Kristina Riggle - Things We Didnt Say

Things
We Didnt Say

KRISTINA RIGGLE

In memory of Donna Ringstrom, my bonus mom and leader of my fan club (Up North division). We miss you.

Contents

M y cigarette smoke twists through the predawn November air, until a gust breaks it apart. My hair whips across my face, so I turn into the wind, putting my cigarette behind my back to shelter it. The effect is like leaning off the prow of a ship.

The air is heavy with looming winter. Mornings like this, as a kid, Id curse and groan, shivering at the bus stop in the cracking cold before the sun even came up. Now? Id take this cold every day of the year if it always came with such exquisite quiet.

My boots crunch along the sidewalk in the gray stillness as I cast a glance back toward the drafty, narrow house where the children still sleep.

I thought one day they might be my children, or something like that. The day I first met them, Angel was doing up little Jewels hair in crazy ponytails with pink glitter hair spray, then they moved on to me and wound ribbons into braids all over my head. I looked like a maypole. Dylan, though, reminded me of my familys half-wild outdoor cat, Patch. You had to earn his attention, and trying too hard was the worst thing to do. Dylan didnt say much that first day. He started peeking at me from under his dark, floppy bangs. By the time I left, I had earned a quick half-smile granted when no one else was looking.

A square of weak yellow light flicks to life from the second story. Even from a block away I can tell its from Angels room. Ive got time; shell be in the bathroom for an age, emerging in a puff of sweet-smelling bathroom steam when she imagines herself perfect.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my parka, and I resume my daily trudge around the block, feeling my last free moments of the day burning down like my cigarette.

Hi, Tony.

Hey, Edna Leigh.

I wish you wouldnt call me that.

Im just joshing with you.

Im not in the mood.

Fine, Casey . Though Ive been short with him, his voice has a smile in it. I can always count on this, whatever else happens. Does your husband get to say your real name, or do you make him use your last name, too? Shit, linebackers go by their last names.

If your mother had named you after a great-grandparent, you wouldnt like it, either. Howd you like to be an Otis? Anyway, he calls me Casey, and hes not my husband.

Yet? he prompts.

Right. Yet.

Michael must have already left for the gym to work off his worry about his job. Every day he comes home with more news of cutbacks and layoffs and buyouts.

When do I get to meet him?

Not now.

Im beginning to think youre embarrassed about me. Least if were going to sneak around we should screw around, too, make it fun.

I laugh, because Tony is twice my age and then some. Hes a former neighbor but feels like my uncle, and these days is my only genuine friend. Its not you Im embarrassed about.

I step over a cracked piece of sidewalk without having to look. If they ever fix it, Ill probably fall and break my neck.

How great can this guy be if he expects you never to have made a mistake in your life?

Its complicated.

Aint it always.

Whatever. Whats up with you, Tony?

Five hundred days sober today.

You get a cake for that?

Come to AA with me, and Ill make you a double chocolate layer cake.

Congratulations, anyway.

Cmon, come with me. I promise to bake you a cake, or whatever you want. Name your price.

I cant be bought with dessert.

How very high-minded.

Im not going to stand there in some dreary church basement confessing to my past drunken sins, which, by the way, are two years old now. Im doing just fine.

My voice startles me with its volume. An early-morning dog walker passing on the other side of the street jerks his head in my direction. Its Tom with his floppy-haired dog, Tednamed for the late senator Kennedyand he gives me an uncertain wave.

You sure sound fine.

I toss my cigarette down and stamp it with my boot heel. Did you call just to hassle me?

Well, not just. Tony rattles off a cough and spits. Talking to you is the highlight of my day. I wouldnt get up this early for anyone else.

Then you have some sad days, my friend.

Im already rounding the corner back to the house. Claustrophobic city blocks are like that, and Ive unwittingly sped up my walk. My ego wants more time alone, my id wants out of the cold. The bare November trees lean over me, and I wish I could climb one and hide in its old branches.

The houses pitched roof and twin top-story windows create an air of surprise that Ive returned.

You there? Tony asks.

Yeah.

You going to make it today, kid?

I exhale a plume of white winter breath, considering. I think so.

Think? His voice bears the strain of concern. He knows what stupidity Ive survived. He knows about my old job, which I used to lovethe only place Ive ever excelled in spite of myselfthe people I once considered friends, how I never see my family anymore because all of it comes braided together with booze.

Okay. I will.

Thats my girl. Stay strong.

Its too corny for me, but Im glad he says it all the same.

Some days, I just

I have my hand on the rear storm door when the inside door jerks open. I yank the phone away from my head and hang up.

Who was that? asks Michael, rubbing his eyes, then his bare arms. Hes still wearing what he wore to bed.

My mother. I step into the kitchens harsh yellow light and shrug out of my parka.

She called early. And you hung up on her?

The phone is buzzing in my hand with Tonys number showing on the display. I turn my phone over, his number toward my palm. I nod.

Youll hear about that later.

I expect I will. I thought you were at the gym.

Headache.

Im sorry.

My phone chimes again, one brief tone, and I stuff it in my pocket. Angel is up, I noticed. You talk to her yet?

Before her ladyship has come down the stairs? Heaven forbid.

I dont rise to this. I once joined in with his half-larky, half-serious use of this title for Angel, and the conversation fell to silence like a rock off a cliff.

Going up to shave, he says, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on my forehead. I would usually seize up and treasure this small affection. Today, it stings.

When Ive heard his steps go all the way up the stairs, I check my phone.

Tony didnt leave a voice mail. His text reads: Caught by surprise?

I send back one word sorry and delete both messages.

So Michael hasnt seen Angel. He doesnt know yet. Maybe she wont tell him at all, or maybe shes waiting. Shes smart like that, knowing how to hold her cards until just the right moment.

Like mother, like daughter.

Thats another thing Im not allowed to say.

In the kitchen, pouring Jewel a bowl of Honeycombs as the older kids loll at the table, I offer Angel some breakfast, as casually as I can. Want something to eat? I fight to keep my voice level and mild, like Im only the recorded voice on the phone, giving out the time.

Do I ever? she spits.

I laugh, as if this is an amusing joke. I do this partly to deflect her, partly for Jewels benefit, since conflict gives her a tummyache.

I rinse my cereal bowl in the sink. Michael is to my left, pouring coffee. I dont know why I bother, but I cut my eyes over to him, searching for him to meet my gaze. He glances up at me, and I tip my head toward his daughter.

He sighs and turns around, flashing me a quick, shamefaced look as he does, knowing his admonition will be too mild, too late.