I leaned forward. “Pardon?”
“I came to see Betty,” she said.
Betty smiled. “We had a good talk, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did.” Koula looked at the rest of us. “You’d be surprised. She’s pretty good one-on-one. Not the total idiot you’d expect.”
Betty coughed. “Do you want to share what you told me?”
Koula tugged at her fishnets. “Once, when I was high, I stole my dad’s car. I hit a mailbox and broke one of the headlights.
“But that mailbox could have been a kid, you know? I was mad at Jacob, sure, but I was also mad at myself. It so easily could have been me in his shoes. I didn’t set out to hurt anyone, but I was just lucky I didn’t. He wasn’t so lucky. But he also wasn’t malicious. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, either.”
“But he did,” Ivan said.
“Yes. He did,” said Alonzo. “It was an idiotic thing to do.”
“Remember when we talked about guilt that one night?” asked Koula. “Imagine his guilt.”
“Petula?” said Betty. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
I tried to gather my thoughts. “I feel for him, too. But he lied to us. Repeatedly. We told him everything. He told us only what he wanted us to hear.”
“Have any of you spoken to Jacob since he shared his story?”
We all shook our heads.
Betty looked at each of us. “He must be feeling very isolated.” I couldn’t tell whether or not she was giving us a slap on the wrist.
We all fell silent. Eventually Alonzo spoke. “I’m leaning toward forgiveness. I mean, there are a lot of people who will never be able to forgive him. And he’ll never be able to forgive himself. Maybe we don’t need to punish him too.”
Koula leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m with Alonzo.”
I shook my head. “Really? It’s that simple? After everything he did to us?”
“What, exactly, did he do to us?” said Alonzo. “Bring us closer together? Make us feel happy and proud and creative once in a while?”
“What a monster,” added Koula.
I did not appreciate the sarcasm.
“Plus there’s everything he did for you,” said Koula, looking at me.
“What did he do for me except lie and lead me on?”
Koula guffawed. “Seriously? You need me to spell it out? You were this paranoid little freak. Constantly dousing yourself in hand sanitizer. Leading this narrow, sad little life.”
“Scared of everything,” Alonzo added.
Ivan nodded. “You were weird, Petula.” This from the boy who sometimes answered questions with farts.
“Jacob resuscitated you,” said Koula.
“It’s true,” said Alonzo. “We’re all witnesses. He brought you back to life.”
I couldn’t believe it. I felt completely ganged up on. I looked at Betty, to see if she was going to do something, chastise them, maybe, or make them put a quarter in the Jar.
She was nodding agreement. Highly unprofessional.
Easy for all of you to talk about forgiveness, I wanted to shout. You didn’t have sex with him. You didn’t have sex with a boy who forgot to tell you he’d killed someone, and who treated you as a pity project.
You didn’t tell him you loved him, over and over again.
—
Fifteen minutes later I sat across from Mr. Watley in the chair with the nubby multicolored fabric. The grooves didn’t mold quite so perfectly to my bum anymore.
I tried to focus. I was still reeling from the pile-on at YART.
Mr. Watley steepled his hands under his chin. “So. The flu.”
“That’s right.” I coughed a few times for effect.
“The voice mail your mother left yesterday. It sounded a lot like you.”
“People confuse the two of us on the phone all the time.”
He stared at me with his watery eyes. “Mr. Cohen hasn’t been here all week, either.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” I sat back in the nubby chair. It was rather nice being back in Mr. Watley’s office. Comforting and familiar, like a pair of old slippers.
But I did notice one change. A pottery bowl with a lid had taken the place of my mason jar snow globe on his desk. I felt a tug of envy that someone else’s craft had usurped mine.
Mr. Watley picked up a thick folder. “I’d like you to take him his homework.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because you’re friends.”
“Not anymore.”
“Petula, I’m not asking you to marry him and raise a family.” He pushed the folder across the desk. “Just take him his darn homework.”
I didn’t pick the folder up. “Who gave you the pottery, sir?”
“It’s an urn. It holds Martha’s ashes.”
My heart sank. “Your wife?”
“Goodness, no! Our pug. She lived a good, long life. But still…her absence is keenly felt.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you. Now will you please take Mr. Cohen’s homework and go? I have a golf game in half an hour and I don’t want to miss my tee time.”
I looked at the folder. I looked at the urn. “Tell you what.”
“What?”
“I’ll bring Jacob his homework if you do something for me in return.”
He sighed. “Petula, are you trying to bribe me?”
I thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it, yes.”
Mr. Watley had reluctantly agreed to my deal, so I kept my end of the bargain. I walked to Jacob’s apartment and left his homework with Serge the Concierge.
Probably not what Mr. Watley had in mind, but too bad.
The next morning, Saturday, I texted Rachel and asked if she wanted to come over.
She texted back yes.
My parents were over the moon to see Rachel at our place two days in a row after almost two years. They fussed over her in an embarrassing way. When we finally escaped to my bedroom, she dumped out the contents of her tote bag on my floor. “It’s everything we need to make those cheese grater earring holders.”
