First grade started two weeks ago, and last night was Brian\u2019s first sleepover. Shannon helped him pack, and Edward dropped him off. All night she worried he\u2019d call, desperate for his Bunky, but he hadn\u2019t. She has it now, threadbare yellow flannel trimmed in fraying satin, draped over her wrist. She\u2019ll rest it in his car seat so he\u2019ll have it before he asks. A reward for making it a night without.<\/p>\n
When she boops her car unlocked, the click answers from farther away than she expects. She forgot she\u2019d parked several houses down after work yesterday because trucks from the tree people the Lindens hired to remove two giant dead oaks from their front yard had lined both sides of the street, blocking her usual spot at the end of her own sidewalk.<\/p>\n
She rubs Bunky\u2019s hem between her fingers the way her son does. Something about its smoothness comforts her. Wouldn\u2019t the world be nicer if full-grown people and children alike carried lovey items and drew them out in stressful times instead of flipping people off in traffic? Why do parents rush kids into leaving them behind?<\/p>\n
Zipping Brian\u2019s backpack before the party yesterday, she\u2019d been proud of how she managed the issue, with soft wheedles of, \u201cLet\u2019s see what happens, hm?\u201d and, \u201cJust in case everyone else leaves theirs home too.\u201d But in the cheerful light of morning, Shannon feels duped.<\/p>\n
At her own slumber party when she was about Brian\u2019s age, she\u2019d slipped up to her bedroom for her favorite stuffed toy while the other girls were unrolling their sleeping bags in the basement. Her brother whipped it from her hands on her way back downstairs. \u201cYou\u2019ll be the only baby,\u201d he said, then he whined waaaah waaaah waaaah, churning his fists into his eyes until she started to cry, and their mother rushed up the steps. \u201cBoys tease,\u201d she said, in a hoarse whisper so the girls in the basement wouldn\u2019t hear. \u201cDon\u2019t give them things to tease you about.\u201d<\/p>\n
With Brian, Shannon\u2019s been pleased to discover that boys are capable of as much tenderness as anyone, and Brian\u2019s idea of a good joke is rearranging books on the shelf, then bursting into laughter when no one notices. His friends probably brought their own lovey toys, just like her friends had, and his tattered, washed-out blanket wouldn\u2019t have drawn a stitch of attention.<\/p>\n
Closer to her car, a scattering of broken bits flashes in the sunlight. It\u2019s funny how glass catches light only to throw it back, magically brighter, sparkling now like tiny brilliant stars strewn about the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
Glass. Smashed glass. Powdering the square of sidewalk directly in front of her car. She\u2019d been walking toward it without thinking, but now she realizes that all that remains of her rear window is a dangling spider-webbed collection of fissures with a tiny, off-centered hole.<\/p>\n
A familiar feeling knocks into her. She crosses into the street for a look from the other side, one arm clutched around her belly. The rear passenger window\u2019s shot through too. Sunlight shimmers in splinters of glass, spewed across the entire width of the backseat. She casts looks over each shoulder. Twice, three times, but sees no one.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s her ex-husband she expects to find, lurking behind the Murphys\u2019 unkempt bank of privet, maybe, or peeking around the Chesneys\u2019 rattletrap campervan three cars away. Sleep-mussed tufts of golden hair. An ironic snarl on his fresh-licked lips. The rest of the world always saw him as handsome. She did too at first, but over time something in his gaze shook loose, and she noticed that his muscles clenched even when he meant to seem at ease. His body loomed rather than leaned.<\/p>\n
Last time she saw Ronnie was soon after she started dating Edward, almost nine years ago. By then she and Ronnie had been divorced four years, they\u2019d married so young, but he materialized from time to time to rattle her. This night, she\u2019d been returning to her car after a volunteer training for the local food bank, and he stepped out of a stairwell in the parking garage. She knew better than to show fear, so she braced her elbows, cradling herself, a tactic he hadn\u2019t deciphered.<\/p>\n
She and Ronnie hadn\u2019t spoken in months by then, so how could he have known she\u2019d even be there or what time she\u2019d finish? Early on, she would have sworn he had ESP, but by the time she left she understood it was obsession and cunning.<\/p>\n
He asked what she saw in Edward. Of course she\u2019d never mentioned Edward to him\u2014not what his name was, not that he existed, and she\u2019d barely mentioned Ronnie to Edward either, so eager to sweep him into the deeper past. She considered ignoring his bait, but answering felt braver. \u201cI\u2019d stopped believing men could be kind until I met Edward.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLimp dick,\u201d he said. \u201cI hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, that was yours,\u201d she said, giddy at finding the right words in the moment, at refusing to be afraid. Though she was afraid.<\/p>\n
