The Thirteen (13 page)

She’d made lots of hard choices for her family over the years, but no one had ever been really hurt. Not really. Not until now. Marla’s face crumpled.
All those people
.

It had been rash choice, a bad choice, but made for the right reasons. A mother wants to protect her child from pain, from suffering. Marla hadn’t meant for anything like this to happen. She hadn’t meant it.

Tim had been born with a hole in his heart. A tiny little opening, invisible to Marla even when the doctor had shown her pictures of it. It had seemed the most inconsequential thing—so small. “He’ll always need extra care,” the doctors had said.

They took him home from the hospital, she and Doug, and just … looked after him. She panicked often, watching him run, watching him fall.
Is something going to happen now? Now? Now?
She would watch him for signs of strain, for flushing, sweating, clammy flesh.

There came a day when the two of them were in the park, Marla heavy with Amy, and she was sitting on the park bench looking at her fat

(no, not fat yet, but getting there—still chubby then, but you could see the jowls of the fat kid, the fat teenager, the fat man, right there in his face)

looking at her chubby son playing by himself in the sandbox while four other boys ran around the big field with a soccer ball. It broke her heart that she was embarrassed to be his mother

(but she was when his shirt crept up over his belly, exposing soft white flesh)

So she took matters into her own hands and changed him. Wasn’t that the whole point? Wasn’t that why the women—her mother, Audra, Aggie, Tula, Bella—wasn’t that why they had become what they had become: to make the lives of their families, their children, better?

She’d made his heart beat strong and steady, made his body firm and ready. Made him good at sports. Like her brother David had been—golden. That was the way Marla had always imagined her son would be: a re-creation of the brother she’d lost. Izzy had said as much in the hospital as the two of them, in a rare genuine mother-daughter moment, cooed over the newborn Tim. “Just like Uncle David,” Izzy had said.

When her daughter, Amy, needed glasses and was as chubby as Tim had been, Marla was less reluctant. She fixed her daughter too. Now her son was good at sports, her husband was a good provider and her daughter was a living doll.

Paula, now a stranger to Haven Woods, had no idea what Marla was capable of doing, what any of them could do. She wouldn’t understand. Paula had been gone too long.

Sent away by her own mother

(and don’t we all know why)

Of course, Marla understood now. But thirteen years ago she hadn’t understood why Izzy had allowed Audra to send Paula away. Izzy hadn’t sent Marla away, likely hadn’t even considered it. Izzy had dragged Marla into the life kicking and screaming.

Marla realized that she was terribly conflicted over Paula’s coming back to Haven Woods. She wanted her back. She hadn’t had a good friend—a real friend—since she’d left. Esme had sort of filled that gap in her life, but Esme had changed. The life had changed her. She was so into it.

Marla had felt genuine delight at seeing Paula again, but now she felt completely torn between wanting the old days back, when she and Paula were best friends, and needing what Paula could do for the women of Haven Woods. She also realized, darkly, that she was envious of Paula’s clean hands and her life far, far away from Izzy and Haven Woods.

The phone rang. Marla raised her head and stared in its direction. She didn’t want to talk. There was a whole list in her head of people she didn’t want to speak to, but to distract herself, to
keep busy
, she walked over to check the call display. It was Izzy. She snatched it up in mid-ring.

“Mom?” she said, her voice cracking.

“I need you to do something, Marla,” Izzy said.

“Mom? Something awful happened. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Something awful’s happening every minute of the day right now, dear. I need you to do something important. Where’s Doug? Is he available?”

“He’s at work. Mom, there was an accident—”

“Is Tim all right? What’s happened?”

Marla stiffened. Typical that Izzy would leap to thoughts of her grandson, not her granddaughter.

“The children are fine,” she said pointedly. “But … Tim’s baseball coach—he was killed today. He was run over. But more than just him … there was a crowd. It was a mistake. I meant only for—”

“What did you have to do with it? Marla, hurry up and finish your story. I need you to do something.”

“I only wanted Tim’s coach to be hurt, not killed. I didn’t mean for anyone else to be hurt at all. But something went wrong, and—”

“Oh, Marla, this is not the time to be doing anything like that.” Izzy—unflappable Izzy—groaned. “But there’s nothing you can do about it now. Tell me about it later. Right now I need you to get Doug to make a call, do you hear me? Doug has to call Paula.”

