The Truth About Fragile Things (31 page)

“Too bad,” I told her. “You almost got him.”

“What the heck was that all about?” Alicia asked.

“What is Phil ever talking about?” I shook my head and yelped because one of the pins in my waist found my skin. I sucked in and gingerly unzipped the skirt, annoyed that I had to have this conversation at all, and especially in underwear and tights.

“Charlotte?” Alicia wheedled when she saw I wasn’t offering any information.

“What? The boy wants to make a shot from half court. Like he said.” Her unruffled sneer made me proud.

“And a cattle drive?” Callie pressed.

“Look, are we all going to try to figure out what is going through Phillip’s unfathomable head or are we going to save our butts and get out there before Schatz comes in here and kills us?” My sharp voice was punctuated with pauses as I shimmied into my jeans.

Every girl in the room replied only with silent, suspicious eyes. It was easy to tell they would always choose any option that included Phillip. I sighed as I pushed open the heavy door and left them. Or maybe I had never, in my entire life, joined them.

“A
re you worried?”
Charlotte asked as I pulled into her driveway. My throat was sore, my eyes heavy, and I had three pages left to write for my English essay.

“About my homework or the play?”

“Oh yeah, homework. They shouldn’t give us that this week. I meant the play.” Her tired gaze shuffled to her front door, but she didn’t move. “There were still a hundred things going wrong today. People messed up lines eight times. I counted.”

I ran my fingers along the bottom of my black steering wheel. “That’s normal. It always goes like that. By Thursday we’ll be ready.” I pulled my gearshift into reverse to signal I was ready to leave, but she didn’t take the hint. When I realized she was trying to say something I leaned back and didn’t move, hoping not to frighten the words away.

“Do you want to come inside,” she asked her door handle, “for dinner or something?”

It took me a moment to respond because the true answer was no. Everything in me wanted a hot shower and home and my familiar bed—not Melissa’s accusing eyes and the house full of pictures of the young and dead. But I knew the invitation had been difficult for Charlotte. “Maybe for a little bit.”

I stepped in cautiously, and was greeted with the smell of garlic and laugh tracks on the television. From the kitchen came quiet sounds of cooking and conversation: murmurs, agreements, the clatter of a lid, and running water. Charlotte walked too fast, navigating the darker hallway until we emerged into the light and heart of the home where Dave was setting the table while Melissa opened the oven.

“I brought Megan over,” Charlotte announced in the tone of a person who expected a fight and expected to win.

And then all eyes were on me. Henry spun around from his spot on the floor in the living room, Dave paused with one plate poised above a place mat. It was Melissa I watched most carefully. She turned quickly, but processed slowly. I saw the moment dawn over her face. I wondered if every time she saw me she relived Bryon’s death. And if so, how did it feel to have one husband die in your mind while the other one set the table?

I wished I could be as petite as Charlotte, duck my head and blend in. But Dave rose to the occasion. “Well, hello, Megan. Good to have you. Are you hungry? I will wrestle up another plate.”

“Since when do plates wrestle? It’s ‘rustle.’” Charlotte mumbled and dropped into the nearest chair, leaving me stranded standing like a prisoner in front of the firing squad.

“Charlotte, say something nice or don’t eat.” Melissa’s words were even, calm, clinical.

“Thank you for wrestling a plate for us. That was very valiant of you,” Charlotte recited.

“I don’t need to stay,” I stuttered to Dave, who was still looking at me. “I was just walking Charlotte in.”

“We’d love to have you,” Dave pressed. “Melissa made meatballs.”

“You’re staying. We’re both starving.” Charlotte pushed out the chair next to her in invitation.

I forced myself to look at Melissa, promising I would only glance long enough to know if I was hurting her. Her forehead dented with thoughts, but her face was impassive. When our eyes met she forced a weak smile. “I’d like to have you.” The words tilted in the air, didn’t come out strong or straight, but they did come out.

“Thank you,” I whispered and took a seat.

“Hi, Megan,” Henry said as he sat down; his smiling, round face as cheerful as Dave’s.

“Hi, Henry,” I returned the greeting. “Good to see you again.”

Melissa finished carrying the food to the table. Dave squeezed her hand as they both sat down. I imagined he was saying,
It’s all right. She’ll go away soon and everything will be all right.
I looked down at my porcelain plate, studying the blues and browns of the rich glaze, hoping if I didn’t speak I wouldn’t do any harm.

“So three days until opening night?” Dave asked as he poured lemonade into my glass. “We are so excited. We’re coming all three nights.”

“In case you get hurt and Charlotte has to fill in,” Henry piped up, a dot of red sauce at the center of his chin.

“That’s not why,” Melissa chided. “There’s just nothing more fun than a play.”

I found her warm eyes soft, not in spite of the sadness in them, but because of it. “Do you like the theater?”

“I love it. I’ve never done it, but I love it.” She reached over and wiped Henry’s chin. “I’m so glad you got Charlotte interested.”

“She’s good,” I interjected, so glad to contribute happy news. “Mrs. Schatz thinks she has a lot of promise. She’s not scared of a stage.”

“She’s not scared of anything,” Dave laughed, his voice ringing with pride. If you had to have a replacement father, I couldn’t imagine a better one. “I’m looking forward to the day we can see her. We asked if we could come to one of the dress rehearsals, in case she goes over any lines, but she wasn’t keen.”

“Keen?” Charlotte’s fork clattered against her plate. “People stopped saying that when the Titanic sank.”

“Tomorrow’s rehearsal will be split between regular cast and understudies. I’m sure Schatz would let you come,” I told him.

