Mean Season

“No.”

“Church potluck?”

“I’m going out to dinner with Bill Weintraub,” she said. I didn’t recognize the name at first, and then it hit me.

“Judge Weintraub?”

“He seems like a very nice man,” Momma said.

“You have a date with Judge Weintraub?” I asked. “Or is it some sort of meeting about Joshua?”

“I’m going out to dinner with him,” Momma said. “That’s all.” And I could tell that she wasn’t going to say anything more.

On Wednesday, day three of the ninety, there was a knock at our front door. I was doing dishes in the kitchen, so I pulled off my gloves and went to answer. A tall, skinny woman was waiting outside. She wore sunglasses even though our porch was shady and it looked like a storm was about to blow in. Behind her, in the driveway, a big black car sat idling.

“Is Joshua here?” she asked. She took off her sunglasses then and blinked. “I mean,” she continued, “I know he’s here. Can I see him?”

I stepped aside and let her into the house. “I think he’s sleeping,” I told her. “Come on up. You’re his girlfriend, right?” I asked.

I knew who she was. She was the model for All-American Cosmetics, among other things. I’d seen her in magazines. Her name was Elise.

“And you are?” Elise asked, following me up the stairs.

“I’m Leanne,” I said. “I live here.”

Elise nodded. “Oh right. I heard about you,” she said. “The fan.”

“Fan club,” I said. “Here’s his room.” I knocked lightly. Elise stood beside me and knocked hard.

“What?” Joshua snapped from behind the door. He opened it then, looked at me, then at Elise. He smiled when he saw Elise. “Hey, baby!” he said.

Elise stepped into Vince’s old room, and Joshua closed the door. I stood in the hallway for a moment, feeling even more stupid when I realized I still had a dish sponge in my hand. Then I walked back downstairs and sat at the kitchen table.

They were in his room for about an hour. After that, I heard the door open and the stairs creak as they came back down.

“You want some lemonade?” I heard him ask. She must have nodded because he called out, “Leanne, bring us some lemonade, would you? We’ll be on the front porch.”

I went to the refrigerator, then stopped. I didn’t open it. Instead, I walked to the kitchen window and listened. Joshua hadn’t been in our house long enough to realize that where I stood was perfect for overhearing any porch conversation. I’d discovered that in high school—my mother would listen to all my dates as they were ending, so I’d learned to give kisses in the car, beforehand.

“Are you kidding me?” I heard Joshua say. “You’re just telling me this now?”

“Sorry,” Elise said. But she didn’t sound sorry. I heard her sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Leesie,” Joshua said. “I thought you of all people would stick around. We talked about this!”

“It’s clear that you have some work to do on yourself right now,” Elise said. “And I need to focus on my career. I’m the All-American spokesmodel. I’ve got a responsibility there.”

“You’re not even American,” Joshua said.

“That’s not the point,” she said. “I’m sorry, Josh. It was good to see you, but I have to get going.”

“You kept the car running?” Joshua said.

“Of course. It’s hot out here,” she said. “Oh, don’t pout. It’s not like you and I were going anywhere long-term,” Elise said. “And you can’t go anywhere short-term.”

From the kitchen, I could hear a car door close, then the crunch of tires on the driveway. I could hear Joshua’s footsteps, back and forth across the porch. I went to the refrigerator and got out the pitcher.

He was sitting on the porch, staring out toward the street. I handed him a glass of lemonade and he took it, absentmindedly. He didn’t say anything.

The next day was Thursday. In the evening, Momma got to go out to dinner with Judge Weintraub, Beau Ray got to go to “Life Skills Training” at the Charles Town Community Center and I got to drive Joshua to his first AA meeting. He didn’t talk to me on the way there, and when I asked if he knew where to go and what room it was in, he handed me a piece of paper: Room 220.