Rebecca is exhausting.”

“Jeanne‟s only twenty-five?” Why hadn‟t he known that? Ever since Thanksgiving he had been indulging a strange fantasy that somehow, if Hal dated Jeanne, just once, a door would mysteriously open through which she and Kevin could become lovers without hurting anyone. But, at twenty-five, Jeanne might be too young to cope with Hal‟s unpredictable temperament. During Kevin‟s long, peculiar friendship with Hal, he had always thought of him as a bear he couldn‟t outrun. But then, Jeanne wouldn‟t need to run. Any interaction between her and Hal would be brief, one date. One night

watching Japanese dancers at the Lied Center. Patrice was talking as if no beat were skipped. “Jeanne practices yoga on a mat that she keeps at the emergency center. She says yoga simultaneously keeps her alert and helps her rest. That alone would be worth the effort.” Unaware, Kevin shook his head. Why should he suspect that Hal posed a danger? Clumsy Hal might cause trouble, nothing more. Annabelle had left her seat. “Jeanne‟s teaching me and Colette yoga. Look!” She lay on the floor and flung her legs over her head. “Wow, honey,” Patrice said, and

turned toward Kevin, “Did you know that Jeanne was amazed you lived in the bungalow before we were married?” “Amazed? Surprised, Patrice. Not amazed.” She stopped and surmised him. “What‟s happened to my sweet, easy going husband?” He leaned back in his chair, still not hungry but genuinely apologetic. “I‟m sorry, darling. Hal gets on my nerves. I‟m thinking of bringing in another dentist.” Friday afternoon, Hal knocked on Kevin‟s office door with clammy hands. If Kevin ever cut him loose, if they ever stopped being friends, Hal didn‟t know what he would do. Nobody else was going hire him as a dentist. Let alone lend him money when working as an associate dentist he couldn‟t still afford the nurses his raving mother needed ‟round-theclock. Not to mention buy him a car. Sometimes Hal thought he could put his mother in an institution and be done with her. But when it came down to it— even in his mind—it simply wasn‟t in him, whether she had always treated him mean or not. And even if some people thrived in the Memory Center, as Rebecca maintained, having gone to the trouble to save a space, Hal still couldn‟t put Momma in storage. He knocked again on Kevin door, harder. “Come in, Hal,” Kevin said, half a second before switching off the video of Jeanne dancing with miniature cymbals. He flicked on the lights and said, “Have a seat.” Hal‟s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sweat beaded along his body‟s crevasses. “I was wondering if I could invite Jeanne on a date. If it‟s okay with you.” “You‟re asking permission? I‟m not her father, Hal.” “No, but you might get angry.” “Naw. I never get angry.” Kevin opened the desk drawer above his lap. “I have Saturday evening tickets to the Lied Center. The dance program is spectacular but Patrice and I have seen it before.” “Thanks Kevin,” Hal said. “I hope Jeanne accepts.” “Do me a favor. Tell her the dancers were my idea and then tell me how she likes the Japanese Warriors.” Jeanne heard Colette on the phone. “Hiya Hal. Hiya, my pal Hal. Mommy‟s resting.” “No, I‟m not. I‟m right here, honey. Is the phone for me?” “It‟s Hal.” “Hey, Jeanne,” he said. “Did you know an average person can survive eleven days without water? No, that‟s not why I called.” He cleared his throat. “I

want to invite you to the Lied Center Saturday evening.” “Oh, Hal, I‟m not sure…” “Kevin gave me the tickets. He‟s curious to know what you think of the dance.” “Really?” “Saturday‟s your night off. So can I pick you up at seven-thirty?” “Why not? I‟ll get a babysitter. Thank you, Hal.” The “big date” delighted Colette. Jeanne suspected her daughter must have seen something on TV to get such ideas. At first, Jeanne put on a black skirt and a white blouse. But Colette said, “Don‟t wear that, Mommy.” She lifted Colette into her arms. “Why not? Don‟t I look nice?” Colette wriggled down and opened Jeanne‟s closet. She tugged at a new dress Jeanne had bought on impulse, thinking vaguely of Thanksgiving although she knew it was too fancy for that. “Wear this one.” Colette pulled it off the hanger—fitted dark blue silk with an inset slash of deep pink that started low on one hip and wrapped around to encircle her waist. Inside the dress, which Colette zipped, Jeanne felt light and supple because of the graceful way the garment moved. She slipped on high heels and practiced walking in them until Hal showed up. Giselle, Colette‟s babysitter, was right behind him. In Hal‟s car, Jeanne started to ask him more about the program. But he said, “Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.” She asked if his car played CDs. “I‟ve got Eric Clapton‟s Greatest Hits.” He set the volume for listening, not talking. They hurried into KU‟s Lied Center. The Japanese Warriors wore red and gold costumes that swirled with every precise gesture. In big black wigs and opaque white make-up, they executed thrilling sword-work on shadow figures. The rhythm and spectacle brought Jeanne to tears. Then women warriors entered the stage and intensified Jeanne‟s every sensation. On stilts, the women manipulated brilliant ribbons that arced and twined together. Light and energy coursed through Jeanne‟s body as if Kevin had kissed her. So that afterwards, when Hal suggested coffee or drinks, she asked, “Would we disturb your mother, if you showed me your house?” The dancing, spiraling momentum still surged inside her. A porch light welcomed them to a ranch house devoid of grass or bushes. Inside, a voice raged from

upstairs. “Hal, is that you? Hal! Hal, come here!” He turned on the living room lights, put on Eric Clapton, volume high, and excused himself. Five minutes later he sat beside her on an orange couch and took her hand. “I hire nurses to control her. And I just asked Bill to keep her locked up awhile. She‟ll still scream but she can‟t get out.” “How awful for you.” “For now, Jeanne, let‟s be quiet.” Being quiet was just what Jeanne wanted. Or, actually, one of several things she wanted. Anxious but determined, she touched his shoulder. It had been too long. After Jeanne exaggerated every visual cue she knew, Hal finally, tentatively kissed her. When she responded, he said, “Hey, wait a minute,” and walked away. Not for the first time she worried if this might be new to him. But soon he returned, lifted her in the air, unzipped her dress and slipped it off. Jeanne sat naked on her heels watching him prepare, protection and everything. He patted the space next to him on the couch. But she was beyond foreplay and lowered herself directly on top of him—nearly laughing at the intense pleasure suffusing her body. She grabbed his head. “Sit still, Hal. Let me do it.” All the while, from above they heard his mother screaming: “Hal! Hal, come here! Hal!” Jeanne didn‟t care. Eric Clapton played. Jeanne clamped tight around him and plunged. Jeanne‟s the one—the other beat of my heart. All my life I‟ve known she was waiting for me. Same as I‟ve waited and searched for her. Someone who would put up with my social awkwardness. Everyone has flaws, after all. I‟m not saying this is my only flaw. But when I feel nervous talking to people, which is a lot, I interject trivia, apropos of nothing. Most people hate it so much they just shut me out. Not Jeanne. She puts a finger to my lips and said, “Let‟s be quiet, Hal.” So different from my girlfriend the librarian in K.C. I hadn‟t met Jeanne then, and so my imagination deceived me. For years we met at Starbuck‟s. We laughed, walked around, but no dinner and no weekends. I told you how after I tried to kiss her, she started calling security if I even showed up at the library. But then a few times I saw her at the grocery store. I went to the bank and there she was. The hardware store— same thing. I have no idea how many drug stores there are in K.C. but suddenly every time I bought allergy pills or laxatives—for Momma—there she was.

Before long she got a restraining order against me for stalking her, when really she was stalking me. I found another grocery store, another bank, et cetera. But I was always worried she would pop up, until of course I had to move back to Lawrence. That‟s how it was before Jeanne. I interpreted random patterns as messages. But Jeanne‟s set me free from all those coded tugs at the bedroom curtains or hastily scrawled notes under a windshield wiper. Jeanne saw past my shit and that was enough. She recognized me and then: My own one love made love to me. Even my mother didn‟t bother her. Noise and complications were light years away. Our love was the only reality. When I phoned the next day, she said, “Please, Hal. Let it go. That was a moment in time that cannot be repeated.” After all, our shared ecstasy requires us to deal with the outside world carefully. There‟s little Colette, who loved me the moment we met. She calls me, “My pal Hal,” and hugs my legs. At Thanksgiving, she said, “Hal, my pal,” and asked me to swing her upside down. Right there, in the O‟Meara‟s living room. First I need to clean up the mess in Kansas City so it‟s completely in my past: Negotiate with the lawyers over the remnants of my business: X-ray machines, monitors, chairs, instruments—all that debt I‟ll never be able to pay. But with Jeanne in my soul all my failures seem trivial. Jeanne‟s true love has redeemed me. Sunday morning, Jeanne opened and closed her eyes several times, unable to see herself using Hal like that. And yet, she couldn‟t see anything else. Driving her home, he had said, “I have waited my whole life for you.” “No,” Jeanne said. “What I did to you was unfair.” “It will take time and patience, Jeanne. I have the bankruptcy in KC. And my mother.” Inside, she had slipped out of the silk dress, looked at it carefully, hung it on a hanger, removed the hanger, and stuffed the dress into the garbage. She changed into jeans and a sweater and began scouring invisible stains in the sink. When Colette woke up, Jeanne was scrubbing pans and rearranging the drawers. So she set up a little table in the living room and allowed her to eat breakfast while watching TV. But Colette walked away from cereal and the alien puppets to ask, “Did Hal tell jokes?” Jeanne smiled and described the Japanese Warrior dance. That night she realized she liked her job. Only once or twice did the punishing

