Swallowing Stones (7 page)

Over the past few days she had rearranged everything.
Now every object on her dresser was carefully aligned. The bedspread was smooth and taut, not a single wrinkle. Every piece of clothing in her closet was neatly lined up by color, and every shoe was snuggled beside its mate in tidy rows.

Each time she left her room, she inspected every inch to make sure nothing was out of place. And when she returned, the comfort she felt in finding such order was so intense, she wanted to cry. Each and every object was always just as she’d left it. Nothing had changed.

Perhaps the people downstairs might have thought this strange if they had seen her room only a few days earlier: chaotic heaps of discarded dirty clothes, crusty plates, glasses gummy with dried soda, papers and open books tossed haphazardly in corners. But that room had belonged to another Jenna.

They might have thought it unusual, too, that she spent many of those private hours, after she’d retreated to her well-ordered sanctuary, working on math problems. But Jenna couldn’t have cared less what they thought. Math was her passion.

She could never make those people downstairs understand that she found these equations more comforting than their sympathetic words and hugs. Solving math problems cleared her mind; it left no room for anything else. Equations produced only one correct answer. You either got it right or you didn’t. There was no middle ground. No murky gray area to confuse you.

o
n the morning of the funeral, her mother stood in Jenna’s doorway staring at her daughter’s attire. Her well-shaped eyebrows slid into a frown.

“What?” Jenna smoothed her long skirt, then spread her hands palms up. She looked down at her heavy lace-up boots. It had rained all the previous day and most of the night. The grass at the cemetery would be wet, the ground muddy. The boots were a practical decision. Her mother, the queen of practicality, should have been able to see that. Jenna braced herself for an argument.

But Meredith Ward, much to Jenna’s surprise, simply shrugged and began absently brushing at a wrinkle in her skirt. She said nothing. Her own outfit was perfectly coordinated. Jenna noticed she wore high-heeled black patent leather shoes. The heels were sure to sink into the soft mud, throwing her mother off balance. The image of her mother suddenly tipping over in front of all those people made Jenna smile, while at the same time a wave of shame for even thinking such a thing on the day of her father’s funeral washed over her, dampening her amusement.

Jenna hiked up her skirt, put her foot on the bedspread, and double-knotted the shoelace, trying to ignore her mother.

Meredith Ward hovered in the doorway for another minute, although Jenna was no longer sure why. Then, much to her relief, her mother turned and headed downstairs.

The rest of the morning was a blur. People she had never met, coworkers from her father’s office, took her hand and whispered their muted words of sympathy. Close friends and family swarmed about her in the hot, sticky air until she thought she might suffocate. Overhead the dark clouds rumbled and threatened, but the rain never came. And when it was time to leave, Jenna stared down at the casket in front of her and wondered again, for the thousandth time, what she was supposed to be feeling.

o
n the hot July evenings that followed, while bees hovered lazily over the borders of pink impatiens, Jenna lay in the hammock by the pool waiting for her father to come home from work. She would find herself doing this and then realize that it was not going to happen.

Sometimes, when she opened her eyes slowly, the shadows from the trees in the woods behind her house played tricks and made her believe she actually saw him. But on this particular night, just as the fireflies began to appear, the shadow that moved toward her from the wooded path turned out to be Andrea Sloan, her best friend.

Andrea lived in the house behind Jenna’s on the next street over. Their houses, like all of the homes on the block, were separated by a thick wooded area that spanned about fifty yards. Over the years the two girls had worn a footpath between their two backyards.

Andrea pulled an aluminum chair over to where Jenna lay in the hammock and sat down. She put her hand on the edge of the hammock and began to rock it back and forth as if she were rocking a cradle. “Come to the pool with me tomorrow. I can get you a guest badge.”

Jenna folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the stars. “Why? We can swim here.”

“Yeah, but everybody else will be at the community pool.”

Jenna looked over at her friend. Andrea had let go of the side of the hammock and was tugging nervously at a tight ringlet of short dark hair.

