The Big Bang (25 page)

“Jim said to say thank you,” she finally said.

“For what?”

“Being there for me.”

“I am absolutely there for you.” Frank’s smile couldn’t possibly reflect his pleasure. “Which is why I had to make sure everything was kosher. When Tim took you down here and—”

“Tim’s going to have a baby, you know.”

So sick of hearing that name. “More than one.”

“I want to have a baby, too.” She began to cry.

He put his arm around her and tried to come up with the platitude or proverb that would comfort her, give her the faith and guidance he knew she depended on him to provide. Maybe he was feeling the effects of that last cocktail or maybe something about the citrusy freshness of her hair kept him from thinking clearly, but nothing seemed to make enough sense to say.

Patience is a virtue.

All good things come to those who wait.

Have patience.

“Tim promised.”

Frank’s mouth felt cottony. “Promised you what?”

“A baby.”

“Tim promised you a baby?”

“When?” She buried her head in his shoulder. “When is it going to be my turn?”

Frank closed his eyes, willed himself to focus on saying something poignant, something to overshadow whatever meaningless promise Trautman had offered. “To lose patience is to lose the battle,” hopped on some obscure neural pathway and floated past his lips.

She looked up at him.

He wondered where he’d heard the quote before and how he knew the author was Gandhi, but never for a moment questioned the hand of the Divine as his inspiration. “Come with me.” He wiped her cheek and grasped her hand. He was suddenly sure of exactly what she needed; what he was being called upon to do to make her feel comforted, encouraged, and supported in a way that Trautman felt free to promise, but only he could provide. “I want to show you something.”

He led her toward the back staircase, up the stairs, down the hallway, and unlocked the multipurpose room. As soon as they stepped inside, he flipped on the light, closed the door behind them, and led her to the walk-in art supply closet. With the light from the outer room to guide his way, he grabbed a box sealed with packing tape and marked FRANK GRIFFIN HOB USE ONLY. To make sure no one felt inclined to mess with it, he’d also added FRAGILE.

He placed the box between them on the small work counter.

Hope leaned against him. “What is it?”

He pulled a penknife from his pocket and sliced through the tape. “My baby.”

“Oh!” she said, looking into the box. “Is this—?”

“For five years, I prayed my heart out and endured watching practically every minister I know break ground on their church.” He sighed. “I finally hid my dream here where it wouldn’t remind me of what I didn’t have.”

As she ran her finger lightly along the bell tower, her face lit up with recognition of the similarity of their desire. “Your baby.”

“The baby I’ve never lost faith would eventually be mine.” He glanced at the artist’s rendering of the Rose Window replica that would grace the Melody Mountain Community Church. “After more prayers, pleas, and patience than I thought possible, Henderson Homes called about switching out the location of the playground and like that, what seemed impossible fell like a plum into my lap.”

“You’re going to have your baby?”

He put his hand atop hers. “We are.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“All I need is a few more bucks to close the deal and your help to bring the Melody Mountain Community Church to life.”

“You want me to—?”

“Collaborate with me.”

“Baby,” she slurred.

“That you and I will bring into magnificence together.”

“Wonderful.” She threw her arms around him. “So wonderful.”

Frank found himself holding her, inhaling her floral scent, the warmth of her words sending exhilarating warmth through him.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you. I would love to. I want… I would love to do it with you.” She fell slack, her breast pressing against his forearm.

His hard-on pressed against the inside of his khakis.

“It’s all going to be so perfect, so beautiful, Jim.”

“I’m not Jim,” Frank said.

“Oops,” Hope whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “I meant Tim.”

***

Maryellen squirted dish soap, paused to admire the delicate, rainbow bubbles floating past her face, and turned the hot water on the plates Laney wanted washed and stored for the next community event.

While the sink filled, she collected platters, utensils, and serving bowls piled up along the counters of the rec center kitchen. With everything that still needed rinsing and drying, she should have been mad at Laney for the timing of her latest bout of the
vapors
. She should have been madder at Frank for enlisting her to finish up while he ingratiated himself with everyone from Laney to Hope. Mostly, she should have been mad at herself for allowing Eva to talk her into letting the kids off when she knew they couldn’t possibly have finished the job.

