The Big Bang (22 page)

“I promise, this isn’t going to be as bad as it sounds. You’ll come here. I’ll be back and forth. We’ll figure it out.”

She pulled the brake on her bike and put her head on the handlebars. “For how long?”

“Possibly end of the year.”

She began to cry.

“Hope, I’m going to be home at least one week a month.”

“Ovulation week?”

“If not, I stipulated they have to fly you out every other month.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Assuming I can schedule around what’s going on at the job site and the home office.”

“You have to.”

With his pause, a bead of sweat traveled from the nape of her neck down her spine. “Starting when?”

“I need to be back in London on the seventeenth.”

“But I’m not ovulating until the following week.”

“I have no choice,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” she said.

“Hope,” he exhaled heavily. “I can’t make the job of getting you pregnant get me fired from my real job.”

“Then I’ll fly back with you.”

“I’ll be working fourteen-hour days.”

“And I’ll be there to make sure you eat and rest and—”

“And get you pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“One month isn’t going to change anything.”

“Feels like everything.”

“Damn it, Hope. Why does this have to be so damn hard?”

“I ask myself the same thing almost every day.” The lump in her throat dissolved into another sob.

“Can’t we do the best we can, and if nothing happens, start up again first of the year?”

“I thought you wanted a baby, too?”

“I want less stress about the whole thing. I’m starting to wonder if that’s the reason you’re not pregnant yet.”

“I’m starting to wonder why you’re not more stressed.”

“Can’t you be a little more patient?”

“I’ve been patient for years.”

“I want to feel like having a baby isn’t a total obsession.”

“I want to be pregnant so badly.”

“I want to feel like sex isn’t a job. I want to be able to enjoy it again.”

“And I don’t want, can’t, talk about this anymore, right now.” She hung up and slid off the bike.

She crossed the basement, stopped at the wet bar, and pulled the Gray Goose from the shelf. The phone was already ringing again before she’d finished filling her half-empty Gatorade bottle with vodka.

***

Turn lemons into lemonade.

All Frank thought while Laney, whom he’d just hung up with, raged over Randall Fowler’s last-minute ribbon cutting cancellation. He’d been looking for the right opportunity to call Hope for almost two weeks and suddenly had it.

“I have nothing more to say to you right now,” Hope said by way of hello when he did.

She’d shown up the morning after the pizza party and fulfilled her duty to oversee the final stages of the planting, then turned back for her house and all but disappeared. He’d called, had Maryellen stop by with candy, went so far as to question Tim Trautman, who reported getting the same vague
doing fine, thanks
message she’d left for him. He’d about run out of ideas for trying to connect with her until Laney called about Randall’s ribbon-cutting bailout.

Turn lemons into lemonade.

“But what would you say if I told you I have an offer you can’t refuse?”
he asked.

There was an extended pause, presumably where Hope checked her caller ID. “Frank?”

“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time.”

“I’m sorry. I was expecting, thought, you were Jim.”

“I suspect I’m glad I’m not—at the moment, anyway.”

Hope started to cry.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked after a respectful pause.

“I don’t know how anyone can help,” she said through intensifying tears. “Jim’s job in London’s been extended.”

“For how long?”

“End of the year, maybe.”

“I see,” he said, processing the implications and, despite her opinion to the contrary, opportunities to help.

Her sobs sounded animalistic with pain.

“Hope,” he said after letting her cry it out. “I know it’s hard to imagine at the moment, but the most impossible situations have a miraculous way of working out.”

“Not if Jim doesn’t even want to try to get pregnant until his job’s over.”

“That what he said?”

“If I’d known this was how it was going to be, I’d probably be in L.A. or San Francisco or… maybe not even married.”

“You are where you’re supposed to be.”

“Waiting for nothing to happen?”

“The Lord always has a plan,” Frank said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He waited until the crying that followed eased up.

“From my experience, the more challenging the situation the more magnificent His larger plan.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Maybe you already are.”

“Meaning what?”

“The timing of my call.”

She sniffled. “How’s that?”

“Randall Fowler had a last-minute meeting and cancelled out for this morning.”

“Isn’t the ribbon cutting in less than two hours?”

