Meredith

MEREDITH

11 YEARS BEFORE

April

Over the weekend, a client goes into labor. It’s Saturday. Ordinarily Josh would be home. But on this particular Saturday, he’s entertaining clients at a Cubs game. They have a suite on the first baseline. The weather is terrible: windy and cold. But they’ll be indoors. They also have access to as much food and beer as they can eat and drink. Josh asked if I minded if he went. He was excited, like a kid on Christmas Eve. How could I say no?

I was hoping my client wouldn’t go into labor today, not with Josh gone and the kids home with me. I need to make arrangements for them. I go to Cassandra’s first. I bring the kids with me, out into the inclement weather. It’s not raining. But the skies are portentous. The wind spins the hair around our heads. It’s like walking into a wall. It’s hard to walk at all. I grab the kids by the hand and pull them across the street. The wind tries to push us back.

I could call Cassandra. But refusing in person is harder to do than over the phone.

Marty answers the door. The surprise is evident. He hadn’t expected to see me. “Meredith,” he says, glancing down at the cold kids, then back up at me. “What’s up?”

Josh and Cassandra know that Marty and I both went to the same college in Indiana. What they don’t know is that we were friends, that we lived in the same coed dorm our freshman year.

They also don’t know that we dated, that we were hot and heavy for a while, until we weren’t. Marty and I lost contact after college. He’s originally from Indiana. He stayed there and attended grad school after I left. We didn’t talk again after that. I didn’t think we ever would. In fact, I forgot all about Marty, except for those random thoughts that come to you at random times, like how I lost my virginity to him. I thought about him mostly in terms of Delilah, knowing that one day my daughter would grow up, go to college and discover handsome, charming, smooth-talking boys like Marty Hanaka, the kind you could never say no to.

I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted someone more like Josh for Delilah: sturdy, honest, dependable.

When, ten months ago, Cassandra and Marty moved into the house across the street from ours, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Marty isn’t one for social media. It’s not like we were Facebook friends. He isn’t on Facebook at all. He could have been dead and I wouldn’t have known.

By the time he moved across the street, he had a master’s degree and was working as a market research analyst in Chicago. He was no longer twenty-two. Now he was thirty-six, married, with two kids.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say.

“You’re never a bother,” he says. He smiles. Marty has a way of putting me at ease. He’s still just as handsome and charming as he’s always been. Sometimes when we speak, it’s like fourteen years hasn’t passed since I last saw him. “What can I do for you?”

“Is Cassandra home?” I ask, looking past him. There is noise and activity deeper inside the house.

“She was out shopping,” Marty says, “but I think I just heard her come in the back door. Let me see,” he says, but he doesn’t need to.

“Oh, Meredith,” Cassandra says, suddenly appearing in the doorway from the kitchen. She wears a coat, but her cheeks are pink. Forty degrees and gray is much more appropriate for this time of year than the weather we’ve been having. Still, it comes as a blow. One step forward, two steps back. Everyone hates it, our eternal winter.

Cassandra takes a look at the kids and knows exactly why I’m here. “I didn’t know you were stopping by,” she says. “I’ve been out running errands. Just popped back in for a minute because I forgot a return,” as she makes her way to a coat closet, opens the door and draws out a shopping bag.

Marty looks incredulous. “You’re heading back out?” he asks. He looks at his watch. “I thought you’d be done by now. I told you, I need to go to the gym.” I’m embarrassed to be witness to their tiff. The kids and I still stand outside, on the stoop, freezing cold. No one has invited us in.

“Yes,” Cassandra says to Marty. “I have a few more stops to make. It’s not like I can easily do this during the week with the kids, and you’re never home.”

In this way she’s able to dodge my question altogether. It would be wrong of me to ask her to run her errands another day. She knows I’m not that forward.

But she also knows I wouldn’t leave my kids with Marty. Marty doesn’t know them and vice versa. Cassandra thinks I don’t know Marty, that our encounters are limited to the rare barbecues and progressive dinners our street throws. She’s wrong.

It wasn’t my decision not to tell Josh and Cassandra about our past. It just happened. Josh and Cassandra were right there when we first saw each other after all those years. It was last summer. Someone in the neighborhood had thrown a barbecue. Josh met them first, then brought them over to meet me. Marty thrust out a hand. He introduced himself as if he was someone I’d never met. I went along with it. I don’t know why we did it that way. But we couldn’t take it back after the fact.

“What’s Josh up to today?” Cassandra asks.

I say, “Cubs game.”

“Must be nice,” she says. “You and the kids didn’t go?”

“It was for work,” I say.

“He should bring you and the kids along on his fun outings,” she says.

“I don’t know how fun they are,” I say. It’s a lie. Josh always enjoys himself at events like this, though they’re chock-full of schmoozing clients. It would be a terrible place for the kids. “He’s working when he’s there,” I remind her. “Trying to get to know prospective clients.” Trying to convince prospective clients to trust him with their millions of dollars.

“Of course,” she says. “You didn’t say why you stopped by,” Cassandra remembers.

“Oh,” I say, feeling awkward. It’s not like I can ask her or Marty now to watch the kids, not after their little row. Neither of them wants to be home with their own kids. They want to be out, doing things. I can’t burden them with my kids, too, especially not when there’s this sudden untold strain on Cassandra and my friendship.

