“Hello?”
“Is this Hannah?” came the voice on the other end.
“Yes it is. Is this . . .”
“Yes.”
“So what can you tell me?” Hannah asked casually.
“Peter’s going out to Murphy’s. He’s leaving in just a little while from Burger King.”
“And you’re going with him?
“No. I’ve got stuff to do. That’s why I called. You said that after everything you still didn’t want to see him ruin himself.”
“And I don’t,” Hannah added. Her tone was emphatic.
“And that’s the only reason I’m calling you. No offense but I’m his friend and I’m still on his side not yours.”
“Of course. But we both know that he has a problem and that we’ve got to work together to make sure he doesn’t put his or anyone else’s life in danger,” Hannah said.
“And that’s the only reason I’m telling you this. You’ll go and look after him? ”
“I’ll be there and I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to drive drunk or get into any trouble, but I don’t plan on saying anything to him.”
“I still don’t feel right telling you this.”
“You’re doing the right thing and I appreciate that.”
Hannah hung up the phone, pulled out the now crumpled business card, and made another call. The phone rang three times. It was almost enough time for her to wonder if she believed everything she’d just said, but not quite long enough.
“Hello Mr. Henderson? This Is Hannah Manchell. I was calling concerning what we talked about this afternoon . . . Yes, he’ll be at Murphy’s any minute . . . No of course I shouldn’t go myself . . . Anything you can find out would be helpful.”
She hung up the phone again and tried to go back to reading her book but she found herself reading the same page over and over because her mind would only focus on the thought of Peter and some pretty young girl sitting at some bar together. Abigail’s advice played over and over inside her mind: “You need to get out more, go on a date sometime.” She tried to focus on the book. She’d read another page without paying any attention to the words and went back to the top to start it over again.
* * *
Peter showed up at Murphy’s by himself. He walked toward the table where he and Stanly usually sat and pulled out a chair, but he didn’t sit down in it. He stood still, frozen by the thought of what it would mean, what would certainly happen if he sat down to drink by himself. He’d gotten back into the habit of drinking alone, but there was a stigma involved with doing it in public, as if he were crying out for the whole world to hear, “I’m all alone.” He pushed the chair back in and found a stool at the bar next to a middle aged woman. He didn’t think she was really good enough for him, but he tried to strike up a conversation anyway.
“Mind if I drink with you? You know what they say about drinking by yourself, and I really need a drink.”
“Don’t mind at all,” the woman said cheerfully.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.
Peter asked for a beer, and the bartender filled a glass from the tap and set it down in front of him.
“So what do you do?” Peter asked.
The unattractive woman looked as if she were deep in thought and then responded, “Let’s call it creative design consulting.” She laughed.
Peter didn’t understand what part of her response could possibly be considered humorous, but he laughed with her. She wasn’t funny, but he could appreciate anonymity.
“What do you do?” the woman asked.
“The same thing, creative design consulting.”
They both laughed again. They made small talk and Peter finished his beer and ordered another. He appreciated the meaningless banter simply because it was contact with another human being, but he had a hard time focusing. Someone at a table somewhere said something that caught his attention. He made eye contact with the middle aged woman but his ears were tuned to the voice of what sounded like a much younger, more attractive woman.
“Man . . . he’s always here, as much as I am at least . . . I don’t know . . . family problems I think . . . drunk? I don’t know . . . his friend . . . usually drives.”
He couldn’t make out much of what the voice said because of the ambient noise, but he felt sure that the voice was talking about him. He knew that from the fragments of the conversation he could pick out, she could have been talking about anyone, and he tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t stop listening.
“Are you even listening to me?” the middle aged woman asked with a flirtatious slap on his knee. “I think you need another drink. Bartender, I think my friend here needs another drink.”
Peter turned his head around the room to try and find the voice.
“Don’t tell me you’re looking for some other woman. You’ve already got me eating out of your hand,” the middle aged woman said.
“No I just thought I heard somebody say my name.”
“And what is that name?” the woman asked
Peter was focusing on another voice and heard her question, but it didn’t register with him that he needed to respond.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said abruptly. “That’s kind of personal, I shouldn’t have asked. So what are you doing later tonight?”
“Just drinking,” Peter said and then calling the bartender, asked for a shot of whisky.
* * *
When Peter had walked into Murphy’s, the comfortable familiarity that washed over him made him feel more at home than he’d ever felt walking into his new apartment. For Hannah the experience was like stepping into a foreign country; a place that she’d visited years ago but never warmed up to. She was glad that it was a classier bar. The tables had a veneer of elegance, and local artwork hung from the walls. She was relieved for her sake, but she’d always imagined, and secretly hoped, that Peter spent his evenings crawling into the dirtiest place he could find. She walked into the bar like a little girl looking for her mother in a crowded department store. As she stepped inside someone grabbed her arm forcefully from behind and she let out a startled squeak.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she heard a voice say.
