Authors: Deborah Rogers
The shower is hot and Lenise stands there for a long time, dirt and blood and grime pooling at her feet. She brushes away torn stamps of winter-blown leaves that have hitched a ride home on her calves, then reaches to pick a blood-encrusted seed from between her toes and lets it slip into the water and down the plug hole. Everything is evidence now. All of it. Even what she says.
She closes her eyes and pushes her face into the torrent, her hands two fists at her side. It was remarkable how easily his skin had yielded to the blade. A single slip between his ribcage and it was done.
No suitable word could describe how Lenise feels. Not sadness. Not shame. Not happiness or triumph. If anything, all she feels is the absence of regret. A court of law, she thinks, would probably call it lack of remorse. Well, it wasn't as if she'd had a fight with a loved one and things had got out of hand. He was a stranger. Much less emotionally complicated.
She had come close before. God only knew how many times she'd been angry with Cody and how easily a shove could have meant the back of a head crashing on a hardwood corner or concrete step. And how could she forget that awful incident when he was 3 or 4, when she shook him until he turned blue because he would not eat his brussel sprouts. It was easier than anyone could ever imagine – accidental death that wasn't really accidental because you were there with a knife or a bad attitude or a temper you could not control.
She shuts off the faucet and gets out.
First light punches through the patterned glass. A lone bird trumpets from atop a TV aerial. McKenzie will soon be awake. The child was safe now, at least. She would never have to face her father in a court or be subjected to McDonalds' visits on Saturday afternoons or his fake apologies or the uncertainty of whether he would try it on again. She could grow into everything that she was ever meant to be, everything that Lenise never was. Yes, perhaps last night had been a blessing after all.
Lenise wraps a towel around the dripping tendrils of her hair and puts on some fresh clothes and goes to her bedroom and closes the door. She pushes the bed away from the wall and pries the loosened floorboard to access the hiding place where she kept valuables from Cody. Just enough space for a bag of bloody clothes, a bunch of stinking rags and a freshly used carving knife.
Then she combs her hair and goes downstairs. She will make pancakes – all American – with maple syrup and bacon, and some of that stuff they called potato hash. Everything her special guest could want.
The plan is to keep everything as normal as possible. But Jennifer doesn't feel normal, far from it. In the dark hours before dawn she jerks awake to find herself lying in a wet patch of sweat, a nightmare just beyond her reach. The single open eye. The stiff crab of a hand. The plum-colored bottom lip.
And there's a refrain, stuck on a loop inside her head. Hank is dead, Hank is dead, Hank is dead.
She's never felt so exposed. What if someone finds out what she's been a part of – what she did – burying him like that to cover her own tracks? What if someone finds out she is a coward of the worst kind? Because that's how she feels, like a coward, sick to her stomach, disgusted that she ever agreed to any of it.
On the third day she begins to clean. Every inch of the house. The skirting boards and window sills and door handles and light switches and refrigerator and oven and bathtub. She scrubs the kitchen floor so many times the blue and black polka dots begin to crack. Jennifer cleans all morning and afternoon and well into the night and into the next day and the day after that. She cleans until the chrome shines and mirrors wink and tiles gleam.
On Friday she decides to get rid of his clothes. She calls Rosemary to reschedule her morning clients and waits until McKenzie leaves for school then retrieves some trash bags and goes to the wardrobe and puts everything in them. The second skins hanging in the wardrobe, gone. The well-worn brown leather loafers and laceless Reeboks, gone. The birthday boxer briefs and cotton socks and faded tshirts and woolen sweaters, gone. His toothbrush and Abraham Lincoln soap on a rope and Remington shaver, gone. All of it, tied up neatly into six trash bags, ready to go to a good home or a bad one, she doesn't care which. She just wants the stuff out, like the memory of that shovel in her hand.
Jennifer takes the bags to the Goodwill and the lady in the Elvis Presley jumper gives her a free fridge magnet and a 10% discount on anything in the store. Jennifer discards the more personal items in a dumpster behind a Lebanese takeaway then goes to work.
But when she gets back home that night and sees the empty section of the wardrobe, she doesn't feel any better.
"Where are Dad's clothes?" McKenzie walks past Jennifer and reaches down to pick up a man's charcoal dress sock on the bottom of the wardrobe floor. "Mom, where are his things?"
