Page 21

Goodbye, Dave

“Fucking Hank. Again.”

Pam stood at the back of her open van and stared at the boxes of casino glasses Hank had scooped up when the logo changed.

She’d let him use her van to bring more home, but the deal included unloading this crap.

Yet another way he’d let her down.

She checked her watch.

She closed the back, went around to the passenger side, and carefully placed her foil-covered charcuterie board on the front seat.

Pam hadn’t been sure what type of snacks to pack for an ash scattering, so she’d gone with cured meats and cheese.

And carrot sticks and hummus for Andre.

She looked at her dashboard clock.

She was okay for time.

Before, when she still lived in her comfortable home on Glendale Avenue, she wouldn’t have to factor in the extra minutes it took to reach her friends.

Before, she would have backed out her driveway, made two rights, and been at Shalisa’s door. Now she’d have to wait at three lights.

Pam pulled up to Shalisa’s, and as Shalisa slid in, Pam lifted the tray, set it back down on her lap, and said, “The first thing I’m gonna do when we get our insurance money—I’m hiring someone to cut that down for you.”

Pam pointed toward the offending juniper bush.

She reversed onto the street and saw Nancy waiting at the curb a few houses down. Andre had once joked he’d heard the city contractors complaining they had to replace the sidewalk connecting their homes because the two women had worn a trough in the cement, creating a tripping hazard.

Nancy climbed in, and a moment later she leaned forward between the driver and passenger seat and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“I was thinking, if we get back early from the boat, maybe after we drop Marlene off, we could swing by Nordstrom. They’re having a big sale, and I’ll need a new black dress for the funeral. Maybe two, if the visitation is a different day. Three if it’s two days.”

It was a good thing Pam was already stopped at the red light, because if she’d been driving her snacks would have flown through the windshield when she slammed the brakes in shock.

Pam closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose.

She glanced at Shalisa and was reassured to see her squinting at Nancy apparently also in disbelief.

Good.

It wasn’t just Pam.

“Nancy, if we were spotted shopping for black dresses two days before we knew we needed them for our husbands’ funerals, how would that look to the police?”

“Ohhh.”

Nancy sat back in her seat. “Sorry. I didn’t think about that. You’re absolutely right. I saw seventy-five percent off and got carried away.”

Pam drove another two blocks and turned into Dave and Marlene’s driveway like she had a thousand times before. Marlene came down her front steps holding a white cardboard box. Pam riffled through her Rolodex of memories until she landed on a few previous times she’d sat in this same spot, with Hank in the driver’s seat, to pick up Dave and Marlene and then head over to Shalisa’s, or Nancy’s, or the marina. The times Marlene had skipped ahead to join them in the car while Dave had locked up and then made his way down the driveway, his hair gelled, carrying his cooler of beer. So vibrant and alive. He’d climb in the front seat, turn around, and offer her a wink and a “Don’t you look nice tonight, Pammy,”

and then turn to chat with Hank.

He was a good guy. And now he was in a box on his wife’s lap.

Marlene patted the smooth sides. “Oh, it’s not all of him. It’s only a quarter. I saved some for each of the girls.”

She pulled the box closer. “I hope I got his hands. He had great hands.”

They were silent the rest of the drive to the marina and the walk down the dock.

Before she climbed on board, Marlene passed Dave to Hank.

Pam watched her husband falter as he took his friend’s remains in his hands and brought them to his chest.

The color drained from his face as he carefully carried the box into the cabin and placed it under the bow.

For a fleeting second, Pam wanted to rest her head on Hank’s shoulder and her hand in the middle of his back.

But just for a second.

She shook her head—no—and went straight to where the cooler was stowed and found the thermos of margaritas Hank had mixed for her and the girls.

Pam almost hadn’t asked him to make them, leery of piling on another favor, but a Friday night on the boat wouldn’t be the same without Hank’s signature cocktail.

Hank always said if he had chosen a different path in life, it would have been bartending.

Larry and Andre undid the lines, and Hank headed his boat out the channel to the open water of the Atlantic.

The sun was still high in the sky, but the wind had died down and the water was smooth as glass.

It was like the old days.

For a good stretch of time, once the kids were off on their own on Friday nights, and before their lives fell apart, this had been their regular routine.

If the weather was good, they would meet at the dock, load the boat with drinks and snacks, and head out.

On really hot nights they’d swim off the stern.

But most often there was enough breeze that they were comfortable just sitting, bobbing on the subtle swells.