As Izzy was talking, Marla heard a car pulling into her driveway. She carried the cordless to the window and peered out.

“Mother,” she interrupted. “Paula’s just pulling into the driveway.”

“That’s good. When she leaves, you deal with Doug, all right?” And she went over it all one more time. Marla listened, nodding but not speaking, taking instructions from her mother.

Status quo.

They settled down in the kitchen and Marla made tea. From a container in the fridge she got out some yellow cake and set squares of it on a plate. She put some for Rowan on a pretty tray with a matching mug, just for her, and settled her in the family room.

“You make yourself at home, Rowan,” Marla told her. She pointed out the Wii controller and the television remote and promised not to keep her mother too long.

Paula looked around the kitchen, thinking that it felt odd to be in grownup Marla’s house. She kept looking for things that reminded her of her old friend, the one she remembered. And then she noticed a photograph on the wall in a corner. She got out of the chair to look at it. There they were, the three of them, Paula, Marla and David, in the Riley backyard, their arms linked. David was in the middle. Marla’s long hair was crimped and she wore clunky Doc Martens. Paula had overalls on. They were laughing. In the background was the Riley house with its blue roof.

Not the red roof yet.

Paula figured she was about fifteen in the picture, Marla the same; David would have been seventeen. That same summer. She couldn’t remember the picture being taken, but looking at it she could smell cut grass, hot blacktop, the wet scent of roses just blooming.

Then Marla was beside her, close enough that her breath touched Paula’s cheek. “It was that last summer,” she whispered. “It was developed after he died.”

She couldn’t peel her eyes from it. “A long time ago,” Paula offered.

Marla nodded. “Everything was different after that. Your dad died. You left town. I was stuck here with Izzy.”

Paula turned suddenly, with a guilty look.

“Rowan’s in the family room,” Marla said, her voice soft. “Do you ever think about that day?”

She didn’t have to elaborate. There was only one day. Paula nodded, and her eyes filled with tears.

“C’mon,” Marla said, with warmth. “Let’s sit. Tell me what’s going on.”

So Paula did. She told her about living in a crummy apartment and Rowan getting suspended from school, losing her job and being broke. She told her about the man shouting at Rachel onstage; she told her about Rowan ordering Chinese with twelve dollars of the emergency money in the jar. She stopped only when her embarrassment finally eclipsed the cathartic feeling of spilling her guts, stopping just short of telling Marla that her own mother didn’t seem to want her in town, but that she had nowhere else to go. And of course she stopped before telling her biggest secret—whose daughter Rowan was—though sometimes she suspected that if anyone knew, it would be Marla. She and David had been so close.

Marla put her hand on Paula’s arm. Her expression was compassionate.

“Guess I haven’t had anyone to really talk to in awhile.” Paula stared at the floor.

“I’m glad it was me,” Marla said. “I’ve … missed the old days. Things were so simple, weren’t they?”

“They were. It’s strange to be back. My mother …” She trailed off.

“Your mom will get better.”

Paula nodded. “I know she’s sick, but she’s acting so oddly. I don’t know what to think. The hospital here is hopeless too. I’m thinking of moving her, to Lakewood maybe. Whatever is wrong with her, I think it’s affecting her mind. She doesn’t seem to be thinking straight.”

Marla answered carefully, “Shouldn’t you talk to her doctor?”

“I’m having trouble getting his attention, actually.”

“Well, you know doctors. They’re so busy. He’ll call.” She poured a little more tea into their mugs and pushed the cake closer to Paula. “You’re home, where you should have stayed. You’ll stay now. Have a piece of cake.”

Paula took a piece and popped the bite-sized perfect thing in her mouth. It was delicious.

actually

“I don’t think I can stay in Haven Woods long,” she said. It was lemon cake, delightfully tangy. There was a slight aftertaste that wasn’t unpleasant, although she couldn’t place it. It made her mouth water. Her head felt light, as though she hadn’t eaten all day.

“Drink your tea,” Marla said. “It’s getting cold.”