She should have been mad, probably would be, if she hadn’t spotted the platter that had eluded her earlier in the evening.

Mediterranean salmon salad.

Wiping a clean-ish fork on her shirt, she stabbed at some stray greens and topped them with a nice-sized flake of salmon. Olive tapenade danced on her tongue as she polished off the last pieces of lettuce, picked up the platter, and collected a couple others to slide into the running water. While they soaked, she turned back for a chip-and-dip that had an unbroken Frito Scoop nestled in the crumbs. She obliged the Frito, which was practically begging for a plunge into some brown-edged, but otherwise palatable guacamole, by filling it to the fluted edge.

And then eating him.

Or her.

After a barbecued chicken wing, some carrots dipped in ranch, and two quesadilla triangles, any irritation she could ever feel toward her daughter for leaving a half-finished job gave way to a bliss she hadn’t felt in forever.

Eating.

Anything.

Everything.

She couldn’t believe how insanely hungry she was, how lucky she was to have the run of the leftovers, and how much she wanted a bite of the lasagna clinging to a casserole she was about to dump into the sink. Setting the dish aside, she turned off the water, pulled out a handful of plates to make room, and tossed them into the trash.

They fell to the bottom of the steel can with a liberating swoosh and a thud.

Another thud followed from down the administrative hall.

Maryellen heard the hum of voices.

She glanced at the clock—9:07. If whoever was coming by could bring a few things out, she’d have plenty of time to get everything that needed washing back out on the tables for people to take home with them. She grabbed a small stack of wet but otherwise clean platters, headed for the kitchen door, and peeked into the hallway. The empty hallway.

From behind her, the thuds grew more rhythmic.

She expected the warm feeling that crept into her cheeks, but not the giggle that escaped her throat, that she practically watched float through the back wall toward whoever had snuck away from the party for some unsanctioned alone time. She thought of grabbing her cell and calling the covenant violation hotline to report the animalistic grunts that, were Laney not long gone, she might possibly worry sounded something like Frank.

Or, Laney and Sarah.

Or, Laney and anyone, really.

She ignored the shudder of something and headed back toward the sink, set the platters on the drying rack, and turned the water back on. Before dunking the lasagna pan, she peeled a mostly dried noodle from the corner, stuffed it in her mouth, and relished the combination of spongy give and dry crunch.

She turned the water off again.

Heard shuffling from behind the wall.

She turned the faucet on, pulled the plug, and left the water running.

On her way to collect more items for rinsing, she stopped to admire the neon pinks and oranges of a small vase of Gerber daisies, rescued two lonely celery sticks from some threatening-looking mushrooms, and dunked them into seven-layer dip.

Ate them.

Ate the mushrooms.

By the time she made it back and turned off the water, the noises behind the wall had stopped. With no one nearby to give her a hand, she dried a load of clean platters and headed out toward the pool area.

Frank stood at the opposite end of the pool talking with Scott Marsh, Lloyd Levis, and a group that didn’t include the long lost Hope Jordan. He waved her over like he’d been looking for her, waiting for her to join the conversation.

Like he wanted her beside him.

She laid the platters out on a table then looped around the pool.

“How’s it goin’ hon?” Frank kissed her cheek.

Pinched her bottom.

“I need to get a few more serving plates cleaned and back out here before everyone starts to head home.”

“My girl’s been working her tail off today,” he announced to the group.

Maryellen felt herself blush, couldn’t quite think of exactly what to say in response to his unexpected acknowledgment. “Find Hope?” she asked instead.

“Trautman,” he said.

“She was with Tim?”

“She’s in the ladies’ room now. Suffering the effects of some over celebration last I heard,” he said. “You should check on her when you head back inside.”

Maryellen was about to say yes, or sure, or no problem, but belched instead. “Oops,” she giggled. “Excuse me.”

