She Poured Out Her Heart (19 page)

Invited, she stared. He had the kind of face that seemed good-looking, until you broke it down into nostrils and chins and other less than lovely parts. “You're kind of red-complected. Is that it?”

“Nope. Earlobe creases.” He pointed. “Ups your cardiac event risk by about fifty-seven percent.”

“Huh.” For a moment she found him interesting. “How does that work? The ear creases don't actually cause heart attacks, right?”

“No, otherwise we'd go get our earlobes ironed out and sleep better at night. They may indicate some deterioration of the tissue around blood vessels. Same thing that goes on in the heart.” He tugged at his earlobe. “So see, some of going into cardiology was just self-preservation. Of course I try to live right. All kinds of monitoring and preventive care. I got after my brother about his risk factors. He didn't want to go in for a stress test. I bet him nine holes of golf. I won, and he had triple bypass surgery.”

“That's kind of a nice story. I mean, not the surgery part. Good thing you're up on your golf game.”

“I probably could have beat him in arm wrestling, but that might have been too much for his cardiac profile. So, Bonnie,” smiling, shifting gears. Enough attractive posturing. Serious hitting on about to commence. “What do you do, when you're not going to parties?”

Who should she be? A private investigator? Organic farmer? Screw it. She said, “I'm a crime fighter.”

“You mean, like a superhero?” His blond heart attack face swung close to hers.

Her and her big mouth. She really had to come up with a better script. Maybe she could get a superhero costume. Danger Girl! Before she had to answer, Eric came down the stairs. “Ron, hey, I need to steal this lady away for a minute, sorry.”

He walked Bonnie into the kitchen. “Have you seen Jane?”

“No, not since I got here. What's the matter?”

“I can't find her.”

They stared at each other. Eric looked away. Bonnie said, “What's going on? Eric?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you have a fight? Come on, just tell me.”

“No, no fight.” He looked impatient at the idea.

“Did she say anything? Are your cars still here?”

“Nothing. Yes, both cars are in the garage.”

“All right, we have to get rid of all these people.” Her brain clicked along a practical, automatic track. “Did you try the basement?”

Eric said that he had.

“Would she go to a neighbor's? Maybe she needed to borrow something?”

“All the neighbors we know are here.”

People pushed past them to get to the bar. They spoke to Eric. Great food. Thanks. Somebody asked him what he and Jane were doing for the holidays and Eric said it was all about the kids. Of course. He laughed and turned again to Bonnie. They retreated to a small porch off the back door that held mops and brooms, rags hung up to dry, a child's raincoat, a vaporizer, possibly broken, more. “How's she been lately?” Bonnie asked. “Have you noticed anything different, off?” She shivered. The porch was uninsulated, the glass windows rimed with frost.

“She knocked herself out getting the party together. But that's nothing new.” Eric raised his hands, then, not knowing what to do with them, lowered them. He looked unsteady, scattered. “Should we call the police?”

Bonnie was staring out over the backyard. “Oh God,” she said. “Eric.”

The next minute they were outside in the brittle cold, running as best they could across the snow crust. A heaped shape in the middle of the yard. Eric reached her first. Jane was lying face up to the sky. Scraps of clothing around her. She was a pale and naked doll, arms and legs flung out to her sides. Her breasts had flattened into pools and her hips were wide white dough. “Oh God,” Bonnie said again. “Is she . . .”

Eric pulled Jane up out of the snow. She sagged against him, fell back again. Eric was saying “Ah, shit, ah, ah,” hoisting her up, holding her to his chest. There was not enough of him to contain her and parts of Jane kept escaping his grasp, her head of icy hair, her flopping arm. “Go, call 911, get a blanket.”

Bonnie ran back, already reaching for her phone. The emergency operator came on and there was a bad moment when she could not remember the street address, one of those idyllic suburban names like
Hollyhock or Pleasant View, but then it snapped into her mind and she told them yes, an adult female, no, she did not know if she was conscious or not, breathing or not, how had she not thought to notice? Then she was inside, upstairs, snatching up the plaid blanket at the foot of Jane and Eric's bed. The stereo was playing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” In the kitchen a woman leaned toward her, mouth open as if getting ready to talk or perhaps she was already talking. Bonnie blew past her.

Now that her eyes were used to the snow light, now that she knew what she was looking for, she saw Jane's shoes not far from the back door. Black pumps with pointed toes, slung carelessly, one on top of the other, like someone too tired to put them away right. The blanket dragged in the snow, tripping her up as she ran. Eric and Jane were tangled together. He was trying to warm her with his body and breath. Jane's face rolled up to the sky. Her eyes were closed.

“Is she . . .” She couldn't say “dead.” Eric didn't answer. He made a one-handed gesture that had something to do with the blanket, she should do something with the blanket. Bonnie unfolded it and held it out.

“Help me with her.”

Bonnie took one end of the blanket and Eric held the other. Naked, Jane was impossible not to stare at; she both did and did not resemble herself. Covered up in the blanket, she looked like an accident victim in some country on the other side of the world, a woman pulled out of rubble from an earthquake, perhaps. Jane's head flopped forward. A frost cloud came out of her mouth. Alive?

“Did you call? Are they coming?”