Hannah turned around to see Joseph Henderson’s eyes fixed on her with the same firmness with which his hand gripped her arm.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when she didn’t respond. He didn’t wait for a reply but ushered here over to a table, and pulled out a chair for her.
“Is he here?” Hannah asked.
“He’s sitting at the bar behind you, don’t turn around.”
Hannah had already turned to find him.
“I sat you down with your back to him for a reason,” he said with a scolding look in his eyes.
“Of course,” Hannah mumbled. “Who’s the girl?”
“I don’t know. He’s been talking with her all evening.”
“Did you take any pictures of them?”
“Mrs. Manchell, talking with a woman at a bar isn’t going to get you anything in court. He has to cause a scene or something like that to show that he isn’t fit to have custody of your son.”
“How much has he had to drink?” Hannah asked.
“Enough. Look you really can’t be here. If he knows you were here you could be seen as instigating anything he might do.”
“Don’t worry. He may be an experienced alcoholic, but he can’t hold his liquor that well. He’ll drink enough that he won’t remember a thing tomorrow. I only came here because I needed to get out of the house. I’ll buy you a drink while we wait.”
“Mrs. Manchell you really should leave.”
“I insist.”
“Mrs. Manchell I don’t drink on the job.”
“Well if you don’t want to have a drink with me then maybe someone else in here will.” The words came out of Hannah’s mouth, but they didn’t feel like they were her own. It was as if something else were taking control. S
he couldn’t tell if she disliked it.
“I don’t think you should do that,” Joseph Henderson objected, but Hannah had already gotten up and was making her way through the maze of tables to the bar. She sat down next to the middle-aged woman who was still flirting with Peter. She ordered a glass of white zinfandel from the bartender and looked back at Joseph who watched in disbelief. She made a clicking motion with her index finger and waited for him to bring out his camera before giving him the thumbs up. The fact that Peter hadn’t noticed or recognized her was all the proof she needed to verify that he would have no recollection of her being at the bar the next day.
“Excuse me,” Hannah said tapping the shoulder of the middle-aged woman.
“Have we met?” she said turning around.
“No we haven’t, but you’re flirting with my husband.”
With those words Peter finally realized what was going on. He couldn’t quite put everything together, but he was just sober enough to know that Hannah being there was a bad sign.
“Is it true?” the woman said turning back to Peter.
Peter started off by saying yes, and then, remembering that she was his ex-wife, tried to correct himself, but it was too late. The woman slapped him, this time without the slightest hint of flirtatiousness. Hannah looked over to make sure that there was a picture. The expression on Joseph’s face indicated that he was mortified with her but that he had gotten the picture.
“Maybe you should go on home now,” Hannah suggested to her ex-husband once the woman had left them alone.
“You can’t tell me when to go home anymore,” Peter managed to say. “But I’m going now because I want to.”
He got up from the bar and paid his tab. Hannah went back to the table. “Keep taking pictures,” she said to Joseph who had put his camera back in his jacket pocket. “He’s about to try and go home.”
“Mrs. Manchell, you can’t let him drive home like that. He’s a danger to himself and every other motorist on the road. You might not care about him, but you have to at least think about someone else on the road, someone else’s husband or father.”
Horror crept into Hannah’s face, as if she were waking up from a pleasant dream into a nightmare. “What am I,” she began. “What am I doing?” She put her hands over her mouth and shook her head frantically. “What am I doing? You have to stop him. You can’t let him . . . not like that. What did I do? What are you waiting for you have to stop him, right away, get up now!”
Hannah was borderline hysterical. People started to realize that something was going on, and the tables around Hannah began to mumble. Joseph Henderson stood up to intercept Peter, but Hannah’s hand grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Maybe you could get a few photographs or some video of him trying to drive drunk before you stop him. You know, some kind of proof. What am I saying? Just don’t let him get in that car. But if you could, a video would help in court. Do you have video on that camera?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Joseph said harshly and shook his arm free.
“What am I doing?” Hannah repeated to nobody in particular.
* * *
As soon as Lewis saw Summer walk into the classroom on Tuesday morning he walked right over to her. His step had a determination in it that matched the focused expression on his face. He found himself standing in front of her, maybe even blocking her way, and he realized that he had no idea what he intended to say.
“So are you my girlfriend?” He asked. His resolve vanished as the words spilled out of his mouth.
“I guess so,” she replied. Lewis remained baffled. He looked for words while she stood in front of him, obviously waiting for him to say something, or maybe just waiting for him to get out of her way.
“Okay,” he finally managed to say, and then he stepped aside and clumsily made his way back to his desk.
* * *
Julia had gone to Sara’s house Monday afternoon and locked herself in the guest room. She’d stayed strong throughout rehearsal but couldn’t pretend when she was only trying to convince herself. Sara didn’t knock on her door to tell her that dinner was ready, and she didn’t go looking for something to satisfy the hunger pangs that shot up from her empty stomach. It was better to feel those pangs than the other empty feeling.
