Page 31

This Chick Is Outta Here

Pam opened her eyes and followed the reach of her arm to her palm, lying upward, on Hank’s side of the bed. It used to be, the first thing she did every morning was touch Hank’s chest. Briefly, before she rose. He’d fumble for her hand, squeeze it, and then roll over.

But now his sheets were cool, his pillow plump.

He was gone. His funeral over. And she was responsible.

Cement filled her stomach, and a shiver ran from her waist into the nape of her neck. She pushed those thoughts aside. What was done was done. And she had to get on with life and put one foot in front of another down her path. She knew she wasn’t processing things fully. There were emotions she should be dealing with, but they were so unwieldy she feared if she opened that can of worms, she might drown in it. And she couldn’t afford to drown, not right now. Nancy was drowning enough for all of them. Pam had to keep on top of things. She had to sort out the insurance. She had to get Claire and Dylan to the airport.

Pam ran her hand over the smoothness of the mattress. Besides, she hadn’t reached across to touch Hank’s chest in years. And he never reached for her.

There was nothing in their bed to miss.

She rolled over, and Elmer wagged his tail, sitting on the floor beside her. “Good morning, good lookin’. Did you have a good sleep?”

Pam ruffled his fur and headed to the bathroom. He followed and stretched out across the doorway.

As she brushed her teeth, in the mirror she inventoried Hank’s clothes draped along the edge of the bathtub: jeans, khakis, underwear, T-shirts, sweatshirts. Everything he’d worn his last week, tossed aside in what Pam called his “wardrobe purgatory”—clothes he’d deemed too clean for the laundry yet too dirty to put away. It was how Hank lived: too lazy to fully commit to anything. She’d donate them all.

Her eyes wandered to Hank’s sink. She spat, rinsed, opened Hank’s vanity drawer and swept his razor, toothbrush, and dental floss out of sight. One less reminder. When she turned to leave, she found Elmer had sauntered over and pulled Hank’s sweatshirt to the floor and now lay curled up on it, his nose nestled in a sleeve. She stooped to scratch his belly and brought Hank’s other sleeve to her face. It felt smooth against her cheek, and she inhaled his scent and her heart started to squeeze. “He’s not coming back, I’m afraid,”

she said to her dog.

Maybe she’d keep that shirt.

Claire’s call from the bottom of the stairs, reminding her of her flight time, brought her to her feet. A short while later, after she dropped Claire and Dylan at the airport, Pam wiped away her tears and stopped by Dutton Realty to clean out her desk.

* * *

“Are you sure, Pam?”

Mr. Dutton interrupted while she loaded her photos and spare shoes in a box. “They recommend people shouldn’t make major life decisions for at least six months following a tragedy. We’re happy to use temps for as long as you need.”

Pam hoisted her box. “Thank you. I appreciate that, and no offense to you and Marylou, you’ve both been great to me, but I have hated every minute I have ever spent inside these walls, and I cannot think of anything more depressing than staying here another day.”

She remembered what Marlene had said about quitting her own job. “So, this chick is outta here.”

As Pam walked through the office out to her van, and all the way to meet Nancy at Shalisa’s, she hummed the Beatles song “Ticket to Ride.”

Pam felt like she was driving away from one chapter of her life and into another. Paul and Estuardo had returned to their regular routine, and with Claire and Dylan on the morning flight to New Zealand to pack up their lives and move back Stateside, it was time to get on with the next stage of their plan—the insurance money, and then condo shopping in Boca Raton.

Marlene had flown back that morning, and Pam hoped she, Nancy, and Shalisa wouldn’t be too far behind. She’d already started hinting to Claire and Dylan that perhaps a move to a new city with a warmer climate would be great for all of them and was thrilled that they seemed to be considering it. She just had to get that insurance payout in motion.

* * *

Just after lunch, Pam let herself in Shalisa’s front door and found Nancy, on time for once, curled up on the end of the sofa, with a box of tissues beside her. Pam hadn’t been to Shalisa’s since the night the police had rung the doorbell and delivered the news about the boat explosion. It felt surreal to sit in the same chair as when the officer had knelt beside her. Shalisa brought in coffees. It was just the three of them. For the first time in days, no family or friends in the periphery.