buzz: How do you live with yourself? distract her from her work. The next morning, however, she was still appalled by what she had done. Driving back from the pre-school, Jeanne, who usually slept until noon, couldn‟t sleep for the second day in a row and resumed her guilt-ridden, never-ending cleaning until it was time to retrieve the girls. After car seats, giggling, and singsong, they were back at the yellow bungalow. Jeanne had prepared their lunch and watched patiently as Colette and Annabelle each poured milk. She sat in the living room with them while they ate. “Are we excused, Mommy?” They played in Colette‟s room and Jeanne washed their dishes before emptying the refrigerator and freezer, ready to clean both. Patrice arrived early from her exercise class without her mother-in-law, who was tending to a new resident at the senior center. “What‟s wrong?” Patrice moved plastic containers off the chair. “You mean the cleaning?” “Jeanne, I do the same thing when I‟m panic-stricken. Or I‟ve hurt someone.” “Really?” “I start cleaning like a maniac,” Patrice said. “So what‟s your crime?” “You don‟t want to know.” “If you don‟t tell me, I‟ll guess.” Jeanne‟s voiced quavered. “I did a terrible thing. Promise not to tell Kevin or Rebecca or anyone.” “Tell Kevin? Do you think I‟m crazy? He wasn‟t always running ahead of me, Jeanne. Now he‟s anxious to get away.” Jeanne closed the refrigerator door and sat down. “Have you asked him about it?” “We‟re talking about you. And the

terrible thing you did to Hal.” “Because he‟s so attractive,” Jeanne said and laughed. “See what a meanie I am? We watched the dance and suddenly I was so lonely and sex-starved that I took advantage of someone even lonelier.” Her face went red with shame and her eyes filled. Patrice found a tissue somewhere and waited until Jeanne recovered. “Disgraceful for a woman. When all over the world, since the beginning of time, men use women for sex night and day. They have sex with women whose names they don‟t know. Men don‟t care one whit about us.” “It‟s still wrong,” Jeanne said. Patrice tapped the back of her friend‟s hand. “Yes, but you‟re gonna pay for your mistake. No matter how clearly you explain it to him, Hal‟s not going to leave you alone till who knows when.”

Chapter Eight Kevin wanted details about Hal‟s date with Jeanne. But when he slapped Hal‟s back and asked if she had liked the dancing, Hal cringed and looked away. “We both liked it.” “Did you tell her I gave you the tickets?” “Yes.” “And?” “And what, Kevin? Thanks. It was nice.” “Shit, Hal, don‟t be like that. I‟m curious, that‟s all.” Hal walked away, which shut Kevin up—until he had to know: “Hair up or down?” “Up.” “Did you go out for drinks?”

“I offered, but no, Kevin, we didn‟t.” “What did she think of the Japanese warriors?” “She liked them.” Kevin sighed in frustration. The rest of the week, Hal continually barged in while Kevin was watching the video of Jeanne at the girls‟ birthday party. By now they no longer pretended he was editing a “tutorial.” Rather, Kevin spent hours locked in his darkened office, zooming in on Jeanne dancing with tiny cymbals. Clicking off the monitor, he didn‟t need to ask: Did Hal have a question? Because, no, he did not. And if he did, he would realize that Kevin had good reason for doing whatever he was doing—possibly even an honorable reason. But Kevin also saw, suddenly and certainly, that his mother‟s opinion—doing good for Hal could, in truth, sometimes be doing bad—was no joke. And yet where Jeanne was involved, he had no intention of straightening things out. Wednesday when Hal returned from the pizzeria, the receptionist said, “A man‟s waiting for you in Kevin‟s office.” He tapped the door, noticing the lights were on high. A gray haired man stood up and Kevin said, “Meet Detective Olmstead, Hal.” Hal and the detective sat in chairs facing Kevin‟s desk. “I‟m a private detective, employed by your bank—not the police. But you‟re in real trouble, dude.” The man droned through a list of debts, liens, and back taxes Hal owed on his condo and defunct practice with its still leading-edge equipment and skyscraper rent. “Chapter Seven for sure: Get a bankruptcy lawyer.” After the detective left, Kevin said, “They‟re gonna take everything you‟ve ever had.” “Even if I‟d done everything right, though, exactly as you said, I‟d still be bankrupt.” “I know that, Hal.” Kevin snorted, masking his sympathy. It wasn‟t Hal‟s fault; it was his mother‟s. All his life, she had humiliated him. Hal wasn‟t as handsome and athletic as his brother Lincoln, who died. But he was decent and kind and people took advantage of him, starting with his mother. Kevin was kind, too, and he used to be decent until falling in love with Jeanne. “If you want, I‟ll put you down for extra hours with Dr. Ahn.” “It can‟t hurt.” “Won‟t help much either.” Nobody had bothered to tell Hal that dentistry wasn‟t the right career for him. Why hadn‟t that occurred to Kevin until now? He should have told Hal to reconsider before they enrolled in dental school. If he had thought twice, he could have saved Hal time, money, and maybe bankruptcy.

But Kevin was too confident to think twice; instead, he had tried to help, thinking he was being big, as in—what a great guy. Before things got worse, because they could always get worse, Kevin said, “Find out how much a good bankruptcy lawyer costs and I‟ll lend you the money.” Hal extended his hand—brothers. Seems like everyone keeps asking me: What was I thinking? The bankruptcy lawyer said he‟s seen some sad cases, but I have “Doctor” in front of my name. “So doctor, what were you thinking?” He means the condo I bought on top of student loans and opening a dental practice. Kevin wonders what I was thinking, too, because the bankruptcy lawyer told him my business was still viable when I left. But it wasn‟t. You can‟t prove it either way. Okay, but then why didn‟t I come to Kevin sooner? Why does anyone do or not do anything? The day comes and you can‟t run and you can‟t hide. I‟m half a million in debt. But I‟m patient. Kevin cursed me out. “Don‟t let me hear you say that again, Hal.” We have a complicated relationship, Kevin and me. He doesn‟t know how complicated, because on top of everything—he has no idea about Jeanne and me. If he finds out, I don‟t know what he‟ll do. He‟s desperately lovesick over Jeanne. I‟ve never seen him like this and it‟s scary. He‟s obsessed with her. But I‟m in love with her. Huge difference. Once things settle down and Jeanne‟s ready, I‟m going to marry her. Kevin can‟t do that. He already has a wife. One reason losing all my material wealth doesn‟t worry me is that it doesn‟t seem to bother Jeanne. Yesterday, I phoned because I wanted to give her a gift. She said no. It would be wrong. I said, “Jewelry. There‟s quite a handful.” It was my mother‟s but before I sell it, I want her to pick something for herself. “I can‟t accept jewelry from you, Hal. You know that.” “It won‟t hurt to take a look. Like, you might like this gold seahorse pin. It‟s got an emerald for an eye.” “Hal, I don‟t want a seahorse pin. And if I did, we‟d be different people.” “There‟s a gold necklace with a heart in the middle.” “Please, Hal, I‟ve already explained this to you. We don‟t have a relationship. You have to realize—I am no one special to you.” “How could a gold necklace change us?” “I would feel awkward,” she said. “I feel awkward now.”

Jeanne hung up; just like that. I called her back because I had forgotten about the charm bracelet. The lawyer said if the charm bracelet was pure gold, it was valuable. Not that Jeanne only wants what‟s valuable, but a bracelet might be less awkward. Little Colette answered. “Hal? My pal, Hal?” I‟m not sure if I hung up first or Colette did. Jeanne doesn‟t think it‟s appropriate for me and Colette to chat. And after what happened with her first husband? No wonder she needs time. But patience is the best and truest thing about me. When Jeanne picked up the girls at noon, Patrice said, “Wait until everyone leaves.” When the last straggler left, she said, “Turns out Rebecca has to work this month. So I‟m done exercising till New Year‟s. It‟s all bon-bons and lazing about; Godiva chocolates, and made-for-TV.” Jeanne tsked-tsked. “Such a bad girl.” “You better believe it, darling. Come over and we‟ll celebrate.” Inside the O‟Meara‟s home, the crisp fragrance hit Jeanne first thing. Stepping into their living room, she said, “Your Christmas tree‟s gorgeous. Where did you get it?” “Fitzgeralds‟. Best place for trees, lights, ornaments, and stuff.” The girls refused home-made soup so Patrice fixed peanut butter sandwiches. After two bites, they were ready to play princesses. “I like my job, Patrice. Last night I dispatched three ambulances and three people who were dying—lived.” Jeanne bit into a hunk of rye bread and winced. All week intermittent pangs had stabbed her left jaw. “You have a bad tooth.” Jeanne shook her head but a quick sip of water brought another wave of pain. “I‟ve never had a cavity in my life.” “Until now.” Patrice scrolled through her cell to reach Kevin. “Jeanne‟s here and has such a terrible toothache that tears fill her eyes.” “What tears?” Jeanne protested. “And you‟ll fix it,” Patrice said, “not one of the other dentists.” Jeanne stood up and Patrice was holding her coat open. “Let Colette stay here.” “No, it‟ll be easier if she comes with me. Kevin will fix the tooth, we can go home, and I won‟t miss work.” Driving to his office, Jeanne felt anxious and foolish. Colette whined in the back seat. “Please, be good, honey. Play with the toys in the waiting room. It will take an hour.” “An hour!” Colette wailed. “I‟ll have a tantrum, Mommy. I really will.”