Drinking, eating, talking, and laughing.

There was always so much laughter.

After their lives changed Pam had fought with Hank to get rid of the thirty-foot Sea Ray Sundancer and its expenses, but he had held firm against her.

It was paid for, he said.

And they needed some joy in their lives.

Yet Pam and the wives never stepped on it again.

Why? Why had they stopped? They had loved doing this, and there was no price tag attached; the only investment was their time.

Why hadn’t they spent it here?

Pam looked back on the shoreline as they headed through the buoys.

Hank pointed the boat south and ran full throttle for a few minutes.

Pam sank into the rhythm of the bounces as though five summers hadn’t passed since she had last been here.

Behind her sunglasses she studied Hank.

His ball cap on backward so the wind wouldn’t rip it away.

His hands, strong and tanned on the wheel.

He wore khaki shorts, and although his belly hung over the waistband, his legs and bum still had definition.

From behind, he could be thirty.

She remembered how she would come up behind him and wrap her arms around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades, against the sun-warmed, soft cotton of his T-shirt.

She remembered the smell of sea salt mixed with their laundry detergent and his sweat.

She closed her eyes and turned away.

Hank eased up on the gas, and the boat slowed.

He cut the motor, and they gently bobbed.

Larry went to the bow, dropped the anchor, and tied it off.

Andre connected his iPhone to the sound system and hit play.

Pam didn’t have to ask, she knew he’d select the guys’ mutually curated playlist they titled Fun Depressing.

And it was.

A bit of sentimental, a bit of rock, a bit of country.

John Prine, Alabama Shakes, Van Morrison, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Waits, Wilco, Johnny Cash, Steve Earle, and Miss Etta James.

It had started with a mixtape of a handful of songs, and once Hank created an Apple Music account, he and the guys had taken years to expand it, one song at a time.

The process had often played out before her.

They’d be sitting around, anywhere—a restaurant, a car, someone’s home—and a song would come on.

Hank would stop talking, cock his head, listen for a moment, and ask the room, “What is that?”

One of them would reply, and another would google the artist.

They’d talk about it for a bit, and then came the thumbs down or up—“Add it to the playlist, Hank.” Last Pam heard, they were up to about eight hundred songs.

“Refills?”

Hank asked, then dug in the ice and pulled out fresh cans, crushing the spent ones and tucking them away in a bag.

He closed the cooler, and Pam peeled the foil from the charcuterie board and set it on top.

Pam raised her eyebrows when Andre passed on the carrot sticks, homing in on a cracker, slices of cheddar, and kielbasa.

So much for his diet.

They sat in companionable silence.

Watching other boats in the distance and sipping their drinks.

After a bit, Hank disappeared into the cabin and returned with the box holding Dave’s remains.

Or at least, twenty-five percent of them.

He set them on the captain’s chair, then opened another beer.

They listened to the low music and the sound of the hull gently bouncing on the water.

A handful of birds flew overhead. After a few minutes, Hank said, “How do you want to do this, Marlene?”

Marlene had been following the flight path of some seagulls, but she looked over at Hank and said in a voice Pam could barely hear, “I don’t want to do this at all, Hank.”

She paused, then said, “The family-man part of Dave is still at home. Our girls will decide what we do with that.” She nodded to the box. “But that’s the part of Dave that loved you guys. Whatever you think, Hank.”

Hank nodded and watched a sailboat off their starboard side. Finally, he straightened, said, “Okay,”

and went back into the cabin. He returned a moment later with a fistful of cigars and a half-full bottle of scotch. He passed red Solo cups around and filled each with a knuckle of the amber liquid.

He offered a cigar to Larry, who said, “Maybe not the cigars, Hank. The smell makes Nancy nauseous. We can smoke them later, for Dave.”

Hank tucked them back in the cabin and then instructed, “Andre, pick a song for Dave.”

Hank gave Andre a minute to make his selection, then stepped to the stern, on the swim platform, held the box tight, and looked at the group. “Dave thought he had everything in life, and then he thought he lost it. But he didn’t give up. You should know that, Marlene. He never gave up. And I can honestly say he used more grooming products than any man I’ll ever know.”

Hank opened the box, and twenty-five percent of Dave Brand arced into the sky.