He strode from the shadows and faced off with her. He loved pressing himself too close. \u201cI\u2019ll never be gone,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Goddam him. How quickly that prickle of ice along her neck returns. The sense that every leaf on every tree has eyes, watching watching watching.<\/p>\n
She pans the street one more time.<\/p>\n
After the parking garage ambush, she\u2019d meant to tell Edward Ronnie\u2019s whole story, but not telling made her liberation feel more complete. She shared enough to satisfy Edward\u2019s curiosity about her past, and he believed in the general phobia she\u2019d invented to explain the panic attacks that wracked her their first years together.<\/p>\n
She sways to catch different angles between trees in the neighbors\u2019 yards, behind cars, down driveways. She hugs her arms so tightly into herself that her nails bite the flesh of her biceps. He could be anywhere.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the house, Edward is rinsing coffee mugs and wiping crumbs from behind the toaster. His big Saturday plans are to weed the back garden and maybe get started on the crossword from the paper. He wears thick socks and poplin pajama bottoms, navy with thin white stripes. His white t-shirt hitches at the waistband. Something in that hitch, in the pure vulnerability of pajamas and stocking feet. Their life is quiet and lovely, and she doesn\u2019t want to drag her violent ex into the middle of it. When she tells him about the car windows, she doesn\u2019t mention Ronnie.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sucks.\u201d Edward scoops his own keys from the dish on the counter, tosses them to her. \u201cWe\u2019ll need a police report for the insurance. I\u2019ll call and get that started while you\u2019re picking up Brian.\u201d<\/p>\n
She hadn\u2019t thought about police. The last time she called police there\u2019d been broken glass too. And blood. In the car on the way home from the hospital, her mother had said, \u201cWhat were you thinking, calling the police? It was an accident.\u201d That\u2019s how Ronnie had described it when he\u2019d called her mother, covering his tracks for trying to talk Shannon out of going to the hospital. Moments before fainting, she\u2019d dialed 9-1-1 herself. When she woke up in the back of an ambulance, the EMT said no one else had been in the house when they arrived.<\/p>\n
What happened was that Ronnie tripped on her foot in the kitchen and dropped his glass, which pissed him off. Her foot being in his way, his own clumsiness, they were all one to him. Picking up the jagged shard from the floor and waving it at her, he claimed, was meant to tease, not threaten. \u201cI was kidding around,\u201d he said, a sick chuckle bubbling in his throat while she slumped at his feet on the kitchen floor. \u201cI only meant to graze you. How was I supposed to know it was so sharp?\u201d He seemed to blame her for bleeding.<\/p>\n
If Shannon had had anyone else to call to pick her up from the hospital, she wouldn\u2019t have called her mother. If she\u2019d been there when it happened, her mother probably would\u2019ve thought it was funny. She always thought Ronnie was funny. She and Ronnie would shake their heads at her when she got upset, and her mother would say, \u201cShe never could take a joke.\u201d<\/p>\n
The police didn\u2019t think Ronnie was joking. Neither did the nurse practitioner who sewed her up. \u201cHe barely missed your femoral artery.\u201d She was young and new at her job and had never seen anything like it. \u201cYou could have bled out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Someone in the ER connected her with a magistrate to file a restraining order. Her mother showed enough respect to keep her mouth shut about that at least. Afterward, it took a year before Shannon could sleep through the night without triple-checking that every door and window was locked, another year before she stopped changing her phone number every few months, plus one more year after that before she let a friend set her up on a date with Edward and learned that men could be different.<\/p>\n
Easing into Edward\u2019s front seat, she\u2019s glad she didn\u2019t put Ronnie\u2019s name to the disaster. Edward lacks her hard-knocks cynicism, so he\u2019s unlikely to think of Ronnie on his own. Not after nine years and knowing so little about him to begin with. Police will blame bored teenagers like they always do. If Ronnie\u2019s waiting for her to come chasing, let him wait forever.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Edward\u2019s Camry sits much lower than her CR-V, which makes her feel like she\u2019s slithering across the pavement. Her sunglasses are still in her car, so the sun glares in her eyes, making her miss road signs. She takes two wrong turns on the way to Matthew\u2019s house.<\/p>\n
Twice at stop signs she grabs her cell phone to text Edward and at least warn him to be careful. If Ronnie got close enough to trash her windows, what would stop him from getting closer? Hurting Edward? Snatching Brian? She wishes she\u2019d thought of that sooner.<\/p>\n
But she doesn\u2019t text.<\/p>\n