“Stop it.” Jeanne parked and lifted Colette from her car seat. “I have a rotten tooth, sweetheart.” They entered the waiting area and Jeanne heard urgent whispering. People with appointments filled the chairs but the receptionist came out from behind her counter to play with Colette. Kevin was waiting in the doorway, wearing a white smock. He led her to the cubicle closest to his office. The chair faced a glass wall. In the distance she watched bare trees shimmering orange from the winter sun already setting. “Jeanne, I am gentle and skillful, but this will be maddening for me. Drilling your tooth.” He lifted her curtain of hair and rocked backwards to keep from kissing her neck before cinching the paper bib. “Maybe it‟s nothing,” Jeanne said. “Why should I get my first cavity at twenty-five?” Kevin washed his hands, his eyes riveted on her. “I‟ve run out of assistants, which means it‟s just you and me.” His face appeared upside down in front of her, and their eyes locked. No rubber gloves with Jeanne. His finger pressed her lips and that touch became everything. Nothing else existed. He rested a hand on her shoulder, pointing to the X-ray. His other hand moved near the screen. “See that? It must have been bothering you for weeks, Jeanne.” Because this was new to her, he chose three pediatric needles. If he administered the Novocain in stages, it would take longer to make her numb but hurt less. Almost immediately Jeanne said she was starting to feel strange. Her tongue was uncontrollable. Kevin said most dentists didn‟t allow enough time. He sat on a rolling stool and raised the recliner‟s arm rest. “Give me your hand. Let‟s see if acupressure does anything for you.” He squeezed the skin between her thumb and index finger. “Believe it or not, some people swear by this.” He smelled like cloves and cinnamon, different here than anywhere else. Laying her hand on his thigh, he pressed the pads beneath her fingerprints. He lightly scratched her inner wrist down to her fingertips. In his mind he cast various reasons why they must honor their passion for each other. Ideas he might say out loud—but later and only if she promised not to laugh. He squeezed her wrist and tapped the tender center. Specious questions arose to support him. Wasn‟t denying their feelings like lying? You might try so hard not to cheat on others that in the end you cheated on yourself. One betrayal was as bad as the next…There,

she laughed when she had promised not to. Some rules cannot be imposed. “Is your lip numb yet? Open wider.” In her mind, Kevin had discovered a serrated part of her just under the skin. It was a layer without a name. She closed her eyes while he worked and wiggled that layer loose, until suddenly he slid it out from under her like a slip. He waved it in the air and folded it into a little square, while in the distance something clinical and unpleasant ended. “Rinse and spit, Jeanne.” He put a strip of blue paper between her teeth. “Bite down hard. Again.” After washing his hands, he said, “Rest a minute. Then meet me in my office.” She closed his office door and stood beside his desk. She expected him to embrace her. Kiss her and stroke her so gently she would forsake her best friend, abandon her child. Instead, Kevin tapped a keyboard. “Avoid eating or drinking anything hot or cold for a while. Call me if there‟s any pain.” Crestfallen, she eyed him sidelong and nodded. “I will. Thank you.” The second she turned away and without rising from his seat, he grabbed the stretchy hem of her skirt. Her new life in Kansas required vigilance. Jeanne couldn‟t prevent disaster, but she could stand ready. A love affair with Kevin O‟Meara would end in calamity— she didn‟t pretend otherwise. But she could not escape. She had searched her heart for exit ladders or tunnels but found none. Using Hal as a substitute had so appalled her that she arrived at Kevin‟s office prepared to lure him from the shadows, where he claimed to be waiting. Well, wait no more! He had guessed Jeanne might finally be ready for him. Her cavity meant she needed him. But he had struggled, doing the work. Secluded in his office he was able to assume a professional demeanor—for two minutes. Without looking, he told her to make a follow-up appointment. Only when she pivoted, turning away, did his body react to how close she was standing—standing right there beside him. Spontaneously, he pulled her into his lap and whispered, “When, Jeanne? Where?” “Monday morning.” She pressed her face against his neck and he understood—while Colette was at nursery school. Pressing her into his lap, he caressed her and kissed her—Jeanne who constantly preoccupied him. When he unbuttoned her sweater and felt her breasts through her lacy bra, she moved away. “Monday,” she said and fixed his

clothes. “I have to go now. Colette‟s in the waiting room.” The office door opened and shut and Kevin listened for chimes in Jeanne‟s wake. He phoned the next afternoon, a Saturday. She and Colette needed a Christmas tree. His new Acura included a rack on top. “And,” he said, “Annabelle‟s been asking for Colette.” “And Patrice?” Jeanne loved Patrice too, and feared how adept she was in the unspoken. “She‟s shopping with my mother.” They arrived in a metallic blue car. Kevin said. “It‟s quieter, better brakes, and a great sound system.” Kevin and Jeanne in the front seat, and behind them, Annabelle and Colette strapped into car-seats, they arrived at Fitzgerald‟s, where on Saturdays Santa Claus held court surrounded by a plastic winter wonderland. Annabelle asked for a doll named Addie. Colette said, “I‟ll appreciate any present you give me, Santa.” Kevin chose trees that were much too big. Jeanne selected a well-shaped blue fir. Inside, they filled a shopping cart with a stand and skirt, lights for the tree and other lights for inside and for outside. Kevin selected dozens of individual ornaments. He insisted on paying for everything. Jeanne protested quietly, eying Colette and Annabelle as they played with stuffed elves. “If you won‟t let me pay, Jeanne, I‟ll buy you jewelry for Christmas.” With a smirk, she told him about Hal and his mother‟s jewelry. He pulled Jeanne along with the cart off to a corner, giving up their place in line. He explained how extreme Hal‟s bankruptcy was. “Swear to me that you won‟t talk to him again. He‟s unstable. And with you?” Kevin shook his head. “But I feel sorry for him.” “Don‟t.” Kevin sounded angry. “Don‟t befriend a man out of pity. Especially not Hal.”

pavement, pulling a blue cardigan tight against the wind, because she hadn‟t bothered with a coat. They sat in his car a second, holding hands. Kevin expected the neighbors to see them together most mornings. He had owned the bungalow for six years and so felt entitled. “Entitled to what, Kevin? Me?” He smiled, shaking his head. “Hmm, not like that. I‟m right to love you, though.”

Chapter Nine

Kevin stashed the tree and decorations in the laundry room. It was late and one of the Saturdays nights when Jeanne had to work. “Go home,” she said, backing away from the currents pulling her toward him. From the kitchen window, he watched Annabelle and Colette chasing the season‟s first glittering snowflakes in the twilight. “All right, but I‟ll be back tomorrow to put everything up.” “Wait till Monday,” Jeanne said. “Tomorrow would be better for your landlord.” “Is that right?” He looked at her, his dark eyes bright and unblinking. “I need to see you. Just long enough to set up the tree.” “Colette will be here, remember. Unless we decide to go to the mall.” “Jeanne, please, be here for me.” Then he left, calling Annabelle. “Time to go, sweetheart.” Sunday morning, Jeanne slept past noon. Colette fixed her own milk and cereal. She was coloring in a coloring book of wild animals when her mother woke up. Kevin phoned at two. It took him more than an hour to attach all the outside lights. Inside, he asked for hot cocoa,

mostly so he could watch Jeanne making it. Colette climbed into her chair. “We‟ve got to wait,” she told Kevin, “until it‟s hot enough to melt the marshmallows.” While they drank the cocoa, she asked, “Where‟s Annabelle?” “She‟s busy with her grandmother, honey.” The tree tipped in its stand. Simultaneously, Jeanne and Kevin leaped to catch it. Colette turned from the TV a second and then back to its glow. By the window Kevin stroked Jeanne‟s arms. He moved close and crouched near the floor only to slowly stand, his hands not touching her as they rose in line with her body, which burned and shivered. Eyes on Colette, whose eyes stayed on the TV, he held Jeanne, moving a knuckle gently down her spine. She swayed and stepped back. “You better go,” she whispered. “All right then. Good-bye.” Colette didn‟t seem to be listening, but as Kevin left, she said, “Bye,” and blew kisses. Finally, Monday dawned. Jeanne showered and dressed carefully, including lipstick so that she looked like the other mothers with pre-schoolers. After dropping off Colette, she drove slowly, afraid in her eagerness she‟d speed. The Acura was parked across the street. She hopped on the snow-crusted

In bed, they made cascading discoveries. In unison, their breath and heartbeats rushed unlike any earthbound energy. They made love without restraint—and shared crescendo and climax now, and now, and now again. Jeanne had set an alarm so she could prepare before retrieving Colette and facing Patrice. Kevin shut it off. She drifted in phases, laughing through tears, before settling into her regular self, and then they had to dress quickly. “Don‟t be afraid,” Kevin said. “Patrice reads my mind better than I do.” “Everything will be fine,” he said, kissing her until tomorrow. She arrived as the others were leaving and noticed first thing how Patrice‟s hand rested, protecting an unmistakable roundness. “Remember when Rebecca warned me about gaining weight before New Year‟s?” Patrice grinned. “She didn‟t know how right she was. Except now it‟s not me demanding chocolates and lazing around; it‟s this little guy in here.” Without hesitating, Jeanne hugged her friend. “How far along?” “Four months.” “So you must have known ever since we met. And, does…?” “Apparently, no. He and Annabelle are both getting the announcement tonight. I had an ultrasound yesterday and it‟s definitely a boy. Just imagine: a miniature Kevin.” Jeanne smiled, thinking, uh-oh. “Can I take Annabelle so you can rest?” “Thanks, but Rebecca‟s not working this month after all. She has plans for us.” Jeanne was wondering if Patrice had already guessed, when she said, “You know, Jeanne, this means we won‟t be seeing each other…things change.” “They don‟t have to, Patrice.” Driving home with Colette, she wondered if it were possible Patrice meant only that she‟d be busy. Because, despite her betrayal, Jeanne loved her friend. Patrice might even refuse to believe the worst about her and Kevin, because really it was inconceivable. Since sex with Kevin seemed unreal—unreal meaning two separate modes—Jeanne chose both. Was she a bad person? God knows, she had resisted him for as long as she could.

