Late to the Party ✔

7. Madder than a wet hen

When she was a teenager, the world was bright and sharp; emotions could knock the wind out of her and could send her flying, high up in the clouds with the sun caressing her face. Everything had seemed possible. Everything had seemed important.

Then, she'd spent an hour on the sidewalk watching the neighbors get into their cars to go off to work or do the shopping, and there'd been heartbreak like none before. Instead of hitching a ride to school, she'd biked all the way to Jeanie's, only to be told Jeanie had gone to live with grandma G in California.

First came denial. Then panic. And then the pain, like she was a burning plane tumbling from the sky, bound to crash and explode into a thousand jagged pieces.

After that, there was numbness. From now on forward, she'd only put her trust in the one entity that would never disappoint her, would always be there. Over the years, her emotions dulled: the fire inside of her dwindled, and the moments when she'd be overcome with them were scarce and few. She'd always supposed it was a part of growing up.

And yet, and yet.

She was an adult, a grown woman, and still, Jeanie Lucas's laugh sent her mind spinning. She breathed easier when she was near Jeanie, like the air was cleaner and sweeter, even though it was full of dust and the musty stink of decay. She forgot about the box, occasionally considered the heart-shaped key resting on Jeanie's skin, flushing with the thought that someone kept her secrets in such an intimate place.

It should scare the living daylight out of her. She should be running for the hills. She'd been so sure she'd be strong enough to help Jeanie towards the right path, but that was before she found herself laughing so hard she was running out of oxygen as Jeanie scrambled to get rid of a pile of stained porn magazines, gagging as she dumped them out of the window. She should be concerned the twins would find them. She should be disgusted. Should say a prayer. Instead, she watched Jeanie clasp a hand over her mouth, her eyes big, a sheen of sweat lining her neck, and felt it all like she used to feel it at fourteen.

Hours later, she was chewing on her burrito at the dinner table, her jaws aching from all the laughter she'd put them through today. Her throat was dry, her arms itchy, her blouse in need of a thorough wash. Across from her, Jeanie was tearing her tortilla to pieces and eating them one by one. Her hair was a mess: many curls had escaped her already haphazard braid, and one kept falling in front of her eyes. Again, it filled Mary up with warmth. Jeanie was a gem, so good, so sweet, so beautiful. Even God should be able to see that, right?

"Why not organize a garage sale?" Georgie was saying, pouring more ketchup on his plate. He'd been surprisingly respectful so far, and Jeanie seemed to like him well enough. Mary had been nervous she wouldn't. She refused to sit still and contemplate why that would matter to her at all.

Jeanie smiled at her, and it tugged at her heart, made her giggle again. "Your mom suggested the same thing," she said. "It's sweet how both of you seem to forget I'm the town decrepit."

There was a snort. Connie, of course, hadn't passed up the opportunity of a free meal and had joined them without waiting for an invitation. "Hey now, Georgie shares that title with you, and he's been good for business at the laundromat."

"Can't believe your mom's at the laundromat every day while I haven't been in ages," Jeanie muttered.

Mary choked, quickly chugging back some water. Her cheeks were hot, and she hoped they'd all attribute it to the spice. Missy, Georgie, and Connie stared at her in confusion. "No talk about laundromats at the dinner table," she said. As kids, it'd been their secret code to talk about sex without anyone knowing, but the last thing she wanted to think about now was sex and Jeanie. Especially not with that key hidden in a place only two of the people here had ever seen.