When Tuesday morning came, she woke up early and felt completely refreshed. The newness felt so real that she couldn’t understand why she’d let yesterday’s events upset her so much. What did she care if the world knew what she’d done? Who were they to her? In a few months she would be leaving them forever and she’d have a new start in college. She didn’t care for any of them and they didn’t care about her.
“Let them talk,” she said to herself as she brushed her hair. The guilt that had plagued her for so many months gave way to defiance. Right and wrong dissipated into simply keeping her head up, and in her hurry to defend herself from the imaginary accusations of those around her she forgot to reproach herself. She imagined everything that Stacy would say and how she would respond, and then replayed the same scenario with Kristen, and even Scott, and then with everyone else she knew because surely everyone would know and everyone would accuse her.
She was almost surprised when she made it through the day without anyone saying a word to her. Even people who were normally friendly towards her kept their distance. Rehearsal also passed without incident. She was Emily Webb and everyone treated her as such, even when she was backstage. If she wasn’t Emily Webb she was invisible. When she got back to the house that evening she found Sara in her room finishing up her homework.
“Hi,” Sara said sheepishly.
“Hey,” Julia replied.
Neither of them spoke for a time.
“I heard a rumor today,” Sara finally said.
“I thought you would.”
“Is that why you were,” Sara paused, “why you were in your room yesterday?” They’d been friends for years, but the words that came out of Sara’s mouth were distant.
“Yeah.”
“Is it true?” Sara’s words were forced, as if asking them hurt.
Julia nodded her head. Sara didn’t look taken aback, but had a confused longing in her eyes that expressed the desire for clarity. Julia understood exactly what Sara wanted to ask. She also understood that Sara would never be able to ask those questions. Now that it had been said she would have to imagine what it meant, but she would never be able to know all the details because Julia would never be able to voice them.
“I’m sorry,” Sara said finally.
“Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t know.”
“Exactly. You didn’t know so there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Julia said curtly.
“I’m sorry because I didn’t know.”
“How could you have known?”
“I should have. I mean I knew that something was wrong, but I didn’t know what it was, and I should have known because you’re my friend.”
“I never told you.”
“I never asked.”
“It’s all okay now,” Julia managed to say.
“But I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How could it possibly be your fault?”
“I wasn’t there for you. I should have known what was going on. I should have said something. If I’d really been there for you then you could’ve told me. If I’d asked you would’ve told me, and then I could have said something. I don’t know what I would’ve said, but I know that I would have said something, and if I’d been there for you before, then it would have never come to what it did. There were a million things I could’ve done, but I was too busy to know what I should do, but now I see every day that passed without me doing anything that mattered and if I’d just . . . I can’t help feeling that it’s as much my fault as much as it is yours.” Sara’s voice quivered, but she got all the words out.
“It’s not your responsibility to watch out for me. You can
only be responsible for your own actions, and you didn’t do anything wrong,” Julia insisted.
“I didn’t do anything right.”
“It’s not your job to look out for me.”
Sara’s eyes grew defiant for a moment, and Julia could see a passion and purpose in them that she’d never seen before. Then the shame crept back into her face. “You’re wrong,” Sara said softly. “You’re wrong because if you’re right then nothing matters anymore.”
Julia had sat down on the bed and she would have gotten up to leave had her cell phone not rung. She pulled it out of her purse, and almost didn’t answer when she saw who was calling. She wished Sara would go, but her friend didn’t move.
“Hello?” Julia said as she put the phone to her ear. “I thought you would hear . . . No, You don’t need to come over. I’m doing fine . . . I know you would. I don’t’ have any doubt that you would be here as soon as possible if I asked you to come.” Julia hung her head and nodded slightly in self-reproaching agreement, as if the person on the other end of the phone could see her. “It’s not because you feel indebted is it? Don’t answer that. You couldn’t say yes, and I don’t want you to have to say no.” Julia sat down on the bed and listened. “You shouldn’t,” she answered. She sat quietly and listened again. “I don’t deserve that, and I can’t say the same to you. I wish that I could, but I’m afraid I’ll never be able to, and wishing doesn’t count for much . . . No. You should just move on. I’ve made my bed, and there’s no reason for you to share it with me . . . What should you do? You should forget about me and never call me again. Go find someone who deserves you.” Julia waited as the voice on the other end spoke. “Yes, if I ever change my mind, I’ll call you right away.”
She waited in silence, and finally the voice on the other end of the phone said goodbye. “Goodbye,” Julia repeated, and then added quickly, “Thank you for calling,” before hanging up the phone. She sat on the bed alone. She would have given anything to have been able to say that she loved him too, but it would have been a lie. She tried to make herself believe that he’d only called because he felt indebted to her, but she knew that indebtedness had nothing to do with it. But why else would he call her after everything that had happened between them? She wondered how much of her conversation Sara had understood, and hurriedly got up to leave.