After lunch, she asked Colette, “Do you mind if Mommy rests?” “No,” she said. “You should take a nap, Mommy.” Jeanne lay down only to measure her guilt and regret. What if she never did it again? What if she were resistant? Cool headed? That night at work only one man phoned; unsure if he had been robbed. Jeanne contacted the police. But during most of her shift, though, she dozed without dreaming. Her replacement, Marjorie, was late, and by seven, an hour late, still no word. She called the babysitter, who could stay until eight but no longer. At eight-fifteen a skinny, hunched man with a high-pitched voice arrived. Jeanne left fast and sped unconcerned about traffic. The babysitter was waiting at the door while Colette ate scrambled eggs. “Thanks, Giselle. It won‟t happen again.” Jeanne didn‟t bother showering and changing. Whenever she hurried Colette, her daughter balked. She had inviolate opinions about what outfit to wear…and always took longer than necessary. Kevin‟s car was already parked across the street when they finally stepped outside, late for nursery school. Colette recognized Kevin and asked to say hi. Jeanne agreed, and whispered to him, “Please wait for me, so we can talk.” Colette in her car-seat asked why Kevin was there and why Jeanne needed to talk to him. “You know he‟s our landlord.” “What do you need to talk about?” Jeanne said, “Both faucets in the bathroom leak. He‟ll fix them.” When she returned, Kevin crossed the street. “Don‟t you answer your cell? When you were an hour late, I got worried.” “Do you park out here that long?” “Yes, I do.” Inside he held her so her feet hovered above the rug. “I can‟t believe you asked me to wait. Don‟t you know I will always wait for you, Jeanne?” She had been hungry but no more. And they did not need to talk—Jeanne‟s cool head was a chimera. As long as she could feel Kevin‟s arms around her, she would lie till she died. She did want to shower, though. Work at the emergency center left an oily residue on her skin. Kevin wanted to watch. “There‟s nothing to see.” “Let me peek.” Scrubbing herself, she stole a glance at him where the curtain gaped. Kevin leaned straight and strong against the sink. He tapped his foot. “You heard about my son,” he called over the spray. “When Patrice told me, my love for you

surged. I love my family, of course. But I love you more.” “Don‟t say that.” “It‟s true.” She toweled dry but he took over, excited by her warm, damp body. “Our love exists separately. It could come from another time. It‟s no threat to them.” He called her darling. Jeanne questioned his “other time” rationale. But she certainly wasn‟t a threat to his family; come what may. Again and again, they loved each other right out of this world. They made flames dance inside each other. Air rushed in and lifted them just enough so that they touched only each other. All else vanished. Until Jeanne‟s alarm demanded they return to ordinary life. Thursday Kevin was scheduled to give a presentation at the American Dental Association‟s regional conference. Holding a December session in Chicago was typical of the Midwestern group. Kevin always attended, though: gave lectures and served as toast-master at the banquet. His implant seminar was an acknowledgment of his growing reputation in the field. Monday when Jeanne left to get Colette, Kevin meandered through the bungalow. If he listened carefully, he caught an intimation of bells above. What a fright then—Hal bellowing through a speaker: “Hi Jeanne, sorry to bother you. Is Kevin still there? A lady who came in for a check-up needs an emergency root canal. For real. Call me back. Or tell Kevin to call.” At the office, Kevin demanded a word. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving a message for me on Jeanne‟s home answering machine?” “That I‟d reach you.” “Why?” “I just did.” Hal shrugged. “You didn‟t reach me, though. Don‟t try that again, Hal.” While attending to the root canal, Kevin decided to bring Jeanne with him to Chicago. Short notice but within the next hour he arranged plane tickets; a suite at the James Hotel (cancel the Hyatt); and a call to Sam, the police chief, arranging a three-night leave of absence for Jeanne. So she couldn‟t say no. His ADA presentation was Thursday morning. Kevin knew implants better than any specialist. After years of going to these meetings and glad-handing thousands of dentists, he‟d conduct the seminar and then just…leave. He no longer mused upon Jeanne‟s presence being a miracle—it was. Although by now, he loved her so much he was honored to lie, cheat, and steal for her. If she didn‟t feel the same way about

him, he‟d make love to her more ardently. He‟d discover a more potent spell. Wednesday night through Sunday, they would vaporize. That evening Patrice and Rebecca, who would stay side-by-side now that Patrice was pregnant, were baking gingerbread men. Annabelle knelt on a chair, pressing raisin into cut dough. Kevin asked if he could eat one. “What about that broken one?” He bit into a warm head. “Why didn‟t you tell me Jeanne‟s father had a heart attack?” “We didn‟t know.” Patrice sounded indignant. “So how do you know?” “When Sam and I were playing tennis this morning, he said she needed three days off while he undergoes bypass surgery.” Patrice and Rebecca exchanged a long, obvious glance, agreeing. “Colette cannot go with her; she‟ll stay here,” Patrice said. “Jeanne was probably reluctant to tell me. Because even if she didn‟t ask, the question would hang in the air.” The next morning, Kevin parked near the bungalow and waited for Jeanne. Head back, he listened to Bach. If you were lucky you married someone comfortable and easy, who almost certainly was not your most profound love. But if you were truly blessed, you might also meet an astonishing person, a lover who left you awestruck. Describing that love trivialized it. Out loud it sounded silly. But between Kevin and Jeanne it was boundless. That‟s what he was thinking when the flaw in his get-away plan hit him. He shut off the music. With the other mothers and children rushing in, Patrice would ask Jeanne, How‟s your father? Why didn‟t you tell me? And: Let Colette stay with us so you can be at the hospital during the operation. What‟s the worst Jeanne could say? I don‟t know what you‟re talking about. If she said that, Kevin better have a good explanation: Two explanations, one for Jeanne and one for Jeanne to give Patrice. As it happened, Patrice asked just what Kevin thought she would. But Jeanne said, “My father? Patrice, there must be some mistake. But, well, you‟d really take Colette for me in an emergency? If my father were… So we‟re still friends?” “What are you talking about? We‟re best friends.” Jeanne‟s hands fluttered. “Yesterday you said we wouldn‟t be seeing each other anymore…things change.” “Honey, I meant Rebecca has me on this regimen. She‟s monopolizing me—in the nicest way possible.” Outside, Jeanne laughed with relief. She didn‟t know what was going on

exactly, but chances were Kevin had fabricated some terrible subterfuge. He didn‟t wait for her to park but jumped from his car, waving. Before she had both feet on the ground, he was kissing her deeply where anyone could see. Here he was trampling what meager standards she had left! Yet it still took her several beats, to break free, catch her breath, and put her hands on her hips. “Kevin, did you put my father in the hospital?” “Damn, Jeanne. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Just before leaving for Chicago, Kevin tinkered with his “Mastering Implants” video, which was excellent. The seminar was a big deal whether he mocked it or not. But now he just wanted it to distract him—from saying good-bye to his family and going away with Jeanne, no questions asked. Her flight from Kansas City was the same as his, information he intended to keep quiet. But should anyone check— there was a connecting flight to Vermont. Annabelle and Colette embodied the shared delight of perpetual motion. From

upstairs, he heard Patrice, Rebecca, and Jeanne indulging in feminine call and response where they praised and repeated each other. He hesitated to join them. His father, were he alive, would avoid them. But friendly Kevin, who everyone liked, did well with women in groups. Unless Jeanne was among them. He carried his things downstairs and stood still. Jeanne and Patrice stared at him, unabashed. He was wearing blue jeans, a yellow shirt, and a sleek grey sports coat. “Isn‟t he−fine?” Patrice rose heavily to run a finger down his shirt. “This Dr. O‟Meara of mine is such a fine looking man.” At the dining room table Jeanne watched them together. “He certainly is, Patrice. You‟re one lucky woman.” Patrice turned to Jeanne and whispered, “Every now and then, I really am.” Her belly preceding her already, Kevin held almond-eyed Patrice and bent to kiss the tip of her nose. Then head down, he moved slowly toward Jeanne. “I‟m sorry about your

father,” he said. “You‟ll let us know when he‟s out of danger.” “Oh, yes. We‟ll know sometime tomorrow evening. I can‟t thank you enough. Both of you.” “Don‟t thank Kevin,” Patrice said. “It‟s me and Rebecca. Kevin‟s going to Chicago for a conference.” Jeanne shifted in her seat. “I get anxious about the traffic. Let me say good-bye to Colette.” She spent several minutes telling Colette, “Best behavior, honey.” Then she thanked everyone again and left. Once her car was gone, Kevin carried his bags outside. Unexpectedly, Rebecca threw on an overcoat and followed her son outside. He stowed his bags in the car, wishing she‟d stay out of this. She blew on her long, worn fingers. “Don‟t pretend you can control this, son.” “Control what, Mama?” “What you‟re doing with Jeanne.” Rebecca looked hard at him. “Do you think I‟m dumb?” “Will you stop?” Kevin laughed. “Why even say something like that?”

Whe Jeanne, a recently widowed young mother, moves halfway across the United States to Lawrence, Kansas, she hopes to escape a troubled past and start a new life with her two-year-old daughter. Instead she finds she has traded one set of troubles for another. Bereaved and lonely, she plunges headlong into an affair with a married man, Kevin, and tries to befriend Kevin's troubled friend Hal. But Kevin's passion for her and Hal's jealousy create a volatile mix. Kathleen Maher is a fiction writer based in New York City. A regular contributor to The View From Here, she notes that the term "death knell" interests her because it has two distinct meanings: It may be the sound of a bell tolling after a death, or it can be an omen presaging a death.