“Maybe Schatz would, but Charlotte would not,” Charlotte announced. “It is my last chance to pretend I have a part and I’m not having my family be the only ones in the audience.” She shoved an entire meatball into her mouth and Melissa winced. “New topic,” she garbled through her bite.

Melissa obliged by talking about an upcoming business trip to California and that started a discussion on possible family vacation spots for spring break. Charlotte said she would go if they went to the Galapagos, but barring that, she’d stay home. How Dave kept his smile through every snarky thing she said was a mystery. I mentally added one thing to my personal bucket list: be as pleasant as Doctor Dave. Can you put major personality changes on bucket lists?

We finished eating and I was about to thank everyone and make a fast exit when Dave put an arm around my shoulders and another around Melissa. “Go sit in the den while I get some ice cream,” he insisted, steering us toward the room with the glass French doors. The room with the photos. I searched for Charlotte, but she was gathering up dishes, her hands full. There was nothing to do but force a grin and obey. He released me near a chair beneath the pictures. I didn’t have to face them, but now I felt them looking down at me. The skin on my neck prickled.

“Thank you for dinner,” I repeated after Dave left us.

Melissa sat across from me, her eyes contracted in thought. “You’re welcome.” If Charlotte let herself be gentle she would sound just like her mother. Melissa stroked the arm of her chair. The only thing I knew was where I was, between Melissa and the photo of her smiling husband. The barrier dividing them for the last fifteen years. I would have said anything to help her if I only knew what it was.

“You do know I don’t blame you, right?” Melissa could only lift her eyes from her wedding ring long enough to graze my face, leaving a pink blush in her wake.

I shook my head, too ashamed to try to look at her. “You don’t have to…”

“No, I want to. I want you to know there was no fault that day. Not you or your mother or the driver. The only person who had any control was Bryon. He chose this. And if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been the person I loved.” She shook her head to dislodge her blond bangs from her eyelashes. “We don’t need to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that.”

I was tempted to accept her offer and stay silent. It was safe. But it was also wrong. “Melissa,” her name was foreign to my tongue, wouldn’t release easily. “You don’t have to blame me because I blame myself.”

Behind me Bryon kept smiling. In front of me Melissa’s face contorted into regret. Inside of me it all collided and turned to fatigue. I’d never felt so tired. “I’ve always been sorry, but I didn’t have anyone to say it to. I’m glad I can finally say it.” My voice held firm despite the tears threatening my eyes. “I just want everyone to be happy again.” As soon as I said it I shook my head, hating my choice of words. Happy sounded simple, childish, inadequate. I wanted so much more than happy. I wanted restitution. Resurrection.

Melissa left her chair and sat down on the arm of mine. She pulled me against her and spread her arm over me like a wing, like a shelter, like a home. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so embarrassed how I treated you the first time we met. It was so easy to be angry when I didn’t know who you were.” Her hand squeezed my shoulder. She felt like my mother. Moved like her. Consoled like her. “I am happy. We are.”

There was a rush of air that jumped from my mouth, full of doubt and challenge.

“No, I mean it,” Melissa said, standing up. She turned to the wall of photos, her face grew soft and distant. “Once I thought I’d never say that again. Do you know what that day was like?”

The sword twisted in my lung, so painful it cut my breath in two. I shivered and shook my head.

“Well, let me back up.” She paced to the ornate wooden desk and braced against it. “Before that day I didn’t realize what happiness was. I’d always had it. It was like light. You get used to it. You don’t even think about it. And that day.” She lowered her voice and I knew she was trying to deal the blow gently. “Happiness blinked.”

I shut my eyes, waited for her to expound, but already I think I understood.

“It all went dark. And when it all goes dark you think that you’re blind. You think you lost the ability to ever see light again. You’re convinced you are broken forever.”

A tear got tangled on my lashes; I felt it hanging, waited in the darkness of my closed eyes for it to fall. When I opened my eyes again it broke free and splashed onto my shirt.

“Megan, what you don’t know is that happiness blinks all the time. Sometimes it even falls asleep. It goes dark. But it doesn’t go blind. I found happiness again when I was ready to open my eyes and see it. Does that make any sense?” She twisted one finger awkwardly. We both knew it was too much to sit in Dave’s house beneath the picture of Bryon, to speak of death and life between spaghetti and ice cream. Melissa must have sensed the weight of her words and she cleared her throat and tapped the desk. “The truth is no one is as strong as they think. But then again, no one is as fragile, either.”

I wiped my face dry, nodding, not trusting myself with a single word. I wanted home. I wanted Lauren. When Dave nudged the door open he was holding two bowls of Neapolitan. “Anyone hungry?” he asked. I reached out for the bowl, not sure I could swallow anything. “Come join us in the living room,” he urged and backed out again, in case he was interrupting anything.

I stared at the feet of Melissa’s empty chair and ordered my tongue to tell the truth. “I,” I paused until I was sure she was listening. “I don’t think Charlotte is happy.”

Melissa hummed a low note and shifted her weight. I didn’t realize she’d walked closer until she put an arm on my shoulder again. “When she opens her eyes again she will be. She told me about your idea to add to the list.” She hesitated and I braced myself for a scolding, waited for her to tell me that I would never know what her husband wanted to do with his life. “I think that got her unstuck. Before you, the list was about tying up the past and old promises. Now it’s about making something new for the future.” When I followed her gaze I saw she wasn’t staring at the pictures of Bryon; she was looking at the photo in the center, Dave circling her waist in front of a rose bush, her arm around Henry, Charlotte’s mouth just barely lifted into a grin. “Thank you for getting her unstuck.”