Andre hit play, and Pam started, her margarita slipping over the side of her cup as the upbeat notes burst from the boat’s speakers. Pam had expected soft and melancholy—Charlie Puth or Ed Sheeran—but instead, two bars of raunchy rock guitar blared, then drums joined for three, until the full band kicked in for another four. Pam couldn’t peg the song until she heard Steve Earle’s gritty vocals in “Hard-Core Troubadour.”

Then she settled back and exchanged smiles with her friends. Marlene threw her head back, laughed, and gave Andre a thumbs-up. Pam wiped away a tear, remembering Dave in so many places, so many times, dancing to this song. Moving a glowing, giggling Marlene in and out, under his arm, around his back. His hair in his eyes, his smile wide across his gorgeous face, his dimples deep. She squeezed her eyes shut to watch the memory play out.

When they reached the final chorus Marlene began the lyrics low, Nancy followed her lead, picked up volume, and then the others joined in. Belting out, their voices reaching the shore, the last lines of the song. As the notes faded, Hank fired up the engine and nosed the boat toward the harbor.

The sun’s rays stretched long across the water, warming Dave’s ashes on the glassy surface as they began to dissipate and disappear.

Goodbye, Dave.

All the way back to the marina Pam ran Hank’s words through her mind. Not the ones about the grooming products, but the ones about not giving up.

Once the boat was secured, Pam, Nancy, Shalisa, and Marlene stepped up on the dock and took turns hugging each other. Hank stayed on board, using the pretense that there was some sort of fuel leak he needed to get looked at, and Pam partially believed him. She’d caught a whiff of gas, but that wasn’t too unusual on the boat. She watched him from the dock while he coiled a line. The muscles in his forearms tensed and released with practiced rhythm. Maybe if he came home with her, they could talk. Would he come home with her if she asked?

She waited a moment, seeing if she could catch his eye, and when she didn’t, she knew that he wanted to go back out on the water with Larry and Andre. To drink more scotch, smoke their cigars, and remember their friend. She turned, picked up her empty charcuterie board, and trudged up the dock. She thought she heard something and paused for a brief second. It must have been a seagull. She carried on toward the parking lot.

Pam dropped Marlene off first. They went in for a nightcap, but it was quick. It had been a long day, and Marlene was drained, ready for bed. Marlene turned the porch light on as she hugged her friends good night, and then Pam drove Nancy and Shalisa home. She pulled into her own driveway and sat in the van, thinking for a minute. She noted the weeds sprouting along her front walkway. She should pull them. Hank said Dave never gave up. If Dave never gave up, then why had Hank?

At the heart of it, wasn’t that their problem? Hank had given up. On them. Him and Pam. He withdrew. If he had fought for her, maybe she’d have fought too. It was too late for Dave and Marlene. But was it too late for her and Hank? She climbed out of her van, and as she unlocked her front door her phone vibrated in her purse. Pam dropped her bag and scrambled, swiping the phone just in time.

“Claire!”

She did a quick calculation. It was ten p.m. Friday night, here, but in New Zealand it was Saturday afternoon.

“Hi, Mom! Sorry I couldn’t call earlier. We’ve been busy. But I thought I’d try and catch you now.”

Pam sank down on her front step. “Oh, sweetheart! How are you? You look amazing.”

Pam’s pupils had to adjust to the brightness coming from the screen. Her beautiful, blond daughter was bathed in sunlight, with a glimpse of a blue ocean behind her.

“Why are you in the dark, Mom?”

“I was just getting in from the boat. We went out to scatter Uncle Dave’s ashes. I just dropped everyone off and am getting home. How’s Dylan?”

“He’s great. Is Dad there?”

“No. He’s back at the marina checking something out on the boat. He won’t be home for a while.”

“Well . . . I wanted to tell you both, but I can’t wait. Mom! You’re going to be a grandma!”

Pam grabbed her chest, sure she could feel her heart grow two sizes. Tears pricked her eyes, and she reminded herself to breathe.

“And . . . wait for it, Mom. We’re coming home! We want the baby to grow up near Grandma and Grandpa.”

* * *

Ten minutes later Pam squealed to a stop at Nancy’s curb, and her friend jumped in.

“What’s going on, Pam?”

Pam hit the gas before Nancy could finish her question.

“We’ve gotta get to Shalisa’s.”

Pam gunned the engine.

When Shalisa opened her front door, Pam brushed by her with Nancy trailing behind. Once inside the cramped foyer, Pam waited for the door to close and then said, “We can’t kill them.”