Chapter Ten Nothing‟s wrong with using binoculars to ensure the love of your life is safe. Although, God knows, Jeanne better not catch me. She insists the night we found each other was a cruel mistake she made, and regrets terribly. But she‟s still grieving for her husband and that kind of pain clouds your judgment. It‟s probably worse because the shock has worn off. Of course, her grief is much different from anything I felt due to my brother Lincoln dying. But I know this: nothing‟s gonna help Jeanne except lots of time and discovering that I am her one true love everlasting. If only she knew: Our day will come and we‟ll get married—after I‟m financially back on my feet. She‟s still suffering so much that when I call her, she threatens to block my

number. Remember, though, that Jeanne answers emergency calls all night, almost every night. With that in mind, I call after she‟s gone to work but before Colette‟s gone to bed. “Hiya, my pal Hal! How was your day?” How was my day? I cannot remember anyone else ever asking me that. They ask: how am I and what‟s new; what‟s going on, et cetera. But they don‟t hear me if I‟m stupid enough to answer. The question‟s protocol. Three-year-old Colette hasn‟t learned that yet. She‟s sincere. How was my day? After Colette asks me about it, my day is very, very sweet. Whenever Jeanne hears about this, however, she threatens to make a formal complaint at the police station. “Don‟t be mean,” I tell her. “One day you‟ll see that you and I belong together, Jeanne.” “No, we do not! And we never will, Hal. Never! You‟re confusing Colette and I‟m warning you: Leave me and my daughter alone!” Considering Jeanne‟s emotional state, I sneak about the neighborhood like a spy. Every morning I park in the cul-desac a block west of the bungalow, hurry down Third Street, and hunker behind a large tree stump. Jeanne takes Colette to nursery school, comes home, and goes to sleep after working all night. Sometimes if I set the binoculars to high zoom, I can see her walking through different rooms until she closes the blinds and turns off the lights. Except now, suddenly, Kevin parks in front of the bungalow every morning. And instead of going inside, Jeanne gets into his Acura where they listen to music. (I discover what music by asking Kevin when he‟s too distracted to automatically say, “Shut up, Hal.”) In an absent-minded way, he mentions Bach and “Art of Fugue.” My phone app defines a fugue as an unconscious pathological act; maybe Bach was crazy. While Jeanne‟s sitting in Kevin‟s car, I have to scurry away for my first patient, driving the long way around so they don‟t see me. Kevin isn‟t working in the mornings anymore. The afternoons and evenings are better for his difficult cases. He works weekends, too.

Today, I have an early cancellation, giving me extra surveillance time. Kevin and Jeanne get out of the car and go inside. The blinds close; the lights go off and I imagine Kevin watching her sleep. That‟s what I would do: trance out looking at her slightly parted lips, her hair on the pillow, how her body shifts while she dreams. The night Jeanne and I became lovers, her heart answering mine, she said, “Let me do it, Hal,” because from being married, she knows what works. Several times she laughed or cried— either way, she sounded like altar bells. You bet I‟m jealous of Kevin. He owns the bungalow and if Jeanne lets him watch her sleep, I can‟t stop him…until things change. Thursday morning, her house is dark. No Jeanne; no Colette; and then no Kevin sitting in his car. Every second I get more and more worried. In First Class seats, twenty-eight thousand feet above the earth, Jeanne and Kevin were lovers for all to see. They stayed at a fancy little hotel where the city‟s limelight fell away. The cold and wind weren‟t a surprise, but the air was. Jeanne loved the feel of Lake Michigan, which they could watch from their topfloor suite‟s eastern windows. Kevin basked in her happiness: from now until Sunday morning, they could please each other without stopping, except for his three-hour seminar tomorrow morning. During their time apart, he wanted her to shop along Chicago‟s “Magnificent Mile.” “Buy anything you like,” he said. The lustrous sound of her laugh prompted him back to bed, her long hair still dripping from the shower. Later she showed him an ice-blue silk dress styled like a short Chinese cheongsam. She didn‟t tell him she had bought the dress the day after disposing of the one she had worn for Hal. But because she never knew when she might need a good dress, Jeanne had returned to the boutique. The modified cheongsam cost twice what she had ever paid for a dress, but it fitted her perfectly, and when she walked and sat and stood to peer into the mirror, she felt beyond reproach. “I don‟t need anything, Kevin. We already have everything.” “My darling, Jeanne, please, buy yourself something frivolous and costly.” “That‟s silly.” In the hotel‟s vast white bed they made love with greater abandon than ever before. The next morning he stroked her long, pale thigh. “While I‟m at the conference, if you can‟t find anything you want, buy something for me.” Last year, he told her, he had especially admired the lingerie in a store

window on Michigan Avenue. “La Perla, near the Water Tower.” “Oh? And what was it you liked, Kevin?” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I‟ll like whatever you like.” During his ADA presentation, Jeanne found La Perla and knew instantly what she liked: Iridescent dark blue bra and panties so comfortable that she handed over Kevin‟s credit card from the changing room and wore them under her sweater and slacks, coat, hat, mittens, and scarf. Having finished with the conventioneers, he met her at the hotel. Jeanne suggested sandwiches for lunch. “Without crusts and cut into triangles.” “Room service?” “Someplace in public.” He found a casual café with checked table cloths. She asked about his presentation. “Did they appreciate it?” He smirked, “They always do,” and took her hand. “Did you have fun shopping?” Her face brightened. “I did.” She sat straighter. “Can‟t you see the difference?” “You know? I think I can.” He flagged the waitress: “Check, please.” Long story short: Jeanne‟s in Vermont, because her father survived a heart attack but needs an operation. Kevin‟s at the ADA conference in Chicago, which is where I should be—my one chance to network. Except Friday I have to go to K.C. The bankruptcy lawyer insists we go over the terms, even if I have no choice except to sign what they say to sign. From there, things get worse. In the lobby, I run into my ex-roommate Jay, who‟s filing for personal bankruptcy. “You‟re in much worse trouble, Hal.” To change the subject, I ask, “Do you still have murder mystery nights? Reenactments, costumes, and stuff?” “First time I got laid,” Jay says. “Lady of the manor, no less. I live nearby if you wanna have a drink.” Why I don‟t tell Jay: “Thanks but I‟ve gotta run; maybe next time...” That‟s the real mystery. Jay‟s apartment is cramped and dirty. “Gin and Amaretto,” he says, handing me the first of countless gin and Amaretto cocktails. “It‟s better with cola but I‟m out.” It tastes terrible. “I bet your work‟s creative.” (He lives like a starving artist.) “Very creative and very difficult.” He writes cabaret songs and sings them when he can get gigs. To make rent, he drives a cab, and tells me the intimate and disgusting things “babes” do to him after he picks them up. When I shake my head, he says he never even asks these women—it‟s more or less protocol.

Meanwhile he keeps filling my glass. “Are you still shy, Hal? Or are you getting action now?” “There‟s a woman I want to marry.” I don‟t talk about Jeanne, though; not when my speech is slurred. “Guess I‟m not much of a drinker.” “You‟re doing fine.” I‟ve gotta call Bill; he‟s been with Momma since noon. But my phone‟s out. Jay doesn‟t have one, let alone a charger. “Hal, you‟re drunk,” Jay says. “No way you‟re driving anywhere tonight.” He hands me a refill before we play murder mystery. “Ever play the French maid, Hal?” The frilly dress or whatever it is won‟t even fit over my feet. “Strip poker then.” When I‟m down to my briefs, he steers me to a bad-smelling couch. We drink and watch a scary DVD. Then he wants to wrestle. I‟m not feeling well but Jay strips to his briefs and manhandles me. The next day I‟m so sick, I can‟t drive until after noon. Bill‟s been nursing Momma more than twenty-four hours! He‟ll probably quit, and good luck trying to get a replacement; Momma‟s got a bad reputation. When I finally get on the highway, a teenage girl is hitchhiking. She sees me worrying about how cold and alone she is, the wind blowing her hair straight up. In a fugue, I guess, I slow down and the girl jumps in. “Thanks, Mister. My daddy‟s waiting in Tulsa at the bus station.” Jeanne slipped off her clothing, unclasped her hair, and modeled the sleek lingerie that shimmered whenever she moved. “You are spectacular, Jeanne. Enough show, sweetheart. Come here.” After a fancy dinner, they walked south on Michigan Avenue. Kevin showed her Chicago‟s “blue beehive” on top of the Metropolitan building: a huge, cobalt blue glass honeycomb lit with 1000 watt light bulbs. And beneath it, Kevin said, were four gigantic bells. They ate in restaurants and danced in clubs. They made love day and night. And when Jeanne wore her ice-blue cheongsam, Kevin was overcome by a stunned reverence unlike anything else. Saturday Jeanne wanted to walk along the lake where ice rafts floated and waves crashed. She enjoyed the cold; it slowed time. Kevin swung her mitten-covered hand. “That‟s Jeanne, all spirit, no cold flesh.” “It can‟t last, you know.” “Yes, it can. There‟s a reason we‟re in love.” She wavered near crying. The wind overpowered her protest. He heard only: “Patrice…deceit…ends the same way.”

“No,” Kevin searched her face. People get divorced and remarry all the time. They would be wonderful parents to their respective children, and to their own. Of course, it was still too soon to say this. “Please, don‟t be afraid, Jeanne. We‟re fine.” Before their flight home, she turned on the television. “In Lawrence, Kansas, police discovered the dead body of a seventy-five year old woman, gagged and bound to her bed.” The TV reporter thrust a microphone at a supposed neighbor. “„Her son‟s a big guy who comes and goes. Totally random.‟” Kevin reached the police chief. Jeanne curled on the bed and covered her face. “…Sam, you know Hal. He‟s my best dentist.” …” Kevin sat where he could stroke Jeanne‟s legs. “I‟ve known him all my life. He hired nurses because the mother refused to go the Alzheimer‟s center.” Preoccupied by Jeanne‟s body moving from tense to languid as he resolved things, Kevin slowed and lowered his voice. “No, the old woman was tied to her bed because she was a danger to herself and everyone else…” He pressed his palm against Jeanne‟s bottom, clad in the new iridescent, indigo panties. “Thing is, Sam, I‟m in Chicago…No, I don‟t need to talk to him…Oh, all right. Put him on.” Jeanne, lulled by Kevin‟s touch, slipped out of reach, and held a pillow. “I‟m sorry about your mom, Hal,” Kevin said, watching Jeanne‟s eyes. “What the—? You drove a girl to Tulsa...I see, she asked you to…put Sam back on.” Quietly and deliberately—not rushing like his blood—Kevin convinced the police chief that Hal was hapless, not negligent. “He‟s incapable of violence, Sam.…Mind if I speak with him again?” “Stay away from your house, Hal. Go to the office and I‟ll meet you there later tonight. But don‟t go home until the authorities are done investigating.” Tossing the phone aside, he curled around Jeanne and dropped his head in her lap. If she was once capable of resisting him—no more. If Kevin said, “We have time,” they had time. Still, she kissed his head. “We‟ll miss our plane.” “No, we won‟t.” Halfway through their flight to Kansas City, he gathered her hair in one hand. “Steer clear of Hal. He‟s not a threat in general. But he‟s obsessed with you, Jeanne, which, frankly, terrifies me.” She smiled. “So Hal‟s obsessive and we aren‟t?”