Frank gave her a sideways glance. “What were you eating?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Your breath smells like cheese dip.”

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t had any cheese that she could remember, but the realization of what and how much she had eaten began to burble up.

“Would you mind checking on Hope, please?” Frank asked, turning back to Lloyd Levis. “I really do like your idea about starting an intra-subdivision table tennis round robin.”

Dismissed from the conversation, she grabbed a few plates from the dessert table and turned back for the kitchen. Dropping the plates on a counter, she helped herself to lemon bar crumbs and headed for the lobby bathroom.

“Hope?” she asked.

“Nope,” whoever was in the stall answered.

Nope Hope.

Two more women walked in.

Her stomach had begun to ache, but she couldn’t possibly relieve the pain with so many people around. She made a point of washing her hands before leaving the ladies’ room. She turned back toward the kitchen planning to finish the dishes while she waited for the bathroom to clear out, meant to, but saw the moon, huge, yellow, and full through the plate glass front doors.

Full of cheese.

***

“Where’s Lauren?” Eva asked.

Tyler kicked at imaginary pebbles. “It’s just that…”

“It’s just that what?” The chirp-hum of the locusts was deafening while she waited for his answer.

“I think we’re going to have to put the spell off.”

Cold rushed down Eva’s spine. “Say what?”

“Lauren had to take off.”

“What the fuck do you mean, Lauren had to take off?”

“Her mom’s having the babies.”

“Like right now?”

“Her dad called and said they needed to go to the hospital.”

“It takes forever to have babies. Get her. She needs to be—”

“She left from the party with her dad to meet their mom at the hospital.”

“No,” Eva said. “No. No. No.”

“It’s not her fault her mom’s having the babies right now,” Tyler’s voice cracked.

“Did I say it was her fucking fault?”

“No, but…”

“But we’re doing the spell without her.”

“We can’t.”

That bitch may have sashayed in and charmed everyone with her dimples and her fake innocent act, and she may have turned Tyler’s questionable brain to mush by shaking her tits for him, but no matter what the excuse was, she wasn’t going to mess this up. “We have to.”

“What if we wait until I get back from Florida, then we can try again with—”

“No full moon and both of the Estridge twins at camp?”

“Shit,” he said.

“Tonight is the only night we can do it before I’m supposed to be leaving for that stupid camp.” She paused to catch her suddenly ragged breath. “You know the Goddess is with us.”

Or was, until the hash brownies disappeared from the cabinet where she’d stowed them in the rec center kitchen. By the time they discovered someone had found the tin and brought it out to the dessert table, only crumbs were left.

Now, Lauren’s mother was in labor.

“I don’t see how we can do the spell tonight without a thirteenth—?”

“Every other detail’s lined up.”

“Except our thirteenth. The outcome’s too unpredictable.”

“What does it matter if my dad gets called to convert jungle natives or be the head minister in Antarctica? I’m cool with whatever, as long as he’s gone before I’m supposed to be.”

“Eva, you know everything has to be right if we have any chance of this thing working.”

“And you know I’ve gotta do something about my dad. He’s going to ruin my life.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Gotta try.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

“Then it’s your girlfriend’s fault.”

“This isn’t her fault.”

“No need to go defending her.”

Tyler looked shaky, teary even. “You expect me to still do the spell with you, right?”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“I won’t. Not unless I know for a fact you’re not going to make Lauren pay for something that isn’t her fault.”

“You must really like her.”

His nonanswer felt like a scream.

“I see,” she said.

“If I hear you’ve said or done anything to her while I’m away…”

“I promise, I won’t do anything to Lauren while you’re gone,” she said.

“Swear?”

“I’ll be too busy dealing with whatever happens to my dad.”

***

“Better late than never,” Meg whispered, and not entirely unkindly, before turning back to the group of neighbors/constituents circled, as usual, around her.

Will couldn’t have agreed more. He scanned the pool deck for Hope, but didn’t see her anywhere.