Whats this, Charlotte? Mrs. Oliver asked in surprise. My birthday isnt until this summer.
I know, Charlotte answered with a gap-toothed grin. But my mom and me thought youd get more use out of it if I gave it to you now.
Mrs. Oliver expected to find an apple-scented candle or homemade cookies or a hand-painted birdhouse inside, but instead pulled out a denim stone-washed jumper with rhinestones painstakingly arranged in the shape of a rainbow twinkling up at her. Charlotte looked expectantly up at Mrs. Oliver through the veil of bangs that covered her normally mischievous gray eyes.
I Bedazzled it myself. Mostly, Charlotte explained. My mom helped with the rainbow. She placed a grubby finger on the colorful arch. Roy V. Big. Red, orange, yellow, violet, blue, indigo, green. Just like you said. Charlotte smiled brightly, showing her small, even baby teeth, still all intact.
Mrs. Oliver didnt have the heart to tell Charlotte that the correct mnemonic for remembering the colors in the rainbow was Roy G. Biv, but took comfort in that fact that she at least knew all the colors of the rainbow if not the proper order. Its lovely, Charlotte, Mrs. Oliver said, holding the dress in front of her. I can tell you worked hard on it.
I did, Charlotte said solemnly. For two weeks. I was going to Bedazzle a birthday cake on the front but then my mom said you might wear it more if it wasnt so holiday-ish. I almost ran out of beads. My little brother thought they were Skittles.
I will certainly get a lot of wear out of it. Thank you, Charlotte. Mrs. Oliver reached over to pat Charlotte on the shoulder and Charlotte immediately leaned in and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Olivers thick middle, pressing her face into the buttons of her starched white blouse. Mrs. Oliver felt a tickle beneath her iron-gray hair and resisted the urge to scratch.
It was Mrs. Olivers husband, Cal, who had convinced her to wear the dress. What can it hurt? he asked just this morning when he caught her standing in front of her open closet, looking at the jumper garishly glaring right back at her.
I dont wear denim to school, and Im certainly not going to start wearing it just before I retire, she said, not looking him in the eye, remembering how Charlotte had rushed eagerly into the classroom at the beginning of the week to see if she was wearing the dress.
She worked on it for two weeks, Cal reminded her at the breakfast table.
Its not professional, she snapped, thinking of how on each passing day this week, Charlottes shoulders wilted more and more as she entered the room to find her teacher wearing her typical wool-blend slacks, blouse and cardigan.
Her fingers bled, Cal said through a mouthful of oatmeal.
Its supposed to be ten below outside today. Its too cold to wear a dress, Mrs. Oliver told her husband, miserably picturing how Charlotte wouldnt even look her way yesterday, defiantly pursing her lips and refusing to answer any questions directed at her.
Wear long johns and a turtleneck underneath, her husband said mildly, coming up behind her and kissing her on the neck in the way that even after forty-five years of marriage caused her to shiver deliciously.
Because he was rightCal was always rightshe had brushed him away in irritation and told him she was going to be late for school if she didnt get dressed right then. Wearing the jumper, she left him sitting at the kitchen table finishing his oatmeal, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She hadnt told him she loved him, she hadnt kissed his wrinkled cheek in goodbye. Dont forget to plug in the Crock-Pot, she called as she stepped outside into the soft gray morning. The sun hadnt emerged yet, but it was the warmest it would be that day, the temperature tumbling with each passing hour. As she climbed into her car to make the twenty-five-minute drive from her home in Dalsing to the school in Broken Branch, she didnt realize it could be the last time she made that journey.
It was worth it, she supposed, after seeing Charlottes face transform from jaded disappointment to pure joy when she saw that Mrs. Oliver was actually wearing the dress. Of course Cal was right. Wearing the impractical, gaudy thing wouldnt hurt anything; shed had to suffer the raised eyebrows in the teachers lounge, but that was nothing new. And it obviously had meant a lot to Charlotte, who was now cowering in her desk along with fifteen other third graders, gaping up at the man with the gun. At least, Mrs. Oliver thought, shocking herself with the inappropriateness of the idea, if he shot her in the chest, she couldnt be buried in the damn thing.