“Don‟t joke about us. What we have is a blessing.” Still amused, Jeanne said, “A blessing now. What happened to, „I love you so much I‟m glad to be bad.‟” They collected their luggage and he drove her to the mechanics where her car had been tuned while they visited Chicago. Jeanne felt lost in the fading light. Ordinarily, she left him to fetch Colette—he never left her. The auto repair center‟s glass front competed with the ghostly reflection of the highway. The blinking holiday lights made her head ache. Kevin shifted into reverse. “Jeanne!” His voice rescued her from dread. Through the open window, he asked for another kiss. Holding the back of her neck, he pressed his dark, sculpted mouth into hers, his lower lip bolstering her; his sweeping upper lip giving her confidence. Jeanne asked Patrice and Rebecca to open their thank-you gifts, “They‟re not Christmas presents.” Colette kicked her overnight bag upstairs and then to the door, where she sat on it. Jeanne was about to reprimand her when Patrice said, “Ooh, a necklace.” She slipped her head through the long, strong cord weighted by a large, orange disk made of translucent resin. Jeanne showed her the length was adjustable. “It‟s from my step-mother‟s art store in Burlington,” Jeanne lied. Patrice kissed her friend‟s check. “I‟m never taking it off.” Rebecca opened a large, red silk square scarf, the border patterned with greenish gold hummingbirds.

“That‟s not from my step-mother‟s shop,” Jeanne confessed. “But it‟s genuine, not a knock off.” “It‟s charming. Thank you.” Rebecca gripped Jeanne‟s wrist, imparting full certainty of what her son and Jeanne were doing and shuddered at their culpability. During dinner in the bungalow‟s kitchen, Colette teemed with strange, silent indignation. “Don‟t you want to know how Grandpa is?” “Patrice said he‟s fine.” Chapter Eleven They lock me in a dun-colored, windowless, smoke-filled room. Two detectives interrogate me: they‟re nice and they‟re not-nice; they‟re here and they‟re gone, like a real-life cliché. All I know is I‟m locked up and Momma‟s dead. Eventually, I need the toilet and kick the door (because—handcuffs). I yell and yell; I scream and nothing. At some point the big cop shows up, “What?” And this is embarrassing: I absolutely cannot do it while he watches. It‟s another reason to berate me but to avoid a mess, he stands aside, rattling the cuffs. Not too much longer and: hoo-ray! Kevin watches the morning news in Chicago, phones the Chief of Police, whereupon I‟m sitting pretty in the wideopen station. A lady cop brings me coffee and donuts. The police chief‟s laughing on the phone with Kevin: “Well, if you‟re sure you‟re sure.” Then I‟m talking on the phone with Kevin, who says he‟s sorry and death is

awful—I‟m probably gonna be way more upset than I ever would have guessed. The police chief retrieves his phone and tells Kevin a joke or vice versa. Then Kevin thinks of one more thing he needs to tell me. “Hal, don‟t go home until they‟re done investigating. Go to the office and rest. I‟ll meet you there late tonight.” Great: I‟m not only “free to go,” but the police chief is friendly enough to walk me to my car. He‟s sorry about Momma and admits his detectives go overboard. “No hard feelings?” I shake his hand. “Of course not, chief.” “Sam.” “Of course not, Sam.” The dental office smells so clean, so welcoming: I remove my shoes and coat and drop onto the waiting room‟s pale green carpeting. I nap and wake and nap. In the afternoon I find a tuna-fish sandwich in the office fridge. It tastes okay. I make coffee. Without thinking about it, I start poking around Kevin‟s office—until I do think about it, and switch on his diagnostic monitor. The video pops right up. There‟s my Jeanne with the finger cymbals. Every other time I get to see barely a second before: “Dammit, Hal!” The video goes off and the lights go on. Now I linger over Jeanne licking frosting off a fork. Slow that down and take it frame by frame. The video has a few minutes of overexcited little kids but otherwise it‟s two hours of Jeanne. I watch it all day: slow motion, fast forward, reverse. When it starts to get dark outside, though, I put everything back the way it was. Everything. Suddenly I‟m exhausted again, and fall asleep again, in the waiting room— again. Kevin flicks on the lights. “Hey, Hal. How‟re you doing? I‟m sorry about your mother.” “Oh, yeah…thanks, Kevin.” I rub my eyes, stand, stretch, and fall onto the couch. “Could be the best thing that even happened to me.” “Possibly.” He gives me a tight, long hug, which makes me feel so good. The last time someone hugged me was Jeanne, a month ago. And before that? Maybe never. We eat at the pizza place and Kevin can‟t stop laughing about Jay, his godawful cocktails, the French maid outfit, et cetera. We‟re the only customers and laughing like crazy. I tell Kevin about the hitchhiker and driving to Tulsa and he laughs so hard he starts banging the table. He can‟t get a word out without bursting out laughing again. I‟m still not sure about the joke. But Kevin says, “That girl just couldn‟t believe here was a guy saying no thanks to a

blow-job but he‟s gonna worry about her unless she takes all the money he‟s got.” Kevin‟s the greatest guy on earth. Everybody agrees. But for me it‟s no joke. However, he has one fatal flaw: Even now when Patrice is pregnant with his son, he‟s lovesick over Jeanne. More lovesick than ever. He never used to act like: I own you, Hal. But now he has that attitude whenever he says, “Stay away from her, Hal.” Of course, he doesn‟t know Jeanne and I are lovers. No point in telling him either: he has to see for himself that Jeanne and I are for real—not sick. At two in the morning she was wandering through the dark, warm bungalow in nameless distress. And Kevin, after leaving Hal—who had been such a good son to his abominable mother— desperately needed to be with his sweet, young lover. While his wife Patrice had said, “Don‟t rush; stay overnight with Hal—he needs you.” From his car, Kevin called Jeanne, expecting voicemail. Instead, she answered before the first ring. “Hello?” Her voice rippled with anxiety. “I‟ll be there in five minutes.” Slipping inside the bungalow, he caught his breath as she stood naked, staring out the moonlit window. Seized by her ethereal, solitary beauty, he said her name. She turned and smiled and before long he was spinning her in his arms, delirious with joy. When he had to leave her, though, he passed Colby Circle. Outlined in the gray dawn was a parked car—Hal‟s goddamm Honda. The next afternoon on the phone Jeanne said she hated Christmas shopping. “I never know what to buy.” “Yes, you do,” Patrice said. “I wear that necklace every day. But let‟s go together.” Rebecca would watch the girls. “You are the best friend,” Jeanne said. After hanging up, she sat at the kitchen table and wept. Colette asked, “Do you hurt, Mommy, or are you just sad?” She wiped her eyes and brightened. “I‟m fine, honey.” Jeanne‟s unhappiness was nothing compared to the sorrow she was dealing Patrice, Annabelle, and her own beloved daughter. At the mall her friend‟s appearance shocked her. Patrice had grown very big very fast. While selecting a cashmere scarf, a ceramic tea set, and embossed sheets, Patrice ate chocolate nonstop. “Rebecca acts like I‟m supposed to have this big boy without gaining a pound.” Jeanne shook her head. “You better not talk to me, now. Not when a man can fit his hands around your waist, Jeanne.”

“Untrue.” Patrice sank onto to a bench, unwrapping more chocolate. “Rebecca is not wrong. I weigh more than I can believe, with four uncontrollable months to go.” She puffed her cheeks. “Oh and here‟s another of Rebecca‟s little kindnesses: Can you and Colette help me and Annabelle decorate Hal‟s house?” These days I stake out the bungalow earlier and leave later. Of course, Kevin is also watching Jeanne—from a cozy armchair. Monday, he walks out the door and almost catches me behind the tree stump. I scramble away and hide inside the hammock, which Kevin should have put away for the winter. He hisses my name and shakes the bushes. After a long time, I hear him drive away and topple out. I teeter on the picnic table and zoom in through Jeanne‟s curtains. No armchair it turns out, but my Jeanne is sleeping like an angel. The next day, just before daylight, Kevin hurls me against a van. I‟m fifty pounds heavier, but Kevin‟s very tall and super-strong and gets me in a choke hold. “What‟re you doing, Hal?” “Making sure my girls are safe.” “Your girls? If we get restraining order against you, with your stalking history, you‟ll go to jail, which is probably where you belong!” Then he shoves me. After I stand up, I tell him: “One, that librarian was stalking me and you know it. And two, you stalk Jeanne more than I do.” “Don‟t say that, Hal. Don‟t go there. Anything between Jeanne and me is utterly beyond you! And if you mention it again, I‟ll kill you.” “Fine,” I say. “If you‟re watching her night and day, why should I?” Apparently, those are the magic words because now he throws a friendly arm around me. “I heard that your mother died fully hydrated and well nourished— no fault. And so you can finally restore that house.” “Yep. Bill left about twenty voice messages. He had to leave to enroll in Iowa‟s geriatric program. But then he felt awful: Visited with flowers and everything.” Be gentlemanly but forthright, romantic but not desperate. I spend hours on this dating forum for men. The others approve of cueing Clapton‟s, “Wonderful Tonight” halfway into the visit. On the right note during the refrain, kiss her long and hard so she can‟t resist you. Kevin‟s mother sets it up so that any minute now Jeanne, Colette, Patrice, and Annabelle are visiting me. Here‟s what she does: Right after Momma dies, she calls the office, asking for Kevin. I answer his line. “Hi, Rebecca. Kevin‟s „out of pocket‟ in the mornings.”