Jennifer's mouth goes dry. "I was going to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"I spoke to him last night. He's decided to move away."
"What? Where to?"
"I didn't ask."
McKenzie sits down on the bed. "Will I see him before he goes?"
"He already left. He came today and got his things while we were out."
"Oh."
"It could be for the best, hon."
McKenzie stares at the sock in her hand. "He doesn't care about me, does he?"
"That's not true."
Jennifer puts her hand on McKenzie's arm.
"I'm nothing to him," says McKenzie, blinking back tears.
"He knows he hurt you," says Jennifer.
"Don't defend him."
"Oh God, McKenzie I'm not, but I really believe he's sorry for what he did."
"He's a piece of shit."
"Hey – since when do we talk like that?"
"Since I found out my father was a piece of shit."
"You sound like Lenise."
"So what if I do? At least she's real about things."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"She doesn't pretend everything's alright when it's not." McKenzie lifts a forefinger to brush away her tears. "He shouldn't have left without telling me, I'm not a little kid."
"Hon, we've got each other, you and me, that's not so bad, is it?"
McKenzie looks at Jennifer. Her eyes flash with something Jennifer can't place.
"Mac?" says Jennifer.
"Don't call me that."
Then she walks away.
On Saturday Jennifer can't get out of bed. Her head feels like yeast and her joints ache too. She isn't sure she's slept, really slept, and she doesn't mean just closing her eyes, but going right under into that merciful blackness. It could be why her body feels this way, heavy and drained and shackled, her mind too. It's hard to form thoughts, even when she concentrates, which is too bad because she really needs to think her way out of this mess, like whether she should speak to her lawyer or just go right ahead and confess to police. She's gotten as far as 9 and 1 but can't go all the way, slipping the phone back on its cradle before pressing that final digit. What's stopping her is the image of McKenzie sitting at a beige Formica table and the voice on the loud speaker announcing visiting hours are over.
"Are you going to stay in bed all day?"
McKenzie appears in the doorway of Jennifer's room, dressed in a shapeless sweatshirt and pants, looking more boy than girl.
"Sorry, hon, I'm under the weather."
"We're out of detergent and bleach. We need paper towels too. Get the jumbo-sized ones. And shampoo and soap, don't forget that."
Jennifer glances at McKenzie's raw, cracked hands.
"Maybe it's time to cut back on the showers."
"I can go if you want, if you're not feeling well."
Jennifer gets up. "No, it's alright,"
"And Mom, make sure you get the 100% stuff."
*
The ground shifts like sand beneath her and she grips the cart to help stabilize her clumsy legs. The grocery store is busy given it's a Saturday and she's having problems keeping out of people's way. She usually comes armed with a list and a menu for the week ahead but that was asking too much of herself today, so she wings it, tossing whatever into her cart and hoping for the best.
After passing through the bottleneck in the vegetable section, she makes it to the meat aisle and sees a fresh whole chicken and decides to get one. She will roast it tonight. She and McKenzie will sit at the table and have a regular meal together and pretend to be normal. Jennifer even buys a chocolate tart.
"Ma'am, you alright?"
"Yes, why?"
"That's my cart."
She looks down and sees shaving cream and a six pack of Bud light. "Oh God, sorry."
She quickly removes her items and puts them in her own cart.
"You'll need this too."
The man hands over the knife Jennifer has just selected from the hardware section. She goes cold at the sight of it.
"It's for the chicken," she says.
*
When Jennifer gets home she hears laughter burst from the lounge.
"Lenise bought pizza," says McKenzie, biting into a cheese-laden triangle. "Did you remember the soap?"
"And something for the grown-ups too," says Lenise, holding up a bottle of Bourbon.
Jennifer hasn't seen Lenise since that night. They had agreed to keep their distance but here she was now, sitting on Jennifer's sofa, like a long lost friend of the family.
"Hello, Lenise."
Lenise nods at the grocery bag hanging from Jennifer's hand. "Did you have other plans?"
"It's fine."
"Good because there's enough pizza to feed a rugby team. You're dripping."
"What?"
"Your bag."
Jennifer looks down to see chicken blood seep from the corner.
"Perfect."
Jennifer hurries to the kitchen and dumps the bag in the sink and removes the items.
"You don't want me here."
Jennifer looks over her shoulder. Lenise is standing in the doorway.
