“Oh, yeah. Hi.”
“I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
On this warm day she’s wearing blue-jean cut-offs and an oversize T-shirt that’s sagged off one shoulder, leaving it bare. That skinny shoulder shrugs at me, a halfhearted greeting as I wheel my cart closer.
“What’s going on, Tricia? I talked to your mom and she’s been worried sick about you.”
Her face stiffens. She looks at the freezer, glaring at the shelves.
“At least give her a call, why don’t you?” I suggest. “Tell her you’re okay. Don’t you think she deserves at least that much?”
“You don’t know a thing about her.”
“She’s your mom. That’s enough reason to call her.”
“Not after what she did.”
“What? What’d Jackie do?”
Tricia turns away from the freezer. “Guess I don’t want anything after all,” she mutters and walks away.
I stare after her, baffled by what just happened. I’ve known this girl all her life. I remember bringing over a pink onesie and a bag of Pampers when she was born. When she was a Girl Scout, I bought Thin Mints from her every year, and I donated to her class trip to D.C. But this isn’t the same sweet girl. This Tricia is angry and resentful, every mother’s nightmare teenager.
Poor Jackie.
* * *
—
That afternoon, after I put away the groceries, I walk down the street to Jackie’s house. She’ll be relieved to hear I’ve seen her daughter alive and kicking. When she answers the door, I can see the strain in her face, the saggy eye bags, the unkempt hair. She’s been crying and that only makes me angrier at Tricia. Thank god my Janie never put me through anything like this.
“Oh honey,” I say as I walk into the house. “You look like you need some good news.”
“I’m really not in the mood for a visit right now.”
“But this’ll make you feel better. I guarantee.”
We head straight to the kitchen. For women, it’s an automatic destination, the first place you go for tea and comfort. I’m not sure Jackie even uses her living room these days, because everything there seems frozen in place, never moved, as if someone has coated it all in wax to keep it presentable just in case an important guest turns up. I’m not that guest. I’m just a friend—or so I thought, but she doesn’t look happy to see me and clearly wants me to go away. Something has changed.
Yes, I think as I step into the kitchen. Something has definitely changed. The place is even more of a mess than the last time I visited. There are dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and judging by the food crusted on the plates, they’ve been there for at least a day. A few shards of glass sparkle on the floor by the refrigerator. Who leaves broken glass on the floor? Jackie doesn’t offer me tea or coffee—again, that’s unlike her. We sit down at the table but she doesn’t look at me, as if she’s afraid to. Or embarrassed by her haggard appearance.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say.
She shrugs. “Marriage. It’s complicated.”
“You two had a fight, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So who broke the glass, you or Rick?” I point to the shards on the floor.
“Oh, Rick. He threw it and…” She’s sniffling now, trying to hold back tears.
“He didn’t hit you, did he? Because if he did, I’m gonna—”
“No, he didn’t hit me.”
“But he’s throwing dishes around.”
“Angie, don’t make it more than it is.”
“It looks pretty bad as it is.”
“We had a fight. He left to cool down. That’s it. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
“Is he coming back?”
“I don’t know.” Her sniffles grow more desperate. “He might not. I’m just afraid he’ll do something.”
“To you?”
“No! Stop thinking that!” Abruptly she gets up. “I need to lie down. So if you don’t mind.”
“I never told you what happened today.”
“Angie, I really don’t feel like talking right now.” She starts to walk out of the kitchen.
“It’s Tricia. I saw her at the supermarket just a few hours ago. She was alive and well and looking at ice cream.”
Jackie halts in the doorway and turns to look at me. What I see in her face puzzles me. Despite the fact I just gave her some very good news, she looks frightened. “Did you—did you talk to her?”