I was fixing little metallic feet to the base of a grater with my glue gun when she asked, “Have you heard from Jacob?”
“No.”
“Have you reached out to him?”
“Can we not talk about it? I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just—I don’t want to think about him, or any of it. Just for a little while.”
“Of course.” And for the next hour we crafted together, chatting about nothing in particular. It was wonderful.
At eleven the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of the Watleys. “This should be interesting,” Rachel said. “I’ve never seen Mr. Watley out of his natural habitat before.”
Mom let them in. “Hello,” said Mr. Watley. “I’m Ronald, and this is my wife, Ethel.”
Rachel and I did our best not to stare, but it was anthropologically fascinating, seeing Mr. Watley outside of school. He wore loose-fitting old-people jeans, a golf shirt, and bright orange socks. Mrs. Watley—Ethel—was equally intriguing. She was all about multiple floral prints. I immediately admired her and her bold fashion choices.
“Can we offer you some tea?” asked Mom.
“That sounds lovely,” said Ethel.
We settled into the living room. I found Alice and Stanley, and put Alice on Mr. Watley’s lap and Stanley on Ethel’s.
“What sweet things!” Mrs. Watley said. “They’re like two peas in a pod.”
“Do you think it would be all right if we changed their names to Fred and Ginger?” asked Mr. Watley.
I thought about Koula, who’d picked up Pippi/Lorena Bobbitt with her dad the night before. “Fred and Ginger are great names,” I said.
The Watleys had brought along their pug’s carrier, so when it was time for them to leave, they took Alice and Stanley with them. I gave them a bunch of catnip toys I’d made. Mom kep
t it together surprisingly well. “I’m happy they’re going to a loving home,” she said.
After the Watleys had left, Rachel and I finished our earring holders. At around five o’clock she got a text from her mom. “My parents are wondering if you’d like to come for dinner,” she said.
She watched me closely. I took longer to answer than was polite.
This was it. It was now or never.
“Okay.”
—
Rachel lived on the main floor of an old heritage home in the heart of the West End. Her parents had bought it years ago and renovated it, and now rented out the basement and top floor.
We walked up the front steps together. I felt sick with trepidation. Rachel unlocked the door and stepped inside.
I stayed where I was.
Rachel’s parents, Holger and Hilda, appeared in the foyer. “Petula. It’s so good to see you again.” Holger, a big bear of a man, pulled me inside. Both he and Hilda gave me a hug.
“I’m making macaroni with three cheeses for dinner,” Holger said.
I smiled. He knew it was my favorite dish, along with his grilled three-cheese sandwiches and quattro formaggi pizzas. Rachel’s family loves cheese. “That sounds amazing,” I said.
“I was sorry to hear about your parents’ separation,” Hilda said. “Rachel told me.” She squeezed my arm.
“You girls can go on into the living room. We’ll holler when food’s ready,” said Holger.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” asked Rachel.
I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t.”
We headed into the living room.
Owen was sitting on the couch, watching a Blue’s Clues rerun.
He was so cute. He still had apple-red cheeks and a shock of blond hair, but he was a little bit leaner, a little bit taller.
“Hey, Owen,” said Rachel. “Remember Petula?”
Owen looked at me. I held my breath. Last time I’d seen him, he’d screamed that I’d killed his sister.
“Steve doesn’t need strawberries for the banana cake,” he said to me.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to go help my parents,” said Rachel. She left the room. It was a stinker of a move.
I stood where I was.
“He needs two cups of flour,” Owen said, still looking at me.
“I think maybe it’s three cups,” I said.
“No, silly! It’s two.” He bounced up and down on the couch. “Come sit.”
I perched beside him on the couch. He watched the TV, and I watched him.
Yes, he made me think of Maxine. But seeing him didn’t make me feel worse. It didn’t make me miss her any more or any less.
Owen didn’t make me miss Maxine because he wasn’t Maxine.
“A clue!” he shouted.
“Where?” I said, pretending I couldn’t see it.
“There!” He pointed at the screen.
“Where?”
“There, silly.”
This is what I was so afraid of. This little boy. The thought made me laugh. Which made Owen laugh.
We watched Blue’s Clues and giggled until Holger called us in to supper.
On Sunday, a guy came by the apartment to pick up hundreds of Dad’s records. Dad had advertised a large chunk of his collection on an audiophile website. “I can’t move them all to the new place,” he said. “I don’t have room.” He let me keep my favorites, and he kept all of his favorites, too.
The buyer was rake-thin, in his fifties. “I’m Cecil,” he said. He wore a purple tie-dyed shirt and his long hair was pulled back with a scrunchie.
Dad and I helped him load the boxes of records into his Toyota Corolla. When we’d loaded the last box, Cecil handed Dad a check. “Did I spell the name right?”
“You did. Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” said Cecil. “This is a wonderful addition to my collection.” He drove away.