Marla’s hand was on her arm. Paula took a long sip of tea. She blinked. She looked at her friend.

Marla held her gaze. “Sure you can stay,” she said in measured tones. “You’ll be happy here. You can have everything you want.”

Paula shook her head, and then it just came out. “Audra doesn’t want me to stay,” she said.
Audra?
“My mother,” she corrected. The word felt heavy, like a pebble dropping out of her mouth to the floor.

“Mmm,” Marla said. “I think she does. Audra does want you to stay. She wants you to stay forever. You and Rowan.” Her voice was soothing.

“Yes.”

“And on Friday you’ll come to my house and meet my friends.”

Marla’s face was unlined and serene. Paula couldn’t stop staring at it.

Marla nudged her mug towards her. “And have another piece of cake. I made it myself.”

Paula took another long sip. She picked up a piece of the cake and looked at it.

“We’re a very special group. You can be with us. You can have everything you want. Just as we do.”

Marla nodded and Paula put the cake in her mouth. There was a sensation of its being almost too lemony, but it was even more delicious the second time.

“Well, you’ll stay until Friday at least. After that everything will be wonderful. I promise. You believe me, don’t you? And you’ll bring Rowan.”

Paula nodded and swallowed the cake. “Yes,” she repeated.

Marla smiled. “Good.”

–

They were in the car driving home.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

Paula turned her head and met her daughter’s eyes. For a split second she was entirely lost. Then, quickly, her eyes were back on the road.
Was she?

“I’m okay,” she said. Her throat was dry, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. Must have been the cake. Although the cake had been delicious, moist.

She followed the road back to her mother’s house. When she caught sight of it up ahead, it looked nice. Comforting.

“Did you have some of that cake?” Paula asked.

Rowan shook her head. “I tried it but it tasted funny. I think it was old. Why did we have to stay there so long? You said it was going to be short.”

Paula glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was after three. They had been at Marla’s for three hours. It seemed impossible.

Marla was feeling a little bit better. She was about to call Doug at work, thinking,
Might as well get the rest of it done
, when she heard something outside. It was a persistent and irritating
foom-pf foom-pf foom-pf
, the sound both familiar and unfamiliar, like something out of context, just under her radar, leaking up every now and then to drive her mad.

foom-pf

The phone rang. Marla picked it up. A little dried glue was clinging to her hand, and she peeled it away. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Riley-Moore? This is Mrs. Mackie from Haven Woods School.”

“Yes?”

foom-pf foom-pf

“We’ve had some upsetting news. There’s been an accident: our gym teacher, Mr. Crawford, has been killed. Is Tim at home with you? He was upset. We’re all very upset; it’s been a very trying—”

“Home?”

foom-pf

Frowning, Marla walked into the mudroom, the phone still at her ear. The sound was clearer, louder there

FOOM-PF FOOM-PF

and she pushed open the screen door.

Tim was in the driveway, bouncing a basketball off the garage door.
FOOM-PF
. It hit the asphalt and he caught it expertly, bounced it once and tossed it into the hoop over the garage door. It swooshed through the net and hit the garage door and bounced on the asphalt and Tim caught it expertly. She had a sick feeling in her stomach.

“Mrs. Riley-Moore?”

“Yes, he’s here,” Marla said.

“That’s fine, then—” Marla thumbed the phone off, even though the voice on the other end kept going.

Tim was so intent on the basketball he didn’t hear the screen door open.

“What are you doing home?”

Her child, her firstborn, her beautiful damaged boy, stopped dead in mid-layup and turned his head towards her, his body unyielding in its perfect form. “Mr. Crawford’s dead,” he said. He turned back to his work. The ball went up in a perfect arc, hit the backboard and swirled again through the netting.

“Are you upset about that, honey? You know you should be in school.”

The boy seemed not to hear her. Every move he made was deliberate and concentrated and perfect.

“I can be on the baseball team now,” he said, catching the ball. He turned to look at her. His mouth stretched slowly into a long grin. “Good, right?”

FOOM-PF

The phone, still in her hand, rang again. It was the school calling back. The secretary, irritated, said she hadn’t finished. Amy was not feeling well. Could Marla come and get her?