Halle Butler: Jillian

“Are you about ready, Jillian?” asked Elena.

“Oh, I’m running a little late, but Adam’s ready. I still have to take the dog out.”

“Hmm, ok. Adam!” Adam walked to her like he was walking to the gallows. If he were her son, she would tell him to stand up and show some respect or some grace or dignity, but he was Jillian’s son, so his behavior was meaningless. He was a way for her to bond with Barb from Sunnyside Up. Their banter had been solidifying into a friendship, and she looked forward to seeing Barb again. So, there you go. That was another reason to like helping Jillian.

“When will your car be out of the impound?” Elena asked.

“Oh, uh, I have a court date next week, so I’ll get it out when I have my court date next week.”

“Ok, good,” said Elena. “What day?”

“My date is on . . . Tuesday.”

“All right,” said Elena. “I’ve been planning on going out of town for a while, but I haven’t been able to since I’ve been helping you out.” Elena was just riffing. “So, I’m going to plan to be out of town on Wednesday, then. That’s great news for me, Jillian.” Elena ushered Adam to the door, but slowly. She was waiting for it.

“Um, ok,” said Jillian. That tension in her voice was so rewarding, that little bit of attitude, that little bit of aggression, but the absolute understanding that there was no way to give it vent and that she, Elena, was essentially impervious.

“I guess if you don’t have your car by then, you’ll have to find someone else to drop him off,” she said. Then she left.

Jillian, for the fourth or fifth time in her life, realized she was capable of murder.

“Can we listen to something else?” asked Adam.

“No,” said Elena. “I’m doing you a favor, and you’ll listen to my radio.”

“I get to listen to tapes, usually,” said Adam.

“Well, I don’t have any of your tapes,” said Elena.

“Can we get some breakfast?” asked Adam.

“Didn’t your mother give you breakfast?”

“No, we didn’t have time,” said Adam.

Elena felt like a kidnapper. She could imagine herself driving Adam out to the woods and drowning him in a creek or knocking him unconscious and burying him alive (even if he did dig himself out, what would he do then?) and then driving home. Who would people believe? She would tell her husband that Jillian wasn’t at home, no one was, so she just came home, wasn’t that weird? Then she would say hateful things about Jillian, just to not seem suspicious. And who would they believe? Why would Elena murder the child? Jillian was like a frightened hamster, with every reason to snuff out her own youth. It would be an easy set-up.

She pulled up to the day care center after that thought and remarked to herself that the drive had seemed faster than usual.

Gosh, was it Friday already?

Randy got back from Kelly’s late that night and was giddy about the website, which they had just “launched” or whatever. Randy showed it to Megan and it looked like any old shit and, god what was wrong with her, she couldn’t even fake it anymore. She couldn’t even say some stupid shit like, “I’m so proud of you,” or even, “Good work, baby,” with a fucking kiss or something. She gave the webpage a tight-lipped, condescending smile (eyebrows raised) and said, “Wow, you got that finished quickly.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Randy, who definitely thought she was being bitchy, but he didn’t really care that much anymore (because it was too much worry to care, you know, he hadn’t even looked to see if she had some kind of massive, sexy scar on her ass cheek, that was how much he really just didn’t give a shit anymore). “You excited for the party tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Oooh, right,” she said. “The inaugural BBQ.”

“Are you going to comb your hair for it?”

“We’ll see,” she said.

Why did she want to stab him in the face so badly and so suddenly, too? He misunderstood her. That was the insult. He thought he understood her, but the way he understood her was so simple and condescending, and that made him an idiot. If she were hearing about this, she would obviously side with herself, and then anyone who acted contrarily would become the object of her scorn, her dismissal, whatever.

She wanted to say “Fuck the po-lice” because yeah, she didn’t need anybody. Fuck the po-lice. She looked at him contemptuously. Fuck the police, fuck the motherfucking po-lice, motherfucker.

JILLIAN WAS FEELING nervous about the coming week. She kept pacing around and eating handfuls of cereal. She did not have any money. She would not be able to get her car. If she got her car, she would not be able to pay for Adam’s day care. If she got Adam’s day care, she wouldn’t be able to get him there. She was going to have to rob a bank or sell her couch or something. Pacing. She kept pacing. That’s it, maybe. Adam and Crispy were watching tv. She brought her laptop into the living room to be with them and started looking at craigslist to see what kinds of prices she could get for her stuff. She would take pictures of all of her stuff and put them on the internet and have people come over and pay her for it. She had too much shit, anyway.

She spent a few hours on craigslist and then almost started crying because it seemed like it wasn’t going to work. And plus, how was she supposed to live like a normal person without a couch or a table or clothes? Anyway, her stuff was so fucked up and junky, and half the people on this website were giving their stuff away. Free for pick-up? What was that shit? She saw more stuff on there that she thought she might like to grab (if she had a car) than stuff that looked like hers selling at an encouraging price.

Her kid and dog were passed out because it was, like, 2:00 a.m. She was agitated. Oh my god, so agitated.

THE FIRST THING Megan noticed when she woke up on Saturday was that she was covered in a film of sweat. She had beads of sweat on the bridge of her nose. When she reached up to touch her face, her fingers slipped. The leaves that had been growing on the trees in the background (in the background, I guess, of the events of her life) were suddenly very apparent. The light in her bedroom (which she shared with Randy, who was still asleep and probably too dull in the head to appreciate this strange new change) was green. It was green because it was coming in through the leaves on the trees. She was more than happy to get up and away from Randy, who she now currently hated.

It was like all of a sudden the change had happened. She wasn’t even aware of spring. And she was surprised, the way she was surprised last year, that she was surprised that it was hot again. Oh right, heat, she thought. She was wearing flannel pajama pants. She thought about taking them off, but she didn’t want to take her pants off in front of Randy. She put shoes on, poured herself a glass of water, and left the apartment. Fuck you, Randy.

It looked like it was going to storm. There was that light that comes from electricity in the air. How did she know that? Probably wasn’t even true, she was just pretending to know the causes of things, bullshitting even in the privacy of her own mind. What a weird walk, but a great idea, because it was summer now, and that meant an increase in personal freedom. She would probably be back before Randy was awake, and maybe she wouldn’t even tell him she’d gone on a walk. It was, like, 8:00 a.m. Usually she slept until 10:30 on Saturdays, so these two hours were extras. Everything was so green. She drank the water and saw a fully clothed woman walking on the opposite side of the street.

JILLIAN WOKE UP drenched in sweat. I’m disoriented, she thought. She walked out into the apartment, which had stopped being clean a while back. There was a look to the air that was familiar—holy shit, it was summer. Jillian went around and shut all the windows and turned on the ac. She was drenched. She got into the shower. While in the shower, she thought she might as well pick up a little bit today. Her body ached, but she wouldn’t feel the full force of her predicament until after noon, and she would take that as a blessing from the lord.