If the police look for Ronnie, they\u2019ll find him. She\u2019ll have to see him. That sneering look on his face. Like she should\u2019ve known better.<\/p>\n
She takes another wrong turn. She\u2019s sure she\u2019ll be the last to arrive. It\u2019s the beginning of the school year and the parents are still getting to know each other. She doesn\u2019t want to be that parent. The one who\u2019s always late. The one who\u2019s so ditzy she can\u2019t find the kid\u2019s house even with the help of GPS. The one whose eyes dart around like she\u2019s searching for a secret exit.<\/p>\n
What if Matthew\u2019s mother invites her in for coffee? How will she hide the tremor in her hands? She doesn\u2019t want to explain anything.<\/p>\n
During court proceedings, the advocate she\u2019d been assigned kept telling her that everything Ronnie did was his fault. Only his. She re-played that message in her mind until she believed it. Or mostly believed it. But people judge. You can see it in their eyes, a calculation of how much trouble knowing you is worth.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Finally parked in front of Matthew\u2019s house, Shannon hammers the steering wheel with the heels of her hands, a quick tattoo to drum her nerves into line. One of the other mothers wanders back down the walkway, nodding to her little boy. Shannon thinks that\u2019s Alexander and his mother, Patty? Pam? She waves through the car window, makes a big show of unbuckling her seatbelt, in case Patty-Pam had caught her dawdling.<\/p>\n
\u201cShrinky dinks!\u201d Brian shouts as soon as she steps into Matthew\u2019s front hall. He opens his hands to show off a collection of glassy disks. Turtles, sharks, dinosaurs. Matthew\u2019s mother looks tired, still in her fuzzy robe and slippers, overseeing the entryway side table covered with crafts and red cellophane favor bags labeled with each boy\u2019s name.<\/p>\n
Shannon lifts one of the shrinky dinks from Brian\u2019s hands and says, \u201cI remember these from when I was a kid,\u201d grateful her voice comes out without quaking.<\/p>\n
Matthew\u2019s mother turns to her with a big smile. \u201cMe too! They seemed so low tech, I was afraid the boys would turn up their noses, but they loved them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBalloons,\u201d Shannon says. \u201cI always let kids loose into a room of balloons they can sit on and pop. Never fails.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brian burrows through a pile of shoes at the front door but keeps finding other people\u2019s shoes. Matthew\u2019s mother crouches to help, but Brian jerks his head up and says, \u201cI forgot my sleeping bag,\u201d then tears off toward the leftover boys tossing a beanbag in the other room.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey have all the energy,\u201d Matthew\u2019s mother says.<\/p>\n
Shannon can\u2019t tell if she\u2019s irritated or pleased. \u201cWere they any trouble?\u201d She musters her best making-conversation tone, hiding her distraction. What if Ronnie followed her here? I\u2019ll never be gone. Why didn\u2019t she mention his name to Edward? Like an unkillable horror movie villain. If she could stop being scared, she\u2019d be furious. She thought she\u2019d stopped being scared long ago, but look at her now, like no time has passed. Like nothing changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey giggled until midnight or so,\u201d Matthew\u2019s mother says. \u201cThen no peeps until around eight. I\u2019d say it was pretty mellow, actually, for a house full of boys.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shannon grits her teeth. She hates when parents engender noise and ruckus. Being a boy isn\u2019t what makes you loud. Or rude. Or dangerous. She used to think it was too, and believing that was normal nearly killed her.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, are you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust tired, I guess?\u201d Shannon smooths a hand across her face, finger-picks the fringes of her hair, wonders if tired covers any of what Matthew\u2019s mother glimpsed in her. She cranes another look for Brian but can\u2019t see beyond the living room doorway. \u201cI had a little surprise on my way here.\u201d<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t mean to say it out loud.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of surprise?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomebody shot out my rear window with a bb gun or something. I had to drive my husband\u2019s car.\u201d She doesn\u2019t say second husband. Besides her mother and Edward, no one who knows her now knows she was married before. She\u2019d only been 19. Lucky for her, she hardly qualifies as an older parent these days, so no one questions the time between.<\/p>\n
