Amanda Ward - Forgive Me

“Senior year,” said Dr. Duarte. “Right before I called to ask Suze Phillips to the prom. No, wait, my boards.” He paused. “No, Suze was scarier.”

“What did she say?”

“She said yes,” said Dr. Duarte. “I hung up the phone and almost cried with happiness.”

“That’s it exactly,” said Nadine.

“So being a globe-trotting journalist is like asking Suze Phillips to the prom,” said Dr. Duarte.

“It’s like asking her, and having her say yes.”

He nodded, pleased. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I can bring you some books, if you want. Might help pass the time.”

“Thanks,” said Nadine. “But I’m fine, really.”

“How many Law & Orders do you think you can watch?”

“Seven?” said Nadine. “Maybe eight.”

“Wow,” said Dr. Duarte. “My limit would probably be six.”

Gwen ministered to Nadine as if she were a child home from school. She made chicken soup and lasagna. She brought gossip magazines and crossword books. She went to Wal-Mart and returned with a nightshirt featuring a grinning cat. “I’m thirty-five,” said Nadine when she opened the bag.

“No one’s too old for Garfield,” said Gwen.

Nadine slept and watched television. Fellow journalists and off-again lovers sent flowers. Nobody called, however: what had happened to Nadine was the thing you didn’t allow yourself to think about. All of them were playing a game of chance, and even the best luck ran out eventually. There was a point at which many took a desk job, for love or family. But Nadine, with the exception of Jim, had no family.

As for love, there had been Maxim, shot by a stray bullet in Cape Flats. One love, one bullet. Nadine learned her lesson.

Woods Hole, Massachusetts, where Nadine had grown up, was a small and strange town. It was located in the armpit of Cape Cod, an old fishing village now populated by drunks and scientists. In the winter, most of the shingled houses stood empty, barbecue grills sheathed in plastic, porch steps hidden by dull snow. Buttery summer gave way to lead skies by November, skies that barely brightened before June. Winter on the Cape was a time of resting, reflection, and deep depression. After two days in bed, Nadine defied Dr. Duarte’s orders and walked to School Street to visit her oldest friend, Lily.

“Holy guacamole,” said Lily, opening her front door with her shirt unbuttoned. Nadine tried not to wince at the sound of children shrieking over a loud television.

“It’s me,” said Nadine.

“Hm,” said Lily.

“Can I come in?”

Lily folded her arms across her giant breasts, but nodded.

“I’m sorry,” said Nadine, when she was settled into a couch that smelled like pancake syrup and diapers.

“So you said,” said Lily, “on your postcard.” Lily’s newest baby–a girl, by the looks of her pink pajamas–was asleep in the crook of Lily’s arm, and her two-year-old twin boys were watching a video called Hooray for Dirt. On the screen, a fat man in a construction helmet drove a bulldozer.

“It was a year ago,” said Nadine. “Can’t we forgive and forget?”

“Nadine,” said Lily, “I have three children under three years old. There’s nothing else to fixate on. Breast milk, crayons, and how much I hate you.”

“But didn’t you have fun in London?”

“Fun?” said Lily. “I took a boat ride down the Times. I had half a gross warm beer in some pub. The sun never came out. I went to the Tate museum by myself and I was late for the changing of the guard. I was three months’ pregnant, Nadine. I missed Bo and Babe–I came home a day early.”

“Thames,” said Nadine.

“What?”

“It’s pronounced Thames.’’

Lily bit her cheek and glared at Nadine. The baby had to be six months old, but Lily still looked pregnant. Her hair was pulled into a French braid, and her roots were showing.

“Have you lost weight?” said Nadine.

“Go to hell,” said Lily.

“Listen,” said Nadine. “Please. It was an important story. I didn’t have a choice. It’s impossible to get an interview with Marcos. It’s funny, Lily, actually. He wears this black ski mask…”

Lily widened her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“I didn’t plan on it,” said Nadine. “I got us show tickets.”

“Mommy!” said one of the boys–Bo? Babe? Lily ignored him.

“Do you know what I had to go through to get my mom to take the twins?” said Lily. “I left my babies with a senile witch to fly over and see my best friend–”

“Let’s have lunch. On me, Lily. We can go up to Boston. I want to tell you all about it. I had to go to this jungle hideout. Marcos comes out wearing a freaking Kalashnikov–”

“Mom-eeee!” said a twin.

“I need watch Big Bird!” said the other.

“I need watch Fraggle Rock” said the first. “Please, Mommy, pleeeease!”

“I’m sorry you got hurt, Nadine,” said Lily, “but I don’t give a flick about Marcos and his kala-whatever.”

“It’s a gun.”

Lily expertly changed the tape in the VCR, the baby still asleep in her arm. The boys settled down with their hands in their laps. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress, Nadine,” she said. “I’m busy, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s gun, Mommy?” asked one boy politely.

“I need watch Thomas Train!” repeated the other.

“I need watch Big Bird!”

“I need gun!”

The din was getting to be a bit much. Nadine stood. “Lily,” she said, “my interview was on the front page of The Washington Post.”

Lily laughed and sank back down on the couch. Both boys climbed on top of her. The baby slept on. “Meanwhile,” said Lily, “how are the kids, Lily? Do you miss the library? You’re staying home with your children. That’s really wonderful.” As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears. She spit out the words. “Do you still love Dennis? How do you breast-feed twins? I’m interested. Tell me about your life. You’re my best friend, Lily. I care.”

“Right,” said Nadine. “I do care, Lily. Your new baby, she’s so beautiful.”

“What’s her name?” said Lily, staring at Nadine.

Nadine looked at the sleeping child, her mouth a tiny gum-drop. “Jesus, Lily…”

“How old is she?” said Lily. Her boys moved around her like squirrels, burrowing into her skin. All hell would break loose, Nadine realized, if Lily had an injured wrist.

“Lily,” said Nadine.

“Flick you,” said Lily, cutting her eyes toward her boys, to make sure they hadn’t heard her swear. “Come on, sweetie peeties, let’s make some peanut butter and jelly.”

“Flick me?” said Nadine.

“You heard me,” said Lily. She placed the baby in her bassinet and took one boy in each hand. In the kitchen, she bent over the counter. Nadine watched Lily’s back for a while, then turned and walked slowly out the door. Her head ached, and she felt weak. The wind whipped and tangled her long hair. Nadine stood on the snow-covered lawn and gazed at the line where the ocean met the slate-gray sky.

Clearly, it was time to start smoking again.

On Water Street, Nadine headed for the Woods Hole Market. She walked across the drawbridge, her right hand wrapped in the long sleeve of her father’s coat, left arm bound to her chest. The coat would be perfect for work, she thought. It was warm and had enough pockets for a notebook, pen, and plastic bag. Nadine kept her passport and plane tickets in a ziplock and close at hand. Until the year before, Lily, who had been the reference librarian for the Woods Hole Public Library, had sent a small Moleskine notebook with information about every place Nadine was headed: a hand-drawn map of Ciudad Vieja with a history of the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity, tips on finding the best cheeseburger in Tulum.