A Little Hope(62)

She feels the sweat bead on her forehead as she dials. Wally, good old Wally, answers on the third ring. She has called him many times over the years: to prune the maple tree at the edge of her yard, to take down the children’s old swing set, to lug the ancient cash register away from the dry cleaning store before the new one was delivered. He is always pleasant, always polite. Never charges her much. “I have a job for you,” she says.



* * *



A few days later, she stands on her front porch as Wally loads the last of the drum set into the back of his truck. She nods at him and hands him a check for his time, along with a twenty-dollar bill (“You don’t tip ’em, they’ll think twice about coming again,” Von always said). Wally nods and thanks her. She listens to his loud engine start up and regards the two guitars, the drums, and music stand on its side, its many legs up in the air, the speaker pushed against the tailgate.

She holds Luke’s drumsticks and almost tosses them into the back of the truck with everything else, but then she remembers these were on a Christmas list when he was a teenager, when he still made lists for her.

She remembers going to the small music shop in Middletown, and the man guiding her to a wall of mallets and drumsticks and all types of cleaners for saxophones and flutes. She liked this set of sticks because they were red.

She holds them in her hand and feels a blast of pain like an ocean wave that nearly knocks her down. She tries to be tough every single day, since Von, since Luke, but these blasts catch her unaware, always hit her so hard. She holds the drumsticks. She watches Wally’s truck take her son’s stuff, and it rattles in the pickup bed, the cord from the speaker dangling out the back, flapping as the car takes off.

She looks at the lawn and sees dead, dry spots from the heat. She notices a few loose leaves meandering as they fall. She is so sad and empty and disgusted—yes, disgusted, perfectly disgusted. At Luke, at Ginger. When Von died, all she felt was afraid. Afraid and heartbroken. As though someone had stolen everything from her. But this loss is different. She is angry, and Ginger’s letter that she moved to the drawer where she keeps the birthday candles and garbage bag twist ties just makes her angrier.

She needs to get to the cleaners. She has payroll to write out, the utility bills to handle. That’s what her Saturdays are reserved for. She promised Kay Lionel she’d have that set of linen napkins and tablecloths pressed for a dinner party. She needs to put an ad in the paper to replace her seamstress, Freddie Tyler. She needs to call the company to have them wax and polish the floor.

The air is so warm that she can see squiggly heat waves above the road. She hears the buzz of insects. A car she doesn’t recognize pulls into her driveway, and a woman waves shyly at her. She wears sunglasses, but Darcy sees a familiar flick of her hair and recognizes the dimples and cheekbones right away. She is filled with dread.

“I thought I would stop by,” Ginger says as she steps out of the car. She is still as beautiful as ever, her hair in a bob above her shoulders.

“Hello, dear.” Darcy looks down at Luke’s drumsticks. She feels her mouth form a frown. “I would invite you inside, but I’m late for work.” She hates being cold to Ginger. She has never spoken one mean word to her in the fifteen years that she’s known her.

“Oh.” Ginger takes her glasses off. “Okay, well maybe another time.” She stands by the car door.

“Okay then.” Darcy feels her knees wobble. She feels her heart flutter. She is better than this. Talk to the poor girl, Von would say. What would Luke say? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” Ginger says. She holds the car door, and Darcy sees the ring on Ginger’s finger. A square diamond. Platinum band. Something that looks like an heirloom, something someone would have given back in her day.

Darcy shakes her head. She knows how ridiculous her anger would sound. She knows how illogical it is, doesn’t she? Poor girl. “You shouldn’t be sorry. My goodness, why should you be?” But she still feels the anger inside her, the bitter resentment. She imagines scanning that letter one last time, and that’s exactly what she thinks: that Ginger betrayed her. Ginger. Luke. She’s mad at both of them. Go to your room, she feels like saying. I don’t want to look at you. She imagines Luke’s sullen way he would hang his head and slog down the hall. He never slammed his door like some kids might. He would just mope inside and she’d hear him throw himself on the bed.

“Mrs. Crowley.” Ginger licks her lips, and Darcy can see how red her face is. “I knew you’d be disappointed. I’m sorry about the way this happened. All I did was think about Luke for so long afterward.”

“Come in,” Darcy says then, and Ginger closes the car door.

Inside, the house is cool. Darcy is happy she keeps the house clean for this very reason: unexpected company. She wonders how long it has been since Ginger’s been here. In a way, she is bitter toward her, but she is also so happy to have her here. You’re back, she wants to say.

Every time Ginger ever came over, Darcy felt relief and hope. When Luke was with her, she knew he wouldn’t get into trouble. Not like with that Chucky, who wouldn’t look you in the eye. What will she say to Ginger? She offers her water, lemonade, some cookies, but Ginger politely declines. She sees the puzzled look on her face when Darcy suggests they go to the basement. “It’s cooler down there,” Darcy says, and Ginger follows her down the steps.