We Were Never Here(37)
“You haven’t retired!” I brightened, glad for the new topic. “I thought Kristen mentioned a retirement party at some point.” Czarnecki Chemists was a local chain of pharmacies—doing well, improbably, in a sea of Walgreens.
“Right, ’cause he said he’d quit the minute he turned seventy-five,” Kristen said. “But apparently, quote, ‘retirement is for the lazy.’?”
“The man broke out in a cold sweat anytime anyone used the R-word,” Nana added, her voice light. “I think he keeps working so that he doesn’t have to be home with me.” She grinned and jutted her skinny elbow toward him. This dynamic I knew from my own parents, before they’d finally split: self-deprecating humor, Oh, isn’t it funny how we can’t stand each other.
“Well, dear, somebody’s gotta support your penchant for wine-tasting,” he volleyed back.
But she just chuckled. “Oh, I’ve been retired since the day Kristen finished college. I have no trouble filling my days. But we’re boring—tell us, Emily, what’s keeping you busy?”
I set my glass on the coffee table, next to a thick black book that I suddenly realized was a Bible. King of Kings, where Kristen had gone to school, leaned fundamentalist, conservative Protestant; her dad had been super involved in the community—girls’ basketball coach, deacon on Sundays. She’d switched schools after her parents had died, but Nana and Bill had continued to attend weekly services there.
“Oh, you know. Work is good—I’m at Kibble, it’s a start-up? That makes fancy, organic cat food?” Bill and Nana nodded blankly. “It’s fun; I’m learning a lot about the start-up world.”
“The problem with start-ups is that they’re just trying to make enough of a name for themselves to get bought out.” Bill shrugged. “There’s no long-term planning.”
I smiled and sipped my wine, but his comment burned. This was what Kristen was talking about: always right, always confident, with a touch of criticism prickling beneath his words.
Nana turned to me: “Are you seeing anyone special?”
“Yeah, we just had brunch with him.” Kristen smirked.
“It’s—it’s really new.” I closed off the topic and everyone looked around uncomfortably.
A drilling noise pierced the air, and Bill rolled his eyes. “The house next door, they’ve had workers tromping around the yard for months now. You know the one, with the stupid pineapples,” he said to me, pointing. I felt the air shift; Kristen had gone very quiet, and Nana regarded Bill with something twitchy and furious in her eyes. I wanted to fold up, shrink down to a tiny rectangle like a tent.
“Now, remind me,” Nana tried, “do you have siblings?”
Didn’t they have any questions for Kristen, whom they’d raised—whom they hadn’t seen in so long? I shook my head. “An only child, like Kristen.”
“And your parents are still in…Minnesota, was it?”
“That’s right. My mom is. My dad’s in Iowa.”
“So you don’t have any family here!” Nana said it with something like horror.
“Nope! I’m doing my own thing in Wisconsin, I guess.”
I liked it here; after eight years, Milwaukee felt like home. It had many of the things I’d loved about Evanston, the town around Northwestern—old, pretty homes and picturesque lighthouses, with just enough of its own offbeat identity to make it feel far from Minneapolis, and a better fit for me. Milwaukee had a dash of the backwoods and bizarre: kooky out-of-time dive bars and schmaltzy speakeasies tucked in among bone-white museums and broad, aggressively hip markets. And the lakefront—that beautiful lakefront. Every spring I vowed to spend more time there, reading or swimming or picnicking or flying kites with friends’ children. And every year, summer sped by and the leaves began to blush before I’d thought to make the short drive to Bradford Beach.
* * *
—
An hour later, I began the lengthy and time-honored process of expressing my thanks and attempting to leave. I followed Nana into the kitchen, clutching my empty glass and the untouched bowl of nuts she’d set out.
She whirled around. “I want to exchange numbers in case you ever need anything.” She handed me her phone, which felt naked and sharp without a case. “Email too. We should have done this a long time ago. I know you’re all set up here, but since your parents are so far away.” Her eyes flickered. “Just in case.”
* * *
—
In my car, I sat still for a moment, my breath traveling in droplets onto the windows and dashboard. Even my parents gave me a cursory hello when I saw them in person; Kristen’s grandparents barely seemed happy to see her. And vice versa—the dislike between them was palpable.
Also. The way that the mention of Chile didn’t bother Kristen—her almost aggressive casualness, the laid-back lean and unhurried, unworried timbre of her voice set me on edge. She’d brought it up at brunch with Aaron, and she hadn’t led the conversation away when Bill broached the subject. Meanwhile, I was so anxious about getting caught that even a mention of the trip made my fingers shake, my teeth chatter.
Chile. The image appeared as if projected onto the windshield: Paolo’s legs on the floor, sneakers turned up toward the ceiling. Blood in a big jammy oval a few feet away.