“An hour and forty-five, to be exact,” he said. “Which is why I called you to do the honors.”

“You want me to ribbon cut?”

“Considering how many compliments I’ve already gotten about the playgrounds, I should have asked you in the first place.”

“I’m flattered,” she said.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

She took what sounded like another sip of whatever she was drinking. “After Jim’s news, I don’t know how I could possibly—”

“Miss the chance to be recognized for your landscaping skill among appreciative neighbors, many of whom are obligated by covenant to complete their yards by summer?”

“I’m afraid growing my business isn’t my biggest priority.”

“If Jim has to be out of town for the rest of the year, filling unwanted down time may well be.”

He couldn’t take her silence as agreement, but at least she seemed to be considering what he’d said. “Hope, I know The Lord guided both the timing and purpose of my call.”

“Even if that’s true, I don’t know if I can get myself together enough to—”

“Her sentence was interrupted by the telltale blip of a call waiting on her end of the line.

“That’s Jim.”

The phone blipped again.

“Don’t you need to answer?”

“I can’t face talking to him right now.”

Another blip.

“I need to get my head around things a little.”

Instead of switching over to talk to him, she began to cry softly.

“Will he keep calling until you answer?”

“Most likely.”

The call waiting tone blipped once again.

“You won’t hear the phone if you’re across the street enjoying a calming sip or two of champagne.”

***

Eva set aside one bottle of champagne, combined the partially full case with a half case of kid-friendly Martinelli’s sparkling cider, and loaded it atop the other boxes on her dolly. “Where’s Heather?”

“Bathroom,” Libby said. “She’ll be back in a sec.”

“Better be. We have to have all this loaded into your mom’s car and over to the playground in fifteen minutes or—”

“Or my mom will flip,” Margaret said. “She’s been pissed off and bat shit crazy all morning.”

Heather reappeared in the rec kitchen by her dolly.

“Back just in time.” She glanced sideways at Tyler. “What about Lauren?”

Before he had a chance to fake nonchalance, Lauren rushed through the door, a noisy blur of red lifeguard uniform and jangling
official
whistle. “Staff meeting just ended.”

Annoying as Lauren’s new getup was, together as she and Tyler still were, Eva smiled anyway and popped the cork.

Everything was falling into place, exactly as planned. The spell called for a full moon, attendance by all coven members, and, along with some tricky-to-locate ingredients, like Thieves Vinegar and Black Water,
an evening of significance
. When she checked the lunar calendar she couldn’t believe the next full moon coincided with Memorial Weekend. Her mom tried to smooth things over by promising to talk to her dad about rethinking his decision, or at least make the torture worth Eva’s while by looking at new cars when she got home, but both of them knew it would never work. Didn’t matter. The Goddess was with her, wanted her to do the spell to get her dad out of the picture before that stupid camp. So with her, Heather’s family decided to push back a trip to California so they wouldn’t miss the party, and then Lauren and the others who’d gone for rec center jobs were all assigned day shifts before she had a chance to tell them they had to be off by nighttime. Heather even got ahold of some spell-enhancing hash and baked it into brownies for them to have on the walk back to her house. The irony of her dad’s latest edict, making the evening party mandatory for all youth group members so they could set up and clean up, was almost too cool to be believed. All she had to do was get her mom to let everyone off by about 8:45 so they could be at her house by 9:30 and doing the spell at exactly 10:03.

Eva raised the open bottle.

“To my dad’s new ministry in Africa or wherever it is the Goddess sees fit to send him.” She savored the sting of bubbles in her nose. “May there be enough dangerous snakes and heathens to distract him until I leave for non-Christian college.”

***

Tim enjoyed the beautiful day, the impressive balloon bouquets, and the fanfare unfolding around him. More enjoyable was the sight of his family, all of them already a part of the very fabric of the neighborhood celebration. Theresa, who he’d set up in an aptly named beach chair, complete with sun umbrella and plastic flute of sparkling cider, greeted new friends and commiserated about those last few uncomfortable weeks. The boys scampered around the play structure with their buddies. Lauren looked adorable in her lifeguard uniform, standing amid the youth group kids, and practically glued to the Pierce-Cohns’ son.