Meg
Im trying to figure out what Im going to do with all my free time for the next four days as I drive idly around Broken Branch in my squad car. This will be the first year that I wont have Maria with me for spring break. By the looks of things, spring doesnt seem like it will be appearing any time soon, even though it officially arrived two days earlier.
By rights, Tim should be able to have Maria this vacation; shes spent the past two with me. But I had it all planned out for tomorrow, my day off. We were going to bake Dutch letters, flaky almond-flavored cookies, the one family tradition Ive kept from when I was young. Afterward we were going to pitch a tent and have an old-fashioned campout in the living room. Then we were going to take advantage of the freak snowstorm to go snowshoeing at the bottom of Ox-eye Bluff with hot chocolate and marshmallows and oyster chowder when we got home. I even persuaded Kevin Jarrow, the part-timer on our police force, to pick up my Saturday shift so I could spend it with Maria. But this time Tim insisted. He finally scored a full five days off from his job as an EMT in Waterloo, where we both grew up.
Listen, Meg, he said when he called me the day before yesterday. I dont ask for much, but I really want Maria this school break.
Shes not an item on your grocery list, I said hotly. I thought we had this all figured out.
You had it all figured out, he said. Which was true. I want to spend a few days with her and I dont think theres anything unreasonable about that.
Where did this suddenly come from? I asked.
Hey, Ill take any minute I can get with Maria and you know it. Besides, youve had her the past two holidays. He was getting angry now. I imagined him sitting in the duplex we once shared, rubbing his forehead the way he did when he was frustrated.
I know, I said softly. I just had it all planned out.
You could always come spend some of the time with us, he said cautiously. I sighed. I was too tired to have this conversation. Meg, you know I never did the things you thought I did. Here we go, I thought. Every few months Tim insists that he didnt have the affair with his coworker, that she was an unstable liar who had wanted something more, but whom he had rebuffed. Some days I half believe him. This isnt one of those days.
You can pick her up on Wednesday after school, I told him.
I was hoping tomorrow, after I get done with work. Around noon.
Shell miss her last day of school before vacation. Thats when they do all the fun things. It sounded lame, I know, but it was all I had.
Meg, he said in that way he has. Meg, please
I was hoping tomorrow, after I get done with work. Around noon.
Shell miss her last day of school before vacation. Thats when they do all the fun things. It sounded lame, I know, but it was all I had.
Meg, he said in that way he has. Meg, please
Fine, I snapped.
So yesterday I said goodbye to my beautiful, funny, sweet, perfect seven-year-old daughter. Ill call you every day, I promised her, feeling like I was saying goodbye forever. Twice.
Bye, Mom, she said, swiping a quick kiss across my cheek before climbing into Tims car.
If it hasnt all melted, well go snowshoeing when you get back, I called after her.
So, well be at my folks tomorrow night for dinner and at my sisters on Sunday. His face turned serious. I ran into your mom last week.
Oh, I said as if I didnt care.
Yeah, theyd really like to see Maria.
I bet they would, I grumbled.
Is it okay if I take her over to see them?
I shrugged. I guess. My parents werent bad people, just not particularly good people. Promise me you wont leave her at the trailer, its a death trap. And make sure Travis isnt hanging around when you visit. My brother, Travis, is one of the main reasons I became a police officer. Growing up he made my parents lives miserable and mine pure hell. It seemed like every week a police officer was at the door of our trailer, Travis in tow. They gave him more than enough chances to get his shit together and he blew it time and time again. It wasnt until the summer I was thirteen and Travis was sixteen, when he threatened my father with a kitchen knife, smacked my mother across the face and ripped out a chunk of my hair as I tried to pull him away from them, that the police finally got serious.
What do you want to do? Officer Stepanich, a frequent visitor to our home, asked wearily. His young female partner, Officer Demelo, stood by silently, taking in the broken glass, the knocked-over chairs, the bald spot on the top of my head. Welcome to our lovely home, I wanted to say, but instead my face burned with shame.
Fully expecting my parents to finally say enough is enough and have Traviss ass arrested for assault, they once again refused to press charges.
What do you want to do? Officer Demelo asked, and I looked up in surprise when I realized she was talking to me and only me.
Now, now, Officer Stepanich said, this is really a parent decision.