“It’s about Piper,” I say.

“Oh?” she asks. Beside me, Delilah looks up at the mention of her friend’s name.

“Yes,” I say. “Delilah was wondering if she would like to come over for a playdate this week. We were thinking about inviting little Lily Morris, too.”

“Oh. Yes,” she says, “that would be lovely.”

“Wonderful,” I say. “I’ll call Amber and set a date.”

We leave. I go to Bea and Kate’s house next. I try not to worry about whatever is going on with Cassandra. She’s being snippy. But maybe it has nothing to do with me. Maybe it has something to do with her, with her marriage. If I was a better friend I would ask her about it. I would bring baked goods and ask her if everything was all right. I will do that when things settle down and I have more time.

I ring Bea and Kate’s bell. Bea opens the door. Bea is a beautiful woman. She’s as tall as Josh. At first glance, she’s seems unapproachable. But she’s not, not at all. Bea has tattoos, too many to count. They mean things. A bird in a cage. A woman’s name written in Old English font. When she’s had a few drinks, she tells you what they mean. The woman’s name, contrary to what I first thought, is her sister, who has special needs.

Bea’s eyes light up when she sees Delilah and Leo. “How are my two favorite people?” she asks. Bea dresses in an effortlessly cool grunge style. I could never pull it off. If I tried, it would look all wrong on me. But not Bea. Ripped jeans, Doc Martens, a newsboy hat.

At Bea’s feet, Delilah giggles. She tells Bea that they are good. She’s bubbly as she says it, the word mixed up in her laugh. Shy Leo says nothing. But he grins, the kind of grin that spreads to his eyes. He’s happy to see Bea.

Bea looks to me. “What’s going on?” she asks.

I groan. “I hate to bother you,” I say.

Bea doesn’t let me get the rest out. “You’ve got a client?” she asks.

I say, “Yes. Her water just broke. She’s on the way to the hospital. It’s her third, so...”

Bea stops me there. She takes charge as Bea does; relief overwhelms me. I admire Bea’s can-do attitude. She’s a problem solver. She says to the kids, “I’ve had my heart set on pizza for the last hour, but there was no way I can eat a pizza all by myself, and Miss Kate’s at work.” She looks pleadingly at Delilah and Leo. “You think you could help me out with this?”

There’s nothing my kids love more in this world than pizza. Delilah screams, “Yes!” Leo nods his head.

“God, Bea,” I say, setting a hand on her arm, “you’re a lifesaver. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

She tells me, “You’d do the same for me.”

The four of us walk back to our house. Delilah and Leo gather a few of their things to bring with them. I say I’ll walk them back, but Bea says no. “I’ve got it from here. You need to go,” she says, and I do. The phone in my pocket pings every few minutes. It’s my client. She’s in the passenger’s seat of her husband’s car, texting updates. On the expressway. Traffic.

“Give me a hug,” I tell the kids. “You’re going to stay and play with Miss Bea today.” The kids do as they’re told. Bea grabs them each by a hand and leaves. Leo has no qualms in getting left with Bea. He goes with her willingly, without a backward glance in my direction. It’s telling. Something about Charlotte’s house has him spooked. Seeing Leo with Bea warms my heart. I feel at peace, watching him walk voluntarily away, blue blankie dragging through the grass.

The birth is quick. My client nearly delivers without me. Sometimes this happens.

As I’m leaving, Josh calls. He’s on his way home from the baseball game. “Oh,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d answer. I was going to leave a message.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t think I’d answer his call.

“You’re at a birth,” he says. I find my car in the hospital’s parking garage. I get in and lock the doors. I keep my eyes peeled to the rearview mirror. I don’t like not knowing what’s behind me, if anyone is there.

“Just leaving,” I say. I start the car and shift into Reverse, glad to be moving. “How did you know?” I ask. I would think that he’s spoken to Bea, except that if Josh didn’t know I was at a birth, he wouldn’t have called Bea. Unless Bea called him for something, I think, hoping the kids are all right.

“The app,” he says. “I see that you’re at the hospital.”

“Oh,” I say. “Right.” His words leave me feeling exposed, like someone is watching me, because he is. I picture Josh looking at the app on his phone. I picture the little thumbnail image of my own face on the map. I imagine it moving as I leave the parking garage and pull out onto the street, Josh all the while watching.

I ask Josh about the baseball game and what time he’ll be home. He’ll be there sooner than me. He’ll get the kids from Bea. We say our goodbyes, and Josh tells me, “Drive carefully.” I end the call.

I’m driving through the intersection when my phone pings the arrival of a new text. I shouldn’t look when I’m driving, but I do. It’s from the same 630 number that’s been sending me threatening texts. Just seeing the number strikes terror into me. I pull over, into the parking lot of a golf course. My hands are shaking too much to drive. But also, I want to read the text without distraction. For a second I think of Josh. I picture him staring at the app on his phone, wondering why I’ve pulled off the road and into the parking lot. Does the app show enough detail for that?

I take a deep breath. I warily read the text.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. Because I haven’t forgotten about you.

The emoji this time is the face screaming in fear.