Dad handed the check to me. “This is for you.” I looked at it. It was made out to Petula De Wilde.
And it was for over three thousand dollars.
That’s right: over three thousand dollars.
There were a million ways my parents could use this money. “Dad, I can’t—”
He cut me off. “We’ll put most of it in your education fund and deposit the rest in your bank account for a rainy day.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was it guilt money?
Who was I to say no to guilt money?
So I just said, “Thanks.”
On Tuesday I stopped by Mr. Watley’s office to pick up Jacob’s homework again. That was part of our arrangement: I would do twice-weekly deliveries until Jacob came back to school. “How are Fred and Ginger settling in?”
“Extremely well. Ethel is smitten, and truth be told, so am I.” Mr. Watley handed me a folder. “I don’t mean to pry, but how is Mr. Cohen?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“But you saw him just last week.”
I shook my head. “I left his homework with the concierge.”
He looked at me with his watery eyes. “Petula…”
“What? Why can’t everyone get off my back? I’m doing what you asked. If you’re so curious, you go visit him.” I strode out of the office, stuffing the folder into my tote bag.
Why were people acting like I was the disappointment?
—
I walked to Jacob’s apartment, taking deep breaths as I passed the construction site. I still felt angry. When I was a block away, a man called out behind me. “Petula.”
I turned, keys between my knuckles.
It was Jacob’s dad, David. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in a while. “Do you have a moment?” he asked. “Can we walk around the block?”
No! my mind shouted. No, I don’t have a moment; no, I don’t want to walk around the block with you. “Um. Okay,” I said. “You’re home early.”
“We don’t think Jacob should be alone right now. Miranda and I are taking turns.”
Oh.
We started walking. “I know he told you,” David said.
I nodded.
“He’s been wanting to tell you for quite a while. I was the one who told him he shouldn’t.” He was hunched over, like a little old man. “He’s a beautiful soul, Petula. I know I’m his dad, but it’s not just me. If you could have known him in Toronto…he was the kid all the other kids liked. He was the kid who intervened when there were conflicts. He could move so easily between different cliques….He made people feel like they could be their best selves. Miranda and I would joke all the time, how did we luck out? How did we get a kid who is so much better than the best of the two of us?” His voice cracked, and he turned away for a moment. “And then all of this happened. Our beautiful boy made a terrible mistake. And watching him suffer, watching the other families suffer…I’m his dad, I should be able to do something.” David started to cry. I had no idea what to do, so I looked away.
“When he met you, and the others, it was the first time we saw a spark of his old self. You’ve made a huge difference to him. I want you to know that.”
“Okay.” That was my contribution to the most awkward conversation of my life.
We’d looped back and stood outside their building. I rummaged in my tote bag and pulled out the folder. “Jacob’s homework.”
David took the folder from me. I thought I was free and clear, but then he opened the door and held it for me. “You’re coming up, right?” His look was pleading.
I didn’t know what to do. I stepped inside. Serge the Concierge said hello. David pressed the elevator button. I saw my cowardly out. “I don’t do elevators,” I said. “But you go ahead. I’ll take the stairs.” When he got on the elevator, I would turn around and leave.
“I’ll take the stairs with you,” he said. “I could use the exercise.”
I had no more tricks up my sleeve.
—
/> Miranda was on the couch working on her laptop when we entered. “Oh! Petula.” She got up and embraced me. She looked exhausted. “It’s good to see you.”
“She’s come to see Jacob,” said David.
No, I haven’t!
“He’ll be happy to see you,” said Miranda.
She led me down the hall and knocked quietly on his bedroom door. My heart was pounding in my chest.
“Jacob,” she said, opening the door a crack. “Petula is here.”
Jacob was a lump under the covers. His robotic arm rested on the bedside table. The room smelled funky, like he hadn’t left it for a long time.
Jacob rolled over and opened his eyes. When he saw me, he smiled. “Hey.”
“I’ll leave you two,” said Miranda.
Part of me wanted to fling myself on the bed and hold him. Part of me wanted to fling myself on the bed and pummel him.
I stayed by the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have been honest from the start.”
“Yeah. You should have.”
We both fell silent.
“When I met you,” he began, “you were so…odd.”
Not off to a great start.
“But so beautiful.”
Better.
“And, I don’t know. Broken. Like me. And when we started hanging out…for the first time I didn’t feel like a total piece of garbage twenty-four seven.”
I knew all about feeling like garbage.
“I love you, Petula. That was never a lie.”
I wanted to believe him. I took a few steps toward his bed. “Koula and Alonzo want you to come back to YART.”
“What about Ivan?”
“He’s angry.”
“What about you?”
“I’m angry, too.”
Tears started rolling down his face. “This is going to be my life. I’ll meet people, we’ll get along. At some point I’ll have to tell them what I did. And then I’ll watch them pull away.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Based on the evidence so far, I can guess.”
I sat down on his bed.
“Do I stink?”
I leaned in close and sniffed. “Yes.”
“How about my breath?” He breathed on me.