“I‟ll bet he is!” Rebecca asks if I have a few minutes and arrives at the office with home decorating magazines and catalogs. “Now Hal, your home should reflect the real you.” And within an hour Rebecca O‟Meara finds the right ambience for this guy who becomes manifest out of thin air—the real me. Kevin gives this new real me the afternoon off, and for refreshment I buy apple pie; for the girls, reindeer headbands. But of course I‟m nervous as hell: Kevin‟s wife and daughter and my future wife and daughter are marching toward the door. Sweating, stammering, I call, “Welcome,” and “Merry Christmas.” They‟re inside and suddenly—I‟m okay. I lift Colette and then Annabelle over my head. “Why are you girls so big since Thanksgiving?” When I‟m really wondering about Patrice, who‟s twice her size. But the advice forum is unanimous: Never mention how big a woman is—never! Annabelle hands me evergreens tied with elaborate red ribbon. “It‟s for the front door. Wreathes are out of style.” Colette pipes up. “Mine goes with it, Hal! Jingle bells.” Jeanne reaches for wire and pliers but Patrice takes over. “I know how to twist it, honey.” Bells secured, Patrice sets a tin box on the coffee table. “My best ever Christmas cookies, Hal.” The love of my life is standing on a ladder, hanging curtains. Patrice is plopped on the couch, eating chocolate. Jeanne lowers her arm and waves a finger, no. Patrice sighs, “You‟re right,” and puts the chocolate in her purse. “It‟s not me; it‟s this boy.” Draperies up, Jeanne‟s off the ladder and standing by the window: the time is now. “Wonderful Tonight” fills the room. I hold Jeanne tight and kiss her long and hard—except not long, just hard. She pushes me away hard. “Shit, Hal! Never do that again! ” “It‟s Christmas.” “Did that look like a Christmas kiss to you, Patrice?” The little girls giggle and shriek. “Not really,” Patrice says, “with the girls watching.” “Hal, if you touch me again, I will refuse to see you. Christmas or not.” “Jeanne,” Patrice says, “we need you at Christmas. Apologize, Hal.” “I forgot the kids were watching. Sorry.” “Not good enough,” Jeanne says. “What you did was wrong.” “Why?” “Because I say so and I‟ve warned you before.”

“You noticed the song, though, right? Remember the last time we listened to it?” “I was terrible to you that night, Hal. I‟ve apologized. But you‟ve got to forget it—that‟s what people do!” The little girls sneak upstairs. Why not five minutes earlier when I was about to kiss Jeanne? Patrice suggests angling the other couch across a corner. “The place looks nice, Hal.” Jeanne‟s smiling and twisting a lock of her hair. Two definite signals. If only I hadn‟t embarrassed her. The smile? Twisting her hair? Both mean she‟s interested. Anytime Kevin‟s mind wandered, a chilling tintinnabulation resounded at the edges of perception. The metallic notes didn‟t circle around his home or work or his intention to divorce Patrice. Yet the ringing foretold: expect the worst. Past that, however, whatever the worst might be was cloaked in black. Kevin heard the intimations of the worst possible fate, but he couldn‟t fathom it. Patrice was upstairs watching TV. Kevin surprised her. His elbow above his head, hitting the door frame, he said, “Hello stranger.” Frantically, she hid chocolate wrappers under a pillow. After clicking off the TV, he kissed the top of her head and sat beside her. “Don‟t let my mother make you feel guilty.” Kevin held her hand. “Rebecca—” “Meddles. Don‟t you remember your cravings with Annabelle?” “No.” “All summer you gobbled up all the blueberries we could buy.” “Blueberries? Maybe I can switch from chocolate to apples.” “By August you were sick of blueberries.” She laughed, resting her head against his chest. “I still am.” He spread his hand on her belly. “By next month you‟ll hate chocolate.” “When we were at Hal‟s this baby was kicking like mad. And Hal is so weird. Jeanne lost her temper.” Kevin should have asked why but didn‟t, because he needed to stay calm. “What‟s new with Lila? Or Nikki?” “You know? I have no idea. I guess I‟ve ignored them−favoring Jeanne.” “Patrice, you need more than one friend.” “With Jeanne there‟s no social effort.” “What if she moves?” Kevin asked. “Or−gets married?” “She won‟t. And the more time Annabelle spends with Colette the better. That baby girl understands numbers. Write down eleven digits and Colette can make a phone call.”

She moved Kevin‟s hand and pressed. “Feel that?” “Next time.” “That?” “Almost.” Whatever the worst was, it had nothing to do with his unborn son. Last night after the women spruce up my house—it‟s my house now, mine and Jeanne‟s—guess who calls me? “Hiya, my pal, Hal,” Colette says. “Honey, who are you talking to?” Jeanne‟s voice is lovely even when she‟s stern. I imagine her getting ready for work: adjusting a slinky little belt. “It‟s my pal, Hal, Mommy. At his house, he showed us tricks with his gyroscope. And if he wants to get me a Christmas present, that‟s what I want.” First Jeanne yells at Colette. Then she takes the phone and yells at me. If only I could see her face—I have never seen her angrier than after I kissed her, but her spirit and passion were beautiful. I know this much: animated or still, Jeanne radiates pure…purity. Maybe that doesn‟t make sense to you but if you saw her, it would. If you saw her, your heart would melt. Kevin worked late throughout December—the twenty-third was a marathon—so he could spend all day on Christmas Eve with Jeanne. Abby Gold would keep Colette until dinner. And after his divorce, he would marry Jeanne as soon as possible. But Kevin realized, even given all the time in the world with her, he would want more. And why not? The warning sounds of the worst thing possible had fallen silent, meaning—all was well.

Chapter Twelve The salesman at the Army-Navy store assures me this deer-hunter suit keeps you warm for a full watch. The camouflage pattern makes me practically invisible. Not so. Kevin hauls me out of the hedge, ready to beat me to pulp. Luckily, Jeanne‟s car is returning from the nursery school. Kevin doesn‟t want her to see him beating me up. “Get in your car, Hal, and wait for me at the pizza place.” After about twenty minutes, Kevin storms in. I put down my slice and wipe my chin. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Look at yourself!” He means the camouflage suit. “Are you an idiot or a full-blown psychotic? Because I‟m torn, Hal. Set you

what Annabelle wanted for Christmas and Patrice was giving in. “Addy was my favorite,” Jeanne said. “My sister Patti had one when we were little.” “She did? I always forget you‟re so much younger than I am. Those American Girl dolls didn‟t exist when I was a child.” “I loved braiding Addy‟s hair. But Patti was a mean big sister.” They both bought Addy dolls, because Jeanne knew Colette would love one. Patrice ate apple slices instead of chocolate. “That‟s will power.” “Not really, Jeanne. One craving is the same as another.” “Oh.” Patrice stared at her—Jeanne damn well should feel uncomfortable. “Remember when I said it was like Kevin was pushing past me? Now he‟s lapped me and is onto hurdles. He says „Hello stranger,‟ like I‟m the one running away.” Jeanne shivered while Patrice waited for a response. She didn‟t know what to say. What came from her mouth was: “How so?” Patrice stepped close, her expression fierce. “How the hell do you think, how so?” Jeanne said, “Patrice, I‟m sorry. I‟m really very—” “Of course you are.” She squeezed Jeanne‟s fingers hard. “I tried—” “Shut up, Jeanne. Don‟t you dare say a word because I don‟t want to hear it now.”

free for the zillionth time or make sure you‟re locked up for good?” It looks like the pizza guy is gonna come over; the waitress is that scared. Kevin stands up and shows both palms to the guy, like okay, he‟ll keep it down. Then he puts his face a millimeter from mine. “If you ever even think about Jeanne again, I‟ll kill you, Hal.” I pay the check and call the office because I‟m late for a patient. But—get this—two cancellations! I don‟t need to be there until ten-thirty. I park at Colby Circle and spot Kevin‟s car in front of the bungalow first thing. If Kevin‟s spending hours with her, why shouldn‟t I check? So I get out my binoculars. In the living room they‟re kissing. He‟s carrying her under the archway. Jeanne‟s stroking his head. And they‟re still kissing. They shift sideways. Kevin lifts her off the ground and they‟re still kissing! He holds her bottom and presses it up, and up. She slips free and Kevin slides his hand inside her little black

sweater. She‟s smiling and dreamy. Her sweater‟s unbuttoned. Kevin takes her hand, pulls her into the bedroom, and closes the door. Maybe I throw up. Maybe I get in my car. All I know is—I‟m home upstairs, staring at the ceiling. Last year Jeanne and her husband had danced at a Christmas party. She had no idea he was morbidly unhappy while waltzing her around. But he was or he soon would be. That‟s what she was dreaming when the phone rang. Patrice said, “Sorry, did I wake you?” “No,” Jeanne yawned. “Not at all.” Would Jeanne brave the crowds with her while she bought Annabelle an Addy doll? “I‟ll drive. Rebecca and the girls are planning to watch The Grinch.” In the car, Patrice said Addy was too expensive and Annabelle was much too young to appreciate the doll‟s Underground Railroad story. But it was