“I’d feel weird,” Jenna told her.

“Why?”

“Well, everybody at the funeral … you know … was being so … nice. It gave me the creeps.”

“Yeah? So? You don’t want them to feel bad about what happened to your dad?” Andrea looked confused.

Jenna sighed. “It’s not that. I just hate the idea of people feeling sorry for me.”

Andrea sat back and plunked her bare feet unceremoniously on Jenna’s stomach, using it for a footrest. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” she said.

“You don’t?”

“No. I think it really stinks, what happened to your dad. But I don’t feel sorry for you.” She made a face. “That would be like pity or something. I don’t do pity.”

Jenna laughed. “At least not very well, anyway.”

Andrea lowered her feet back to the ground. “Besides, Jason’s coming home tonight, isn’t he? So he’ll probably be there.”

Jenna had had a crush on Jason Friedman since the seventh grade. Then finally, in April, they had started going out. She had never been happier. Now she realized with amazement that she hadn’t even thought about him these past weeks.

Jason and his family always spent part of July camping in Maine. It occurred to her that Jason probably didn’t even know about her dad. How could he? His family had left before it had happened. And since his father always elected to go camping in remote places that had no phones or plumbing, insisting his family could live without television and newspapers for a few weeks, the chances of their having heard about the accident were practically nil.

“Come on,” Andrea coaxed, “it’ll be fun.”

Jenna looked down at her bare feet and wiggled her toes. “I don’t know. Maybe some other time.”

“Some other time? That’s it?” Andrea reached over and pinched Jenna on the forearm.

Jenna jumped. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

“Well, I am,” Jenna snapped, “so you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Andrea slapped her palms on her thighs and took a deep breath to show her disgust. “I just thought you’d want to get out of the house. Face it, Jen, you haven’t been anywhere in weeks. You can’t hang out in your house forever.”

A cool breeze skimmed over Jenna’s bare arms and legs. She wanted to tell Andrea that yes, she could hang out in her house forever. And she might have said just that if Andrea hadn’t gripped the side of the hammock again and begun tugging it back and forth. Jenna grabbed the sides and held on.

“Are you listening to me?” Andrea shouted. “I mean, Jen, there have been parties practically every night around here. How are you going to meet any seniors if you don’t go to parties?”

Jenna didn’t respond. She doubted she’d ever want to go to another party for as long as she lived. At parties she would have to pretend that everything was fine, as if her father’s death had been just some brief interruption in her life and now everything was back to normal. It would be too painful.

Andrea locked her arms across her chest. “I’m not going to give up until you say you’ll go with me to the pool. I’ll come over here every day and drive you crazy until you say yes,” she said, thrusting her chin forward.

Jenna had to laugh. She knew how stubborn Andrea could be. She’d nag her until she gave in. Jenna also understood that her friend was only trying to help. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll go. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Andrea said, standing up. And she did look pleased, as if she had completed some secret mission. “I’ll come over about ten, okay?”

“Right. Ten.” Jenna watched her friend cross the yard. Then she lay back, closed her eyes, and imagined Jason had been the one to wander into the yard that evening instead of Andrea.

w
hen Jenna went inside a few minutes later, she headed straight for the refrigerator. Neither she nor her mother had bothered much with regular meals, eating only when they thought of it, which wasn’t often. Jenna hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

She studied the casserole dishes and the endless stacks of Tupperware filled with soups and salads. Edible condolences from friends and neighbors. Even now, people were still stopping by unexpectedly to leave freshly baked blueberry muffins or a tortellini salad. Jenna wondered if it would ever end.

Overwhelmed by the profusion of colored plastic, she reached for the most convenient container, which happened to be filled with potato salad that had gone bad. She gagged, and stuffed the salad back into the refrigerator. Finally, without giving it much thought, she slapped together a peanut butter sandwich, then tossed the gummy knife into a sink full of unwashed dishes.