I dont think that wad of hair on the floor got there by itself and I cant imagine that Meg here pulled it out of her own head, Officer Demelo said, her eyes never leaving mine. I was surprised she remembered my name and even more impressed that she ignored the obviously senior officers lead. Lets see what she wants to do, Officer Demelo insisted.
Travis smirked. He was six inches taller and about eighty pounds heavier than I was, but in that moment, knowing that only an ignorant coward would beat on his family the way he did, I felt stronger, more powerful. He thought he was invincible. But in that sliver of a moment, I knew that there was a way out for our family.
I want to press charges, I said, speaking only to Officer Demelo, who didnt look much older than I was, but carried herself with a confidence I wanted for myself.
You sure thats what you want to do? Officer Stepanich asked.
Yes, I said firmly. I do. Officer Stepanich turned to my parents, who looked bewildered but nodded their agreement. They took Travis away in handcuffs. He came back home a few days later. I expected him to exact some kind of revenge upon me, but he kept his distance, didnt lay a hand on me. It didnt keep him out of trouble, though. Over the years hes been in and out of jail, most recently for drug possession. That arrest twenty years ago didnt change Travis, but in my mind it saved my life.
Travis will get nowhere near Maria, Tim promised. He looked as if hed like to say more, then settled on, Talk to you later, Meg. He drove away with Maria waving happily goodbye.
My windshield wipers can barely keep up with the thick snow that is falling. Great, I think. Ill be shoveling for hours after I end my ten-hour shift at three oclock. I debate whether to still make the Dutch letters tomorrow and decide to ditch that idea; instead, Ill sleep in, watch TV, pick up a pizza from Caseys and feel sorry for myself.
I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. I peek at the display thinking it might be Maria. Stuart. Shit. I stuff my phone back into my coat. Stuart, a newspaper reporter who wrote for the Des Moines Observer and lived about an hour and a half from Broken Branch, and I called it quits about a month ago when I found out he wasnt actually separated from his wife like he told me. Nope, they were still living under the same roof and, at least from her perspective, happily married. Yeah, the irony isnt lost on me. I divorced my ex for screwing around and I end up being the other woman in some poor ladys nightmare. Stuart said all the usual crap: I love you, its a loveless marriage, Im leaving her, blah, blah, blah. Then there was the little issue where Stuart used me to get the biggest story of his career. I told him if he didnt shut up I was going to shoot him with my Glock. I was only half joking.
I flip open the phone. Im working, Stuart, I snap.
Wait, wait, he says. This is a business call.
All the better reason for me to hang up, I say shortly.
I hear youve got an intruder at the school, Stuart says in his breezy, confident way. Asshole.
Whered you hear that? I ask cautiously, trying not to give away the fact that this is news to me.
Its all over, Meg. Our phone at the paper has been ringing off the hook. Kids are posting it on their walls and tweeting all about it. Whats going on?
I cant comment on any ongoing investigation, I say firmly, my mind spinning. An intruder at the school? No. If there was something going on I would know about it.
Maria. Is she okay?
Thats none of your business, I say softly. I wasnt the only one Stuart hurt.
Wait, he says before I can hang up. Maybe I can help you.
Hows that? I say suspiciously.
I can track the media end of things, keep you informed of what we hear, give you a heads-up on anything that sounds important.
Stuart, I say, shaking my head. Honestly, nothing you have to say to me is important anymore.
Will
That morning, as Will Thwaite watched his grandchildren climb onto the school bus, the horizon not yet shaded with the petal-pink edging that comes before the sunrise, he realized, as he often did in the dark-cornered mornings, that he missed his wife terribly. He was so used to having Marlys there right by his side working the farm. She was the one who shook him awake at five each morning, the one who pushed a thermos of hot coffee into his hands and sent him out the door with the promise of a hot breakfast upon his return from feeding the cattle. He felt her absence the way one might miss a limb. Fifty years they would be married, this coming fall. He tried to remember the last time she had been away from the farm overnight and settled upon eleven years ago when she went to visit their fourth son, Jeffery, his wife and their newborn daughter in Omaha. She had packed a bag for four days, climbed into the Cadillac, hollered out the window that there were meals in the freezer for him to put in the microwave and drove away in a cloud of deep brown Iowa dust.