Christmas Eve morning as Kevin headed for the front door, carrying a gym bag, Patrice waylaid him. “Be home by five. When Hal called me yesterday—you got the message: he wasn‟t coming in?” “No. And he didn‟t come in on Thursday either. Why did he call you, not me?” “He sounded despondent.” “With his mother dying just before Christmas? I suppose he has his reasons.” “He does have reasons, Kevin, but they have nothing to do with his mother. Anyway, he‟ll be here tonight and so will your mother. Please, be here and be nice.” “Patrice, I‟m the nicest guy in the world.” “Used to be.” “I suppose you‟re the nice one now.” “Don‟t bet on it. I‟ve never pretended to be nice and I‟m not about to start.” And yet, Patrice really was so nice that Kevin anticipated a bittersweet divorce, more sweet than bitter. He must spend more time with Annabelle, though, and with his son once he was born. He

called his daughter and she appeared in full fairy princess regalia. “I‟ve got to get going, honey. But if you help me wrap Mommy‟s present, it can be from both of us.” In his office, he showed Annabelle the necklace Patrice had asked for, of graduated blue beads. In the box, Annabelle found a paper listing the stones‟ powers. “Will you read it to me, Daddy?” Lapis lazuli and blue topaz combined this way unleash hidden angers. “It says Merry Christmas. Do you want to hold the paper together or tape it?” “Tape.” Annabelle put the tape-decorated present under the tree. Kevin found Jeanne wearing a low-cut, green dress with a sash that crisscrossed beneath her breasts and had half a mind to make love to her now. But she was already buttoning her coat and putting on

a hat. Saxophone music instead of Bach lulled them during the drive. “We‟ve got a room at the Gabriel. Lunch reservations at Le Grill.” He pulled her hand into his lap. “I hate that you‟re working tonight.” “I don‟t. Tomorrow, you and Patrice, me, Hal, and your mother will all make nice during a long meal.” “Not easy.” He meant to caution her then that Hal was acting strange. But her fingers ran along his thigh in time to Ben Webster‟s “Soulville.” “Should we skip lunch?” “No, Jeanne. We need our strength.” They ate oysters and drank champagne. Her entrée was salad with goat cheese. Kevin ordered rib eye. They drank white Bordeaux, which made Jeanne giggly. “You didn‟t eat enough,” he said. She grinned. “I‟m drunk.” In their hotel room she spun around in her bare feet.

Kevin asked, “How do you feel? I want to sip you for hours.” Every time Jeanne came, her bell-like laughter circled the ceiling. She had never felt so giddy, so hilariously rapturous. Kevin gave her a white gold ring. “You know I can‟t wear this, Kevin. I love you but—” “Maybe not now but soon.” He slid the ring through a long, slender chain and fastened it. The ring fell between her breasts. “This scares me,” she said, but when she saw it in the mirror, she smiled. Driving home, he meant to warn her about Hal, the camouflage outfit and binoculars. And she considered telling him that Hal phoned Colette after she went to work. But every time they tried to speak, their minds slipped back into that fast, seductive current where they drifted together. At seven (despite Patrice‟s request that he be home before five) Kevin and

Jeanne entered the empty, dark bungalow, alarmed when no note or voicemail explained where Colette and Abby were. “I‟m sure they‟re on their way.” Kevin kissed her lightly and smoothed her hair. Jeanne paced the kitchen, unreasonably panicked, but unable to do anything about it. She changed into narrow slacks, boots, and a blue sweater for work. They drank beer and reassured each other until finally Abby and Colette burst in, excited. “We went sledding, Mommy.” “Sorry, we‟re late,” Abby said. “But I knew she‟d love this place. Artificial hills; artificial snow.” Kevin paid her and said, “Thank you, Abby. Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukah.” Front door closed, with Colette in her room packing her overnight things, Kevin held Jeanne‟s face. “I wish you were spending the night too.” “Wish for more,” she said. “Not tonight. Many other ones.” She held his coat and whispered, “Now go.” Colette had changed into a red velvet dress. “That‟s for tomorrow, honey.” “But tonight‟s the party. Hal told me. Tomorrow‟s just dinner.” “Hal told you? You‟re not allowed on the phone, Colette. Wear the snowflake outfit.” “Tonight‟s the party.” They argued: “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “I‟m serious!” “Me too!” Tears filled Jeanne‟s eyes, not Colette‟s, who got to wear the red velvet dress. Outside the O‟Meara‟s, Jeanne reminded her to play with Annabelle. “She‟s your friend. Not Hal.” Inside, Patrice embraced her. “Merry Christmas, sugar.” “You too. Very Merry.” Rebecca greeted her, distantly. Everyone gathered around the tree except Kevin, who Patrice said was upstairs working on his finances. Hal dragged Jeanne aside. “I have things to say to you.” “And I want to talk to you, Hal. You crossed the line with Colette.” “You hurt me, Jeanne. Being sorry isn‟t enough.” “I‟m late, Hal—tomorrow, okay?” Usually, Christmas Eve at the emergency center was hectic. Not as bad as New Year‟s Eve but: Lonely people felt lonelier; cars crashed; couples fought; neighbors sought revenge. At three a.m., when she had received no calls, Jeanne checked with the police. Was the system down? Nope. All was well. Except it wasn‟t. Her trepidation grew and grew. She counted her blessings but a surreal fear plagued her.

At some point, I stop staring at the ceiling and call Patrice, because I don‟t have it in me to talk to Kevin. “Tell him I‟m not working today or tomorrow.” Patrice said all right but no promises. “He‟s hardly ever home.” Well, yeah. But can she track him down and tell him for me? I‟m not up to it. Because guess why. Or no, don‟t. You don‟t want to know. She says, “All right,” and invites me for like the third time to their Christmas Eve party. “It won‟t be a party without you, Hal.” Like I‟m the life. But she‟s right about two days being too long to stare at the ceiling. Because pretty soon a mirage wavers on the horizon: I‟ll convince Jeanne I love her the most. She owes me a chance. Think about it, Jeanne. You owe me. Colette‟s spending Christmas Eve at the O‟Meara‟s while Jeanne works. She‟s mad about me and Colette, but the little girl calls me, not vice versa. I don‟t care anyway, because out there where the mirage is hovering I‟m a much better man than Kevin. Like, no comparison, babe. As if, right? But love makes you God and the Devil incarnate, and won‟t take no for an answer. At the Christmas Eve party, I entertain them. I am the man while Kevin stays upstairs. His mother asks him to come downstairs—he‟s the host. But Kevin claims he‟s sorting through a financial hornet‟s nest. Nobody believes that. Patrice starts upstairs but Rebecca says, “If he doesn‟t want to celebrate with us, it‟s his loss.” The three women and two little girls and I hang up stockings and drink hot cocoa. I read “‟Twas the Night Before Christmas,” with Colette and Annabelle cuddling on either side of me. Patrice lets me right into Annabelle‟s bedroom to kiss the kids good-night. Another drink and I thank Patrice and Rebecca, wish them Merry Christmas, and they say the same to me. Outside I park around the corner and play Eric Clapton‟s Greatest Hits. At five a.m. I pull into the O‟Meara‟s driveway and wait for Jeanne. She pulls into the driveway and I jump out before she can get away. I yank her out of her car and into mine. Because that mirage is so clear and simple, where I am her only one. I‟m ready to prove it no matter what. “Stop it, Hal. You‟re hurting me.” But I think: Love hurts. So if I hurt you, maybe you can feel what I feel. Her hair‟s up the way she does it and I shake her. “Why won‟t you believe me?”

I keep shaking her and squeezing her—squeezing her neck and squeezing it while yelling, “I love you, Jeanne!” And then something‟s wrong. She stops fighting back. Jeanne tried to turn off that infernal Clapton CD, but Hal grabbed her arm. “I love you more than anybody else ever will.” “I don‟t love you, Hal, and never will, not like you want.” He pinned her shoulders against the seat. “Don‟t touch me.” Jeanne tried to pry his hands away, but he was too strong for her. And seeing how furious he was terrified her. “Take your hands off me.” His hands pressed her throat. Jeanne tried to turn her head but he grabbed it. “I am your lover—not Kevin.” He shook her so hard that her head throbbed red inside. She thrashed one way and then the other. His face burst into view, huge and angry. “Give me a chance, Jeanne.” She couldn‟t breathe or hear but as if to convince her, he pressed his thumbs into her windpipe and she plummeted into darkness where time slowed and stopped. And would soon stop forever. In a last gasp, she fought against losing Colette. And at losing Kevin, who in her last curl of consciousness really did belong to her—they would have been happy. Hal choked her as winter unfurled backward into autumn. Blood vessels burst and her mind leaped back to late summer. Leaves fluttered outside the bungalow, while she and Kevin made love. A wave washed over the trees, which glimmered, becoming young and green, their buds growing smaller and smaller until every last nub closed. Jeanne‟s like stone. Here‟s this vibrant, incredible, too good to be true woman sitting in my car—and then, she‟s gone. It‟s not Jeanne sitting here. Just a body. I‟m screaming, “Kevin, Kevin!” The O‟Meara‟s door swings open and there‟s a second when he sees my face. He knocks me out of the way and runs to the car. It‟s barely dawn and freezing. Kevin‟s wearing underwear and nothing else. He carries Jeanne‟s body from the car into the middle of their frozen lawn. On his knees, he‟s bent over her and I can‟t hear what he‟s saying because he‟s sobbing so loud. And then he raises Jeanne‟s body above his head. He‟s sobbing and reaching higher and higher, holding her up as he turns around and around. Patrice fills the doorway, huge in a red robe and slippers. “What on earth?” And I know. I know exactly what he‟s doing. He‟s begging the universe to return Jeanne, give back her ecstatic laughter that sounds like altar bells.