Shalisa took a step forward and jabbed the air with her finger. “I knew the boat was a bad idea. We go out on the water, get a little nostalgic, the sun is setting, the music is playing, and now you’re Little Miss Let’s-Try-Again. It was Hank’s line about how Dave never gave up, right? That’s what changed your mind, isn’t it? And you hoped it changed our minds too. Well, for what it’s worth—it sure looks to me like Hank gave up. Where is he right now? Did he come home with you? Did any of them? No. On a night like tonight, when we scatter our friend’s ashes, maybe we could use our husbands’ support. But nooo. They fucked off and stayed at the marina. They have each other. That’s who’s important to them. They’ve given up on us. And you know it.”

She pointed at Pam for punctuation.

Shalisa was right. Pam had hoped the boat ride had softened the others up too, and that they were also second-guessing their decision. She repeated, “We can’t kill them.”

“We can’t not kill them! We’ve hired the hitman.”

Nancy crossed her arms and stood with her back to the door.

“We’ve only paid the deposit.”

Shalisa put her hands on her hips. “It’s not like we’re canceling the lawn guy, Pam. I doubt Hector has a refund policy. And do you really want to renege on your hitman?”

Pam held her palms up. “I don’t care. We cannot do this.”

Nancy looked at Pam. “It was your idea.”

Pam stomped her foot. “It was not! Are you kidding me? And why do we always go to whose idea it was, anyway? Like we’re in eighth grade. I wanted to hire a hitman, but killing them was your idea. You had to talk me into it.”

Nancy said, “And how hard was that? All Hank had to do was eat your leftover pad thai and wham, he landed smack-dab on your hit list. I’d hate to think what would happen if he ever ate a full order. Are you telling me that’s a marriage you can save?”

“If you’d remember correctly, I said I didn’t want to kill Claire’s dad, and you asked me, when was the last time I’d seen her. But that’s the thing. Claire’s coming home! And! She’s having a baby. Hank and I are going to be grandparents.”

Nancy and Shalisa threw their arms in the air in surprise, and then around Pam’s shoulders. They clutched each other and murmured their congratulations. When they broke apart, Shalisa wiped away a tear. “We’re having our first grandchild.”

Nancy squeezed Pam again. “Pam, that’s wonderful news. We’re so happy for you. Truly happy. But that doesn’t change anything for me or Shalisa. The way Larry is, I wouldn’t even be able to see my grandchildren, and I can’t live like that. I have to do this.”

Pam thought a moment. “Well, you guys go ahead. But I’m out.”

Of course, that would face her with another tricky moral dilemma—could she stand by and watch two of her friends have their husbands killed? Well, she’d cross that bridge when she got there. As long as she and Hank could enjoy their grandchild, she didn’t care.

Nancy said, “Oh no you don’t. We said right from the beginning, we’re either all in or all out.”

Pam grabbed their hands. “Well, let’s get all out then. Please. We can’t do this. This is only about money. So what? We can’t give up on our husbands. We married them! We can get things back.”

“I can’t.”

Shalisa wrested herself from Pam’s grip, sat down on the stairs, and put her head in her hands for a moment and then looked up at them. “Don’t you see? I can’t get my love for Andre back. I’ve tried to scrape by on the little bits I could hold on to for the past thirty years. But I have officially let go of that man. You said the other day you didn’t realize my life was that bad. And that’s the thing. I’ve been burying things for years, and I’m done. Since we made the decision to do this, well, I feel like me again. And I like it. I miss me.” Shalisa took a breath and looked at the floor. “I know everyone’s always wondered why Andre and I never had kids. I never said anything because . . . well, because it hurt.”

Indeed, Pam had always wondered, especially when Shalisa and Andre were so great with everyone else’s kids. But in an unusual display of restraint, she had never pried. If Shalisa wanted to share, she would. And now, finally, she was.

Shalisa rubbed her forehead with both hands. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I’m done pushing it down.”

She took her hands away and brought her eyes back up. “We’d planned to. I wanted a family. But right after we got married, he came home one day and out of the blue said he didn’t want kids. He talked about how he’d decided he didn’t want the responsibility.” Shalisa waved away the memory. “Oh, it doesn’t matter why. But he changed my whole plan. Said I had to choose—kids or him.”

Pam gasped. That fucking Andre. Maybe they should kill him.