"I thought we agreed to keep our distance," says Jennifer, placing the chicken in a dish and putting it in the fridge.
"I understand," says Lenise. "These are difficult circumstances."
Jennifer stops and looks at Lenise. "You've heard something."
"No. And why should I? He's not going to be found. We were very thorough."
Lenise reaches into the cupboard for two glasses and pours some liquor in each.
"You look tired. Have you slept?" she says.
"I feel like I'm swimming in a vat of molasses," says Jennifer.
Lenise studies Jennifer over the rim of her glass.
"Relax. He's vanishing as we speak."
"It's not as easy as that, Lenise," says Jennifer. "I can't just forget about it."
"Listen Jenny, you need to learn to let go. Stress is not good for the soul." She hands Jennifer a glass. "McKenzie told me her father moved away."
"Yes."
"You did the right thing, telling her that."
"I lied to her."
"Stop looking back, focus on the future," Lenise sits down. "Actually, I have a job interview next week. It's a good opportunity. In fact, I was wondering if you had something I could borrow – a nice suit jacket or dress."
Jennifer stares into her glass. A stray hair skirts across the surface.
"I don't know if I have anything suitable."
"My clothes are a little dated," says Lenise.
"I'm not sure we're the same size."
"You'll find something."
And before Jennifer can say anything else, McKenzie is calling out. The pizza is getting cold.
The ivory blouse is a perfect fit and Lenise can hardly believe she's actually wearing something so nice. She's never been lucky enough to own such a thing of beauty and, at first, she's worried she won't have anything to match it. But after hunting through her wardrobe, she finds a simple black skirt and pair of navy sandals. She would have preferred the black pumps but the heels are worn down to the plastic bone and she doesn't want to make a bad first impression.
She looks in the floor length mirror on the back of the wardrobe door and smiles. Yes, a true professional. Elegant and feminine. And the color was really lovely. It brought out the best in her hair – the harsh ginger she thought she was stuck with for life had transformed into much lovelier hues of henna and copper.
The feel of the silk was wonderful too, the way it floated like a caress across her skin. There's a faint trace of Jenny's sweat and perfume, like a tester strip left too long in your handbag, but Lenise doesn't mind. If she was honest, it makes her feel closer to Jenny, in a sisterly way, of course.
Yes, she likes that,
sisters
.
To avoid dirtying the blouse, Lenise lays a towel on the driver's seat and heads for her interview over on Barlett Road. When she gets there, she's twenty minutes early so she circles the block and parks under a tree to think through some answers.
She wants a cigarette. But this time she's determined to quit. It's expensive and trashy and since she's turning over a new leaf, there's really no place in her life for such bad habits. Lenise fears she's been a bad influence on Jenny in terms of the smoking. But those had been special circumstances. Well, not any more. All that was behind them now. Mind over matter, she would tell Jennifer, together they were stronger than that.
Thankfully, Lenise has overcome the small problem of not being able to mention her last six months of work history. She was going to tell them about Camille de Silva falsely accusing her of a crime she didn't commit, but then came up with a better idea. She'd stated on her resume she had worked as a receptionist in Jenny's clinic.
"If you could just say I worked here for six months."
"You want me to lie?"
"They probably won't even call."
In the end, after some pretty intensive cajoling, Jennifer had reluctantly agreed. It was irritating that it took so much to convince her, especially in light of how Lenise had gone out of her way to help Jenny in her hour of need.
Lenise unwinds the window for some fresh air and thinks about how she will cope with the big question.
Tell us about yourself
. A person could get lost in the wastelands with that one but she was fully prepared, had this whole spiel about being a fighter in life, and how even though many times everything seemed to go against her, she'd persevere,
and how even though life or God or whatever seemed to take great pleasure in knocking her down, she would simply dust herself off and get back up again.
Lenise's eyes begin to well. They'd be fools not to give her the job.
*
The grocery store manager was one of those bitter, older women, who seemed resentful about life. For most of the interview, she sat with her hands laced across her fat stomach looking disinterested in what Lenise had to say. At one point, she even had the nerve to ask Lenise to repeat something because she couldn't understand her accent. You should listen more carefully, lard-arse, Lenise had wanted to say. She had even called the woman Ma'am several times and lardy seemed to like that very much. In the end, there was nothing to worry about because Lenise got the job on the spot. Things were looking up. Her life had turned a corner. She would call Jenny and share the good news.