Not Quite Three Years Earlier

I Can Do This

It was the kind of unexpected warm, sunny day that sometimes crops up in late February, a cruel tease before a long, damp spring. The clear air reminded her of the air that blew across her father’s barley in June, and for a moment a cloud seemed to pass in front of the sun. She brushed a loose hair off her face and drew a breath.

I can do this.

She stood on the porch of the new house. Our house, she thought, though the idea seemed foreign to her still. Being part of an our. Mitch claimed the porch would need paint, probably the whole house, and he’d complained about a squeaky board. She walked the porch from end to end, pausing to look through the broad front window into the still empty living room, but all she heard was her own soft footfalls and the high breeze through the trees behind the house across the street. She went to the rail, brushed the cool wood with her fingertips. Our porch rail. Then she felt a presence at her back, and before she could turn, heard Mitch’s voice. “You’re singing again.”

As soon as he spoke, she heard the music in the back of her throat, the song Luellen had hummed over Danny’s stroller that day under Harvey Scott’s dour gaze. She flushed and looked at her hands.

“What are you thinking about, sweets?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure you are. You always sing like that when you think.”

“I had no idea.”

But she did. She’d caught herself humming the tune over Danny’s crib at night, and as he fussed in his stroller when she was first learning his habits. Eager noticed it too.

“Well, does this belong to you?”

She turned. Mitch stood in the wide front doorway, a wiggling Danny in his arms.

“I’m not sure. Does he have a name tag?”

“No, but he keeps saying Da. Could that be a name?”

“He might just be agreeable. Where did you find him?”

“Crawling through the kitchen cupboards.”

She held out her arms and Danny reached for her as if she’d always been his. She took him from Mitch and hugged him tight. “You’re so big. Do you belong to me?”

“Da.”

“I think I’ll keep you then.”

Mitch crossed the porch and planted his hands on the rail next to her. It creaked under his weight.

“See?”

“It’s fine.”

“The porch is fine, maybe, but of the ten thousand houses we looked at, why’d you have to pick the one with a dump across the street?”

She hitched Danny onto her hip. The house across the street wasn’t much to look at. Grey siding overdue for paint, a slight slouch to the porch. No doubt the boards squeaked underfoot. The houses on either side were much nicer, with crisp-edged landscaping, clearer colors, sharper lines. Clean windows, hanging baskets. She knew she didn’t have to explain herself. Mitch understood the situation. She was doing her part, looking after his son, holding the family together, meeting his needs from basement to bedroom. His part was simple enough, and Lord knew he was no Stuart.

She looked back to the grey house. In the dirt below the slumping porch, she saw a purple flash, spring’s first crocuses at least a month earlier than she ever saw them back in Givern Valley.

“It’s not that bad. Eager says the man who lives there is a police officer, a good man.”

“Thank god we relied of the broad experience of Eager Gillespie Realty.”

“Mitch, please.” She didn’t want to argue with him. It wasn’t something she was used to, not yet. The whole pose, wife and mother. Our fight.

“I suppose if there’s one thing Eager knows, it’s cops.”

“He’s been through a lot more than you realize.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Mitch looked at the house again. “Whatever. Maybe we won’t get robbed, at least.”

She closed her eyes and counted backwards, five to one. It used to be more. Ten to one, twenty to one. A hundred. She was learning.

“Oy. I know that look. Hey, babe, we’re moving in, right?”

“Thank you, Mitch.” She turned and leaned into him, kissed him lightly on the cheek. He smelled faintly of shaving cream and hazelnuts. “You know I appreciate it.”

“One of these days you gotta explain—” He stopped, pursed his lips briefly. He was learning too.

Across the street, the front door opened. The man who emerged was no one to inspire confidence. He was of medium height, lumpy, with shaggy grey hair and a wrinkled brown suit jacket over tan pants. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but this wasn’t it. He grabbed his newspaper and went back inside without appearing to notice he was being observed.

This is who you sent me to?

She took a breath and turned to Mitch. “I’m going over to say hello.”

“To the cop?”

“Yes.”

“What about the rest of the neighbors? The ones who’ve painted their houses some time in the last decade.”

“You need to be nicer to me.”

“Okay, okay.” He rolled his eyes. “Take Danny with you. The movers will be here any minute, and I’m trying to get Jase off his ass in the remote hope we’ll be ready for them.”

“I know there’s a lot to do. I won’t be long.”

Mitch headed into the house. She counted his steps until they faded away, then bounced Danny on her hip. “Ready to go meet Eager’s friend?”

Danny squirmed in response. There was a big empty house behind them. He wanted down, wanted to go explore.

“You can climb all over the place and get filthy later.”

“Da.”

She crossed the street and went up the front walk, Danny bouncing on her hip. But as she climbed the stoop and stepped onto the porch—squeak—her courage failed her. An image of Eager in Common Grounds Coffee House flashed through her mind.

“When he says his name is Skin and sticks his neck out at you, roll with it. He’s just trying to freak you out.”

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Don’t worry. He’s all right. He’s not fucking afraid of Big Ed, that’s for sure.”

She thought of her father’s inability to stand up to her mother, how he never took her on the hunting trips through the marsh, how he wouldn’t stand up for her when she wanted to cancel the wedding to Stuart. He only found his courage when it was almost too late. She remembered talking to him on the phone that first time after she made her way back to Luellen’s little apartment, guided by an electric bill she found in Danny’s diaper bag. Her father described how Hiram showed up at the house suggesting that for all anyone knew she might be dead on a faraway hilltop. She lay on the floor next to Danny’s crib afterwards, crying for Pastor Sanders, for her fucked-up brothers, even for Myra. And Luellen. Especially for Luellen. She tried to imagine a different Ellie, one who drowned in the creek, or one who floated downstream for miles and days from creek to river, river to shore. Maybe a different Ellie floated out to the deep sea where no one would ever be harmed by her passage again. But that wasn’t the Ellie who stood here now, who’d crawled off that hilltop. Who found a way to be mother to Stuart’s child, because it was Luellen’s child too. She owed Luellen that much.

Some choices, once made, never stop being who you are.

The door opened and he appeared. The cop. Skin. He must have heard her on the porch. Maybe having squeaky boards wasn’t such a bad thing. Or maybe he heard her humming Luellen’s lullaby.

“Help you?” His voice was rough and smoky. He stood with one shoulder back so the red patch on his neck was mostly hidden.

She found a smile somewhere inside. “Hi, we’re moving in across the street and I came to introduce myself.”

“Oh.” He looked across at the house. Their house. It was as if he was seeing it for the first time. “I remember the For Sale sign going up, but I didn’t realize anyone had bought it.” He looked back at her, and at Danny on her hip. The little fellow met his gaze, his round Stuart eyes clear and unwavering beneath his shaggy bangs.

“Da.”

The cop’s gaze went soft. “And who might this be?”

“His name’s Danny, and I’m ... my name is Luellen.”

The cop raised his eyes back to hers but kept his head tilted—if anything, he was trying to hide the red patch on his neck. “Well, you might as well call me Skin. Everyone else does.”