The Big Bang (28 page)

“Thank God,” Laney said. “Promise you won’t leave me here alone.”

“And have you reap all the Mother’s Helpers infamy and glory?”

“I’ll take you back on as my assistant if you’ll do the dirty work of calling Maryellen and telling her she was dealing hash brownies last night.”

“I owe you that,” Sarah giggled.

“I’ll contact Roseanne and Jane Hunt.”

“What about Hope?”

With the name Hope, the whole scene from her bedroom window came back, in psychedelic, but no-way-was-it-a-dream Technicolor. “I’m thinking she already knows.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re never going to believe what I think I saw last night…”

H
ope alternated water, fruit juice, and virgin sports drinks with Alka-Seltzer and Advil until she knocked the wind out of the most brutal hangover she’d ever had. A series of harmonious e-mails with Jim resulted in plans for back-and-forth visits over ovulation week for the next four months and the official end to her day-after blues.

Without worrying, her memory of Saturday night extended to arriving at the potluck, a delicious tuna casserole, and
medicinal
desserts. Hope relaxed in a bubble bath. While she soaked, she didn’t allow a single thought about what she thought she was doing eating hash brownies, what happened in the gap of time following, or the awkwardness of finding out she’d been brought home by Will Pierce-Cohn. She climbed into bed early and enjoyed the steady patter of rain on the rooftop. Instead of bad dreams about kissing a morph image of Jim, Tim, Frank, Will, and whoever else had worked their way into her subconscious, she dreamt of Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, both of which she’d see for real, soon.

After another indoor morning ride, courtesy of the rain, but accompanied by the
Today Show
, where Matt was coincidentally broadcasting from London, Hope almost felt like herself again.

Just like herself after a long steam shower.

The surreal quality of Sunday faded for good when she checked her Monday morning e-mail and found no less than three inquiries about landscape design services. A fourth e-mail was from Toni Thompson (a referral from Theresa Trautman) who wanted to schedule a more in-depth meeting to discuss the nautical nursery they’d chatted about on Saturday.

Had they talked at the ribbon cutting or over hors d’oeuvres at the potluck? She closed her eyes and tried to remember their discussion.

Fudging whatever it was they’d talked about couldn’t be hard, especially when it came to nursery design, but weren’t alcoholic blackouts only supposed to happen to alcoholics? Why had she let herself drink so much? She hadn’t allowed herself to let loose like that since one troubling morning in college when she’d woken up with a similar lack of memory. Of course, that time, Jim was next to her in bed.

Not in London.

Hope took a deep breath.

Before responding to Toni Thompson or any other work inquiries, she fired off a quick appointment request to the fertility doctor. With her husband on board and all her reproductive ducks in a row, there would be no falling into a desperation free spin like that again.

As she finished, a message popped up in her inbox.

An image of the two of them eating chips together popped into her head.

She glanced at the message alert flashing on her phone. After waking up from her dream early Sunday morning, she’d turned off the volume to avoid noise or further bad dream catalysts.

Then forgotten to turn the ringer back on.

Everyone else must have been nursing their hangovers as well, because she’d only missed three messages all day. She turned up the volume and pressed play to listen to messages from Frank Griffin, most likely Jim, and…

“Hope, it’s Sarah Fowler. Sorry to be the bearer of weird news, but if your Saturday night was more unusual than you might have imagined, blame it on the brownies.”

No need for more details there. She moved on to the next message.

“Hey it’s me…”

Wasn’t Jim.

“Tim.”

No way he’d spent Sunday recovering with the telltale storks on the front lawn.

“I haven’t had a chance to check in until now, but I wanted to make sure you’re feeling okay after all of last night’s festivities.”

She remembered eating brownies with him. Sitting on the picnic table. Laughing.

“Sorry I had to run off like that.” He paused. “You enjoy the Bugles?”

He’d lent her change for the vending machine.

“All’s well here at the hospital.”

Then must have left for the hospital.

“I’m the proud father of healthy, beautiful girls—Kayla Rose and Mackenzie Grace.”

She smiled at the names and the satisfied exhaustion in his voice.

“I’m headed home to crash.”

She could only hope he hadn’t gone to the hospital as high as she was.

“Theresa is finally getting some well-deserved rest, too.”

However he’d shown up, and in whatever condition, clearly all had ended beyond well.

“It’s going to be out of the frying pan around here for a while,” he said, his voice dropping. “But, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Not for a week or two, anyway. Much as she wanted to see what Theresa had done with the nursery, they’d need to settle in before she turned up with matching gift baskets.

The message changed over.

“Hope, are you there?” Frank Griffin’s deep voice nudged her out of her daydream imaging the twins’ beautiful, completed nursery.

“I hate to have to leave a message of this nature on your voice mail, but there’s a situation of which you need to be made aware…”

With the word
situation
, she was back in her kitchen, trying to ignore the tap of Saturday night’s hazy reality on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately the brownies a number of us enjoyed last evening, including you, may have been…” He paused. “Were, probably laced…”

She should have told him herself, certainly would have, had she seen either him or Maryellen once Tim said his good-byes.

Had she even rejoined the party?

After all the kindness he’d shown her, listening to him labor over the word
hashish
made her head pound with intensity on par with yesterday morning’s wake-up call.

She pushed fast forward, but lifted her finger from the button almost as quickly.