Shalisa said, “I know I wanted this, and I said I’m good with how things turned out. But still, I didn’t expect to feel so drained. I think I may actually be missing Andre. A bit.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“I can’t believe we wanted to.”

Nancy blew her nose.

Pam had to turn this around, keep them on a positive track. What was done was done. She looked at Nancy. “We can’t change the past. We have to move forward. We made our decisions based on what we knew at the time. You had no way of knowing Larry changed his mind about Paul and Estuardo. You can’t blame yourself.”

Shalisa said, “Pam’s right. Why would Larry even leave a letter like that in his desk? It was almost like a suicide note, saying goodbye.”

Nancy said, “Paul’s address was on the front, so we think he was planning to mail it. It was probably easier to write the words than say them. We don’t really know.”

She squeaked out those last words before a sob escaped. She plucked three tissues from the box, wadded them, and brought them to her face.

God. There she goes again. Pam searched for a way to change the subject. She looked out to the street. “Hey! Shalisa! I meant to ask you. When did the juniper come down?”

“What?”

“Your juniper bush. When did it come down?”

Pam pointed past Shalisa’s Peloton bike to the view of the street, which for years had been obscured by that huge, unsightly, overgrown juniper.

“What are you talking about?”

Shalisa followed Pam’s direction. She grabbed her chair’s arms. “What the fuck?”

“I noticed it the night the police came.”

“The night the police came! Really? I’ve walked by it a million times. I never noticed. I guess with all the family here, and everything going on, I never even noticed.”

Pam’s phone buzzed. “It’s the insurance company returning my call.”

She hit accept. “Hello.”

Shalisa rose, as if in a daze, and walked to the front door and stepped outside. Nancy followed.

“Hi there. I’m Pam Montgomery, and my husband has recently passed away . . . thank you . . . thank you, I appreciate that . . . Um. I’m calling because I understand he has an insurance policy with you . . . Hank Montgomery . . . Yes, sure, I’ll hold.”

Through the window, Pam watched Shalisa and Nancy stand side by side, their hands on their hips, staring at the void the juniper had left. They looked up and down the street, as though they’d find the answer on a billboard on someone’s lawn. They looked up to the roof, Pam had no idea why. Shalisa stepped forward into the garden bed. Pam moved closer to the window to get a better view. Shalisa kicked the short, ragged stump that remained, and then kicked the dirt around it. She knelt down.

Pam turned away from the window. “Hello. Yes . . . yes . . . I’m Pam Montgomery . . . oh . . . I understand procedure, but I think you’ll find I’m the beneficiary . . . Yes, I understand . . . I understand a Presumptive Death Waiver has been issued. I wanted to follow up.”

The voice on the other end said, “I’m not allowed, legally, to provide any information about policies.”

Then in a less official tone, “Listen, this happens all the time. We can’t say anything, but if you have access to his email, you can check the correspondence yourself.”

Pam disconnected, found Shalisa’s laptop on the kitchen counter, and logged into Hank’s email. They had regularly shared passwords so they could find messages in each other’s mail: invitations, bills, family correspondence. It was just convenient. Could Hank have updated his? But no. His childhood phone number followed by his first dog’s name still worked.

Hank had several unread emails that according to the timestamps had started arriving when they were untying from the dock on their way to scatter Dave’s ashes. Interestingly, the first was from the insurance company. Pam read it.

A few minutes later, Pam held Shalisa’s front door ajar, stepped outside onto the front porch, and the hot, humid air hammered her. Shalisa and Nancy were on their knees, huddled together by the juniper stump. At the sound of the door opening, they looked up.

Nancy held out a small, white business card. “We found this. Tucked in behind the tree stump. It’s Andre’s business card. He had it laminated.”

Shalisa flipped the card over. On the back, scrawled in black marker, Pam read:

I’m sorry. Love, Andre

Shalisa looked up at Pam. “What did Andre have to be sorry for?”

Pam let the screen door slam shut behind her, then answered, “The shitheads canceled their insurance policies.”