The house was silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator as she wandered from room to room, idly chewing the sandwich. Dozens of wilting flower arrangements, sent by well-meaning friends—in spite of the family’s request that the money be donated to charity instead—still sat on tables in the
living room and dining room. The water in their containers had become stagnant. The two rooms smelled sour. Jenna held her nose as she walked through.

When she reached the family room, she found her mother asleep on the couch. A half-eaten slice of whole wheat toast, thinly coated with grape jelly, sat on a plate on the floor. A tiny blob of jelly stained the front of her mothers light blue T-shirt. On the floor in front of the couch lay a flower-print comforter.

Jenna shivered, stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, and rubbed her upper arms. The room was ice-cold. The air-conditioning was on full blast, as usual.

She lifted the comforter from the floor and gently laid it over her mother.

Meredith Ward blinked and, with eyes only half open, said, “Jen?”

“Yeah?”

Her mother nuzzled her cheek against one of the throw pillows. “Did you have dinner yet?”

Jenna wiped the peanut butter from her fingers onto her shorts. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Her mother’s eyes closed again.

Jenna stood for a while, her arms dangling limply at her sides, watching her mother. During the past few weeks they had been unusually careful with each other. There had been no arguments, no scenes, yet Jenna felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Mom?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have you ever wondered why? I mean, why us? Why Daddy?” She had been plagued by these questions but hadn’t dared to ask them out loud.

Her mother was awake now. She sat up, shoving the comforter
into a ball at the end of the couch, then stared at it for a few minutes. Jenna saw that the rims of her eyes were swollen and red. She envied her mother her tears.

Finally her mother said, “I don’t have an answer for that, Jen.”

“Is it something we did? I mean, I know this sounds really childish, but I can’t help feeling like we’re being punished.”

Meredith reached for Jenna’s hand and pulled her down beside her on the couch. “I know I’m
supposed
to say something reasonable, like ‘There aren’t any simple answers to these things. They just happen. It’s not because of anything we did.’ ” She began to pick at the dried jelly on her T-shirt. Her eyes grew moist. “I never realized before how ridiculously simplistic those words sound.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not being very helpful, am I?”

“It’s okay, Mom. It’d be worse if you started spouting all those hollow clichés just to make me feel better.”

Her mother took a deep breath. “What keeps going through my mind is, I did everything I was supposed to, and this is how it turns out! I feel … I don’t know … cheated, somehow.”

Jenna shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, everything you were supposed to do?”

Meredith continued to scrape at the stubborn jelly stain. Jenna saw that her mother had been picking at the skin around her cuticles. Her fingers looked raw.

“I’m not sure, really. I suppose I thought all I had to do was play by the rules. If I worked hard, if I was a good wife and mother, if I was good at my job, kept a neat house …” Her voice trailed off. She pulled a soggy tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I guess what I thought was, if I did all those things, we’d all live to a ripe old age.” She snorted a little laugh
and looked over at Jenna. Her mouth was twisted in an awkward half smile.

Jenna tried to think of something to say, but no words would come.

Her mother leaned over and brushed a strand of Jenna’s hair behind her ear. “Marge Evans from work told me that I shouldn’t think of myself as a victim. She says what happened to us is part of life.”

“Yeah, the rotten part.”

Meredith squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand hard against her mouth. After a few minutes she said, “I’m so sorry, Jen. I wish you hadn’t seen me like this. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I should be comforting you. And here I am—Oh, God, I must sound so angry. But I can’t help it. I keep thinking I failed him in some way, you know? That there was something I could have—
should have
—done. And if I’d only done it, he’d still be here.”

Jenna felt as if her entire body had been weighted down with rocks. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get up off the couch when the time came. “There’s nothing you could have done, Mom.”

Her mother reached for the comforter at the end of the couch and stretched it across both of them. She pulled the edge up beneath her chin and lowered her face into the soft folds.

Jenna let her head flop against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “I still keep expecting him to come home.”