“You were very out of it when I found you by the vending machines in the lower level of the rec center. Unfortunately, we both were under the effects, and for that I’m sorry.” He paused. “Given your mindset yesterday morning, I wanted to… to make sure you had a good time, but keep an eye out all the same. I’m afraid I failed miserably.” He paused again, for even longer. “But I’m confident Tim Trautman provided sufficient distraction before I arrived.” The timbre of his voice changed slightly. “And when you slipped from my grasp, I’m glad it was into Will’s, so he could get you home safely.”

Awkward as it was, she was glad it had been Will, too. She couldn’t imagine showing up at church week after week knowing Frank had seen her…

“Once again, I’m sorry about Saturday night and am praying you’ll be back on track soon.”

If Tim had taken her home and his wife had gone into labor while he was tucking her into bed, she’d be even more horrified.

“And one other thing,” Frank said. “In my altered state, I may have done or shown you more than I should have.” He paused. “Can I ask you to keep things—about the church—between us?”

She pressed reply and began to type, the words flowing with little if any direction from her blank brain.

***

Maryellen clicked on the Denver library website and pushed the job listings tab while she waited for the photographer’s party pictures to download. Before Sarah’s call, she’d looked so forward to creating a collage for the front hall of the rec center.

Would she be able to tell who was high by their expressions?

Who looked guilty of spiking their dessert?

She felt somewhat vindicated for her unusual behavior that night, but not enough to overlook the shame of not only eating so many brownies herself, but having served them around.

She’d expected Frank to feel much the same, or at least flip out that they’d used drugs.

And so publicly.

“Not our fault,” he’d said. And while he finally admitted to feeling loose and disconnected, he was more proud he’d been able to
maintain his faculties—keep an eye out for those who couldn’t resist temptations.

He was calm and unflappable while they prayed on it and prayed for whoever felt compelled to serve a plate of drug-laced treats to their neighbors, then set about contacting anyone they knew or thought might have consumed the brownies. They went on to church and Frank remained collected and dignified standing at the pulpit while she could practically hear the hushed whispers as the rumor, which wasn’t a rumor at all, spread like wildfire.

Marijuana in the brownies.

I thought I saw her feeding one to Frank.

They were high as kites, all of them.

She’d looked straight ahead, not daring to look at anyone who might have provided or partaken, or, God forbid, Jane Hunt, Tess Miller, or anyone else she’d practically force-fed a brownie. While Frank diffused tension by waxing eloquent on temptation, intentional and otherwise, she’d spent the hour trying to forgive herself for her unintentional, but no less mortifying, gaffe.

The week’s library job openings somehow only served as a reminder.

Part-Time Barista—Branch Coffee Carts Multiple Locations (15 hours).

Job description includes preparing beverages, sandwiches,
and baked goods.

Her stomach clenched with the thought of what she’d unknowingly ingested, then eaten in the aftermath.

Circulation Security Clerk—Pauline Robinson Branch library (30 hours).

After Frank’s sermon, no one dared mention anything in the social hall beyond the usual and expected
great party
or some slightly more telling variation along the lines of
good times were had by all.
The what-can-you-do-shrugs that followed said enough.

If Frank hadn’t been so downright clear-headed, she wouldn’t have made it to the safety of their car before bursting into tears.

“No need to feel shame when it wasn’t your fault.”

He was right, of course, and everyone did get home without incident and no real damage seemed to have been done. Still, she couldn’t help but draw comfort in the fact he lay awake beside her the last few nights, dozing off just before her, an hour or so before dawn.

She let her gaze drop to the final listing.

Coming soon:

Senior Librarian—Central Library.

Heart thumping, she looked again to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

She exited the website.

Better not to imagine.

Better to set her mind on the grim reality of the party picture download that had begun to populate the computer screen:

Laney putting a tablecloth on the main course table.

Daisies floating on the surface of the lighted pool.

Various neighbors arriving with their contributions to the potluck.

No pictures of a culprit, platter of brownies in hand.

She took a deep breath. Really, there was nothing to suggest the event wasn’t entirely on the up-and-up.

Page two was much the same: An effusive Frank greeting various partygoers. Jane Hunt mugging for the camera. She leafed through a few more pages and began to agree with Frank that people would start to laugh it off and eventually forget about it.

Until the shot of the dessert table popped up on page three.

The following picture was of her, eating a caramel-drizzled brownie.

She deleted both photos, then recoded each .jpg that followed so there’d be no discernable break in the number sequence.

Frank looked a little confused two pages later while he gave directions to Eva and a cluster of teens, but not enough to get rid of one of the few photos she’d seen of the kids.

The taste of licorice filled her throat every time she thought about what the kids were doing in the basement. Had they eaten the brownies too?

That might explain why it sounded like they were chanting when she opened the door.

Maryellen edited out a red-eye photo of Jane Hunt and another of Roseanne Goldberg looking suspiciously squinty.

Then she turned to page ten.

Every photo seemed to put the filmy reality of the evening into clear focus: a group of glassy-eyed neighbors, including Laurie Owens and Anne Thompson, Laney, Frank, and Hope Jordan admiring the small plate of brownies she held in her hand. Frank, his hand placed protectively on Hope’s lower back, just above the waistline of her coordinating floral dress.

She erased the entire page except for a shot of the three of them beside the diving board.

On the next page, Tim stood at the dessert table talking to Laney.

They’re especially delicious. If you know what I mean.

Sarah said Laney had found the brownies in the kitchen and put them out. She thought someone from the Melody Manor patio homes brought them, which made sense since quadrant three was assigned to bring dessert, but no one seemed to have any idea who.

Maryellen flipped quickly through the remaining pages of pictures to see if there were any more potentially telltale pictures.