He looked around for Will and/or Meg, with whom he’d already met in his new board member capacity. They’d shared an official hello, talked politics, and had the obligatory
our children seem to be spending time together
chat. All he needed to do was introduce both of them to Theresa so they could chat together about the kids and any awkwardness about having taken over Will’s position would dissipate for good.

The move to Melody Mountain Ranch had been overwhelmingly good for all of them, but especially him. One dip into the new, much more upscale pond and any hesitations he’d had about leaving Eagle’s Nest Vista were forgotten. He smiled, patted a fellow board member on the shoulder, and worked his way through the crowd. Stopping at the play structure, he placed the tray of half-filled champagne glasses he’d been passing around on a counter-height step leading up to the corkscrew slide. He picked up one half-full glass, poured it into another, and left the empty behind. Setting the full flute back on the tray, he continued on toward the gazebo and a conversation group that included Jane Hunt, Maryellen Griffin, and, until he’d stepped away a minute earlier, Frank Griffin. Before he reached the women, who were already poised to descend on his tray for refills, he removed the extra-full glass, took the spot vacated by the ever-present Frank, and handed the champagne to the event’s unofficial guest of honor.

Hope Jordan looked that much more beautiful and ethereal framed by all the flowers and plantings. But even with
father figure
Frank at her side, next to her since she’d appeared at the edge of the playground, she’d taken an unusually tentative, shaky looking step into the crowd. As she accepted her well-deserved compliments and clandestine attempts to cheer her up in the face of her recent disappointment, she looked very much like she needed the drink she plucked from the first tray that chanced past.

Not to mention the double she’d accepted, and was now sipping, courtesy of him.

It was only 10
A.M
.

If she was drinking this much this early, she’d undoubtedly be in high spirits by the time the potluck ramped into high gear.

As Frank, who seemed hell-bent on cock-blocking him, returned toward his self-appointed post at her side, Rod Stewart’s oldie, “Tonight’s the Night,” began to loop through Tim’s head like a cheesy champagne-enhanced soundtrack.

Tim smiled at Hope. Ain’t nobody, particularly Frank Griffin, could stop him now, or ever.

***

Will reached behind Nicole’s sock drawer, located Madison’s missing bathing suit top, reunited it with the bottom, and tossed both pieces into the suitcase.

“We’re out the door,” Meg called up to him from the front hall.

“’Kay.” He put Nicole’s favorite bathing suit along with his best guess as to an acceptable spare into the girls’ shared suitcase.

“You coming soon?” she asked.

“Just need a few minutes to wrap up some packing.”

“Want us to wait?”

What he wanted was to have scheduled their trip, not around package deals on Disney Cruises, but to miss Memorial Weekend at home entirely. He sighed, took a deep breath of cool, fresh spring air. Or, at the very least, he wanted to wake up to the forecast of heavy rain instead of the ridiculously azure sky and clear views of the snow-capped mountains he would have otherwise relished.

The tinny circus music of an approaching ice cream truck filtered through the house.

“Ice cream!” the girls yelled in unison. “Mommy, we need money!”

Their impatient squeals felt like fingernails on a chalkboard as Meg presumably fished for whatever was the going rate for the dubious delight of purchasing vaguely frostbitten treats from a potential pedophile.

He sighed as he heard them take off across the street. At least he didn’t have to worry about their safety with the mass of fellow parents, homeowners, and people he’d been actively avoiding since Laney’s party. “Go ahead, Meg.” He pulled the girls’ terry cloth cover-ups from their closet. “You need to get over there so you aren’t late.”

“So do you,” she said.

But not until after his wife kicked off the festivities with one of her
kudos on a successful completion of a community-based project
speeches to her fellow constituents. Admittedly obligatory on her part, wasn’t it concession enough when her own husband had petitioned against the project? Or, that their son was helping out at the party as a member of the youth group? Never mind their daughters were probably already lapping up ice cream he was almost as much against as the playground. For him to sit there, struggling to maintain his political spouse game face, was above and beyond whatever call of duty he had to endure. Will threw a few pairs of socks into the open suitcase and reached for the zipper. “I just need to make sure we’re basically ready so we’re not scrambling around to finish up later.”