Tears glistened in Shalisa’s eyes. “I was devastated. I kicked him out, and he went to live with his mom. For eight months, I never saw him until one day he turned up on my doorstep. He looked terrible. He’d lost a ton of weight. He hadn’t changed his mind, but asked if I would consider staying with him. And I knew then that I still loved him.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I felt so betrayed. But I’d been with him since high school. I didn’t feel strong enough to keep living without him. So we got back together. I thought I’d gotten over it, but it’s been eating away at me for years. And now that I have a choice, I’ve decided: I can’t waste another day with that man.”

What could Pam say to that? No wonder Shalisa never talked about it. But wait. She had a thought.

Pam crouched before her friend. “But we don’t have to kill him. We’ll help you start a new life. Marlene will too, I know it. We’ll figure it out. You can be you again. But we can still call off the hit.”

Pam held Shalisa’s eyes and silently said to herself, Please say yes, please say yes. She let Shalisa ponder her plea, stood, and turned to Nancy. “You can’t have Larry killed. You can’t take him away from his son.”

Nancy scrunched up her face and shook her head. She sighed, opened her eyes, and looked at Pam. “Don’t you see, Pam? Whatever relationship Paul and Larry had, it’s dead. Larry did that. I’m not taking Larry away from his son. Larry already did that.”

Pam rubbed her forehead. “I am so sorry you’re dealing with this, Nancy. I had no idea Larry was . . . a fucking homophobic neanderthal. None at all. I guess we never talked about it. And we should have. I know for a fact, Hank isn’t. Hank spoke at his nephew’s wedding and welcomed his husband into our family with open arms. Hank will talk to Larry. We’ll have an intervention. We’ll get Paul back. You’ll meet Estuardo. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone, and now you won’t. I promise. Heck. If you can get Larry to wear those shorts he had on tonight, you can get him to do anything. You love Larry. You know you do. This is a bump in your marriage—granted, it’s a huge fucking bump, but you’ll get over it. We’ll help. He’s lost his way. We’ll help him find it. We’ll do this together.”

Nancy leaned against the wall and stared at the floor. Pam waited.

Shalisa said in a quiet voice from the stairs, “But then we won’t have the money.”

Pam waved that away. “So what? We’ll figure it out.”

Pam doubled down. “Honestly. We have to stop being victims and just fucking move on with our lives. I hate to say it, but as much as we’ve supported each other, I think we’ve let each other down. We’ve wallowed in our loss. Or at least, I have. I see it now. Hank made a mistake. About money. Fucking money. So what? He’s still a good man. He’s still my man. I’m not going to kill him.”

Where had this clarity come from? Was it remembering the feel of Hank’s T-shirt under her cheek that stirred up her fight? Was that what finally nudged her out of this downward spiral of despair to an upward battle for her own life? And Hank’s. A life together. Or was it learning she had a grandchild on the way? Christ. Who the fuck cared? She could do this. She didn’t know how. She just knew she could. And so could her friends.

“We’ve ordered the hit.”

Nancy shook her head slowly. “I don’t know much about hitman protocol.” She shot Pam a look. “I couldn’t google it. But I think once these things get going, there’s no turning back.”

“Hector will understand. As long as he gets paid, what does he care? I told him to do it Sunday, so we have two days. I’ll find him tomorrow and call it off. We’ll let him keep the money.”

Pam put her hands up to fend off the protests. “I know. I know. I have no idea how we’ll repay Marlene or get the rest.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Maybe we should open up that little coffee truck like we told Marlene you were doing. Maybe we could start a business. Instead of wasting our energy tearing our husbands down, maybe it’s time to start building something up. I don’t have the answers, but I know we can figure it out.”

Nancy’s and Shalisa’s expressions remained unchanged. Unsure she’d said enough, Pam pushed. “We are strong, confident women. We let life knock us down, but we can get back up. Without killing our husbands. We can do this.”

Nancy and Shalisa were silent. But they didn’t disagree.

Pam pressed. “Tomorrow I’ll tell Hector it’s off.”

Had she said enough? Nancy and Shalisa looked at each other, and Pam held her breath. After a long pause, they nodded.

Pam felt like the weight of an upright freezer had been lifted from her chest. Thank fucking God. They had stood on the brink of disaster, and she had brought them back. Her heart was racing.

Shalisa’s doorbell rang. Who could be here at this hour?

Shalisa stood and looked through the peephole, and Nancy and Pam moved into the living room. Pam leaned against Shalisa’s Peloton bike, looked out through the front window, and saw two police officers on the front step. A cruiser was parked in the driveway.

Pam had a clear view because Shalisa’s juniper bush was gone.

Where the fuck had that juniper gone?