Matthew\u2019s mother fiddles with the remaining favor bags, crinkling the cellophane. \u201cThat\u2019s awful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHappening all over town, I heard,\u201d says a father crossing the threshold into the foyer behind her. Shannon scoots forward, making way. She hadn\u2019t heard the screen door open for him. It\u2019s far too easy for people to sneak up on you.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it?\u201d Matthew\u2019s mother says. \u201cWhat a shame.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cObnoxious,\u201d the man says, then calls his son\u2019s name. \u201cCosts a fortune to get a new window, doesn\u2019t it? And bbs wreak havoc on paint jobs.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shannon hadn\u2019t considered practical issues. Costs and time spent on estimates or repairs. Hadn\u2019t believed for a second in random bored kids, joyriding stupidly in the night.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s so funny?\u201d the man says.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know, it seems silly, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d Shannon\u2019s breath stutters, catching back up after her kneejerk rush of laughter. \u201cIt\u2019s just a car. It took me by such surprise, I let myself forget. We\u2019ll get it fixed, and it won\u2019t happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope not,\u201d the man says. \u201cLittle vandal bastards.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cElvin, the boys,\u201d Matthew\u2019s mother fake-scolds, in a conspiratorial tone that reminds Shannon of her mother.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, they\u2019re little men. They\u2019ve heard it all before.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shannon stiffens. Brian\u2019s still nowhere to be seen. \u201cBrian hasn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elvin snorts. \u201cWomen always think their little boys are different.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs your little boy a vandal bastard then? Because mine\u2019s not.\u201d Matthew\u2019s mother backward-steps away from her, scans toward the room where the last boys are gathering their things.<\/p>\n
Elvin snorts again, not as much as looking at her. A little blond head bobs around the corner. \u201cFive more minutes, Dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, we\u2019ve got to get a move on, son.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPleeasse?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat have I told you about backtalk?\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy\u2019s eyes turn bleary.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be a wuss, James, just grab your shoes and get into the car.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shannon doesn\u2019t mean for her disgusted scoff to be audible, but Elvin doesn\u2019t know that. He rounds on her, face swollen with rage. Reflexes die hard, and Shannon cowers, throws up a hand to guard her face.<\/p>\n
Elvin\u2019s anger melts into bafflement. James stares at her, his father\u2019s hand perched lightly on his shoulder. \u201cJesus,\u201d Elvin whispers. \u201cI wasn\u2019t going to hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brian emerges, favor bag clutched to his chest, his sleeping bag slithering behind him. Shannon stands straight again. \u201cSome of us have already been hit,\u201d she says, before Brian quite reaches her side, and quietly enough that she hopes only Elvin hears. If he hears, she hopes, but doesn\u2019t believe, maybe it\u2019ll mean something to him, about the way he talks to his boy, the way he exists in a room.<\/p>\n
She takes Brian by his free hand, squeezes past Elvin and James to exit. Each step down the walk lightens the burden of the gazes she\u2019s sure are following her to the car. Let them stare.<\/p>\n
Brian clambers into his safety seat where Bunky lies waiting for him, curled in a ball. He doesn\u2019t ask why she\u2019s driving Edward\u2019s car. Doesn\u2019t know to think it strange.<\/p>\n
Later she\u2019ll have to explain about her car. About random acts of violence. One day, maybe even about Ronnie. For now, he clutches Bunky to his face and breathes in its scent, and that\u2019s all he needs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
During court proceedings, the advocate she\u2019d been assigned kept telling her that everything Ronnie did was his fault. Only his. She re-played that message in her mind until she believed it. Or mostly believed it. But people judge. You can see it in their eyes, a calculation of how much trouble knowing you is worth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21192,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[3764],"class_list":["post-20719","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-instagram-jody_write_now-facebook-jody-hobbs-hesler-writer-twitter-jhhesler","writer-jody-hobbs-hesler"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20719","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20719"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20719\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21193,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20719\/revisions\/21193"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21192"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20719"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20719"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20719"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}