In fact, Mrs. Hansen was in most of my early memories, her and Mom as tight as sisters.
Then Junie was born.
After that, Mrs. Hansen stopped visiting. Mom receded from a lot of my memories and Dad came in clearer focus, making breakfast in Mom’s place, driving me to school on the days it rained. When Mom showed up, she was a force, sparkling at dinner parties, running around the kitchen cooking four-course dinners, but it seemed to cost her. She stayed at that level—50 percent of her—for a couple months.
Until my accident.
My hand went to the withered nub where my ear had been.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey!” I’d almost walked right past Brenda leaning in the shade of the enormous maple tree in Maureen’s front yard. We’d swung in its branches and over the years raked mountains of leaves from beneath it. I tipped my head toward the closed garage door. “Maureen not up yet?”
Brenda pushed off from the tree and stepped into the humid sunshine. It took all my self-control not to audibly gasp at the swollen, black-and-blue shiner surrounding her eye.
“What happened?”
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “You want the version I told my parents or the real deal?”
When I didn’t respond, she rubbed her nose. “I got really messed up last night. Walked straight into a tree.”
“That’s the story you told your parents?” My skin twitched remembering how aggressive Ricky had been to her last night. “Bren, who hit you?”
She shook her head and looked me square in the eyes. “No, for real. I walked into a tree. That big oak closest to the firepit? I think I was going to take a leak behind it but ended up smacking my face against a branch. But it’s only a matter of time until I get roughed up for real if I stick with Ricky. I’m done with him, Heather. I don’t even know what got into me last night.”
I opened my mouth to tell her about me and Ant, it was on the tip of my tongue, but I felt too ashamed. I hadn’t wanted him to take that photo, but I hadn’t stopped him, either. My stomach got all wormy thinking of who he’d show it to.
I swallowed and squinted at the house. “Should we wake up Maureen?”
CHAPTER 17
Over the years, it’d become harder and harder to enter Maureen’s.
At Brenda’s or Claude’s, I felt comfortable walking in without knocking.
“Hey, Heather,” Brenda’s brothers would say when they were still living at home.
“Want some juice?” Claude’s mom would ask.
It used to be the same at Maureen’s, but Mrs. Hansen began changing about the same time Mom did.
“Will you do the knocking?” Brenda asked, pointing to her black eye.
“Sure.” I stepped through the muggy morning and up the stairs.
The porch hinted at what lay inside. The orange velour couch was loaded with boxes, and a stack of molding newspapers leaned in a corner. The piles sometimes grew taller, but they never shrank.
I waited after I knocked. We knew the routine. Extra knocking wouldn’t make Mrs. Hansen come any faster, but it sure would cheese her off.
“What time did you get home?” I asked, making idle conversation.
“Not too late.” Brenda’s arms were crossed in front of her despite the humidity. She stared out at the street. “Ricky and I wandered off, made out a little. I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember going back to the firepit, and you and Ant and Ed were gone. We hung out for a while until I had to pee, like I said. That’s when I walked into the damn tree. Once I realized how wasted I was, I begged Ricky to drive me home. Boy, was he pissed. He almost wouldn’t do it, but he did. I snuck in through the back door. Dad was still up. I met him in the hall.” Her face crumpled. “Heather, I lied to him.”
Brenda’s parents, Roy and Cheryl, ran a tight ship, but they loved their kids. Roy was the athletic director at Saint John’s University, and Cheryl had taken a part-time healthcare job at the college once Brenda entered high school. They thought the sun rose and set with Brenda. I’d have been jealous if she weren’t my best friend.
“What’d you say?”
“I told him I’d been hanging out at the fair all night, with you and Maureen. When he saw my eye, I said I’d gotten into a fight with the Tilt-A-Whirl, and the Tilt-A-Whirl won. He acted like he believed me, but I smelled so bad, Heather. He must have known I was drinking.”
She looked miserable.
“If he put up with Jerry and Carl, he can deal with a little Brenda,” I said.