A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [167]
“It’s true. I just don’t want to mess yours up any more than I already have.”
“You haven’t messed anything up for me, Gordon—far from it.”
“Like the adoption. May Loo. You shouldn’t even be here. Think how this looks.”
“Things like that don’t matter to me. I know they should, but they don’t. I’ll do everything I’m supposed to, and if it works out, then great! But if it doesn’t because of you, Gordon, because you’re in my life, then that’s too bad. That’s just the way it goes, you know? Here,” she said, fumbling open her purse. She handed him the color photograph. “I wanted to show you. I just got it.”
“She’s smiling!” He almost smiled himself.
“I know. Isn’t she cute?”
He nodded.
“No, tell me. Tell me what you’re thinking right now as you look at it.”
“I . . .” He looked up in panic.
“Tell me. Say it. Please.”
He held it closer, studying it. “I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking how lucky this little girl is because pretty soon she’s going to have you with her every day for the rest of her life.”
For a moment neither one spoke or looked at the other. “Thank you,” she finally said.
He nodded and held out the picture.
“No, that’s yours to keep. I have another one,” she lied.
After work she drove straight to his house. The watering can wasn’t on the back steps or in the garage. Probably stolen, she thought, trying to keep the hose low while she counted to sixty, though it was too late. Her first explosive aim had already drenched the bush. Next, she sprayed the leaves with Gordon’s soapy mixture. He hadn’t told her how much to use, probably the whole bottle if it was weekly. By the time she was done, bubbles floated everywhere, fat and shimmering on the wet leaves, across the weedy yards, down the street. Working the fertilizer into the soil was quick but messy. She stood up, knees, hands, and feet muddied, her cloth sandals probably ruined. She should have changed first. Using the pruner, she cut the fullest blooms. She rinsed her scratched, stinging hands under the hose, then gathered up the cut flowers. What was the pleasure in that? she wondered, slamming the trunk shut. She glanced back at the twisted hose. Why coil it back up on the hanger when she’d just have to take it down again? She patted her arms dry with a tissue. The scratches stung, but it was a good hurt.
The next time she came, she tried not to wet the leaves, but somehow they were soaked again. What difference could it possibly make? They’d get a lot wetter when it rained. She turned off the water. She had to get home and sand the dresser before the second coat.
“Hi,” said a voice from behind.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Jada, you scared me.” The girl just stood there with her hands in her pockets. “So what’s going on?” Delores said as she yanked the muddy hose into a pile. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I saw you. You were out here the other day, too.” Jada’s eyes shone flat, the way light hits a mirror.
“Yeah, I told Gordon I’d do this, but it’s not my thing. Look at my hands, look what his roses did. They attacked me,” she said, trying to laugh.
“He’s still in jail, huh?” Jada asked, following her to the car.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Delores got in.
“You think he did it?” Jada asked through the window.
“No. Of course not.”
“Well, he didn’t,” the girl said as if she hadn’t heard her.
“Do you know who did?”
Jada shook her head.
“How do you know it wasn’t him, then?”
“Because. Because I just know. Gordon, he wouldn’t do that. He’d get mad, but he’d never, like, do anything.”
“Yeah, like the night I let you in, why’d he get so mad? What was that all about?”
The girl’s answer was a weary shrug. She asked Delores where she was going. An appointment, Delores lied. She could tell Jada wanted something. “Well, I better get going.” She started the engine, but Jada moved closer to the window.
“You live on Lowell Street, right?”
“Yes, why?”
“Remember you said I could come there sometime?”
“Yes, uh-huh.” What if she showed up during the home study interview?
“Well, I was over there, near your house, I think, but I didn