“Yes.” Not knowing what else to do, Bonnie bent over and picked up Jane's clothes, bra and slippery panties, pantyhose, the blue sweater dress she'd had on. None of them had frozen solid, though her own hands were so clumsy with cold, it was hard to tell anything more. Maybe Jane had not been out here very long. But then, it was only ten or fifteen degrees. How long was too long? she wanted to ask. She waited for Eric to say it
was going to be all right, and he didn't. A siren wailed at some distance. Bonnie thought she should go tell them to come out back. She didn't think she'd said backyard.

But she couldn't get herself to move. Jane was shivering now, a heavy, convulsive shaking. Was that good? Bonnie couldn't remember. It had something to do with trying to maintain body heat. More frost came out of Jane's mouth. “What,” Eric said. “What?”

Bonnie came closer. “What is she saying?”

Eric shook his head. “Go,” he said. And she went, dropping Jane's clothes on the back porch. She went to the front door, the partygoers only now registering the approaching sirens over, what was it, one of the syrupy songs, “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.”

Bonnie went to the front door, looked out to see the red emergency lights revolving and strobing in the driveway. Two paramedics in down jackets and ball caps got out, carrying gear. She stood aside to let them enter. She could have taken them up the driveway and around, it was stupid not to. Bonnie caught up to them and guided them away from the astonished guests. “Outside, out back,” she told them, remembering, finally, to turn the yard light on. They were both ridiculously young men, barely more than teenagers. They had a radio and it was making some garbled noise. Bonnie watched them walk out to Jane and Eric, one following in the other's tracks in the snow, not running, but purposeful, brisk.

Then she turned back to the kitchen and the people who had crowded into it. “What happened?” someone asked.

“Jane had an accident.”

“Is she all right?”

“I don't know.”

They stared at her, wanting more. Bonnie said, “She fainted or something. Eric's with her.”

Someone in the back of the room said, “What was she doing out . . .” Then stopped themselves.

Ron made his way through the crowd to stand next to her. She was
almost glad to see him. He'd had the presence of mind to put on a coat. “I'll see if I can help,” he said, heading out the door.

The guests were trying to see out the windows for themselves. Bonnie turned her back on them. She watched as the paramedics brought out some kind of stretcher or cart and loaded Jane onto it. She saw Eric and Ron standing together. The paramedics maneuvered and bumped the cart over the snow. She'd forgotten Jane's shoes; they were just within the circle of yard light.

Ron came back inside, blowing on his hands to warm them. To Bonnie he said, “Eric's going to the hospital. He wants to know if you can stay here with the kids until he gets home.”

“Yes, of course.”

Raising his voice, he addressed the group. “Listen, there's been an accident, but it's under control. Jane's receiving medical attention. I know Eric will get back to everybody when he has some news.”

It was beginning to dawn on people that they were meant to leave. A couple of the women began bringing the food in from the dining room, wrapping it back up, and stowing it away in the refrigerator. Someone turned the music off. Bonnie ducked back outside for Jane's shoes and put them with the rest of her clothes. She couldn't bear to leave them out there, as if she would be leaving Jane herself out in the cold.

One of the women in the kitchen began explaining what she had done with the different leftovers, how she had apportioned them, what had gone into the freezer. Bonnie nodded and thanked her. People wanted to help, she got that. Some of the guests had already left. She heard car doors slamming, engines starting.

Bonnie went upstairs to check on the kids. They were both heavily asleep and with any luck they'd stay that way until Eric got home and could explain where Mommy was. Grace had one of those bubbling nightlights. Robbie's bedside lampshade had cutouts in the shape of stars. Maybe it was shock and cold catching up with her, or just pure sorrow, thinking of the two of them waking up to a world that would no
longer be right, but she could have laid herself down right then and there and cried.

She came back downstairs. A last couple was putting on their coats and heading for the front door. Bonnie recognized them as people she'd met when she'd first arrived, although she had no clue about their names. The woman said, “Now we're right next door if you need anything. If Eric needs anything.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

“I hope it's nothing serious,” the woman said, by way of asking just what, exactly, it was.

Bonnie said, “She went to take the garbage out and she must have either passed out or slipped and hit her head. I'm glad we found her when we did, you don't want to take chances in this weather.”

The woman nodded. Faintly disappointed? People would think what they wanted to think. She'd have to tell Eric the story she'd put out, so he could go along with it if he wished.

The husband said, “Lucky somebody was out there looking for her.” Shrewd eyes. Not inclined to believe her.

“It was like, the hand of God, wasn't it? Good night,” Bonnie said, ushering them out. She turned to close the door, thinking the house was empty, but here was good old Ron coming up behind her with a drink in his hand, and this was really and seriously too fucking much.

“How you holding up?” he asked. As if she was the one needing fake solicitude and care.

“OK.” She kept her hand on the doorknob.

“We're thinking it was some kind of breakdown,” Ron said, not specifying who “we” encompassed. The guys at the bar? The paramedics? He and Eric?

“Ah.” Her best bet right now was words of one syllable.

“You said you were old friends?”

“Right. Since school.”

“I guess even when you know somebody, you never know them.” He
nodded, all serious, inviting her to opine, gossip, speculate. What was the goddamned matter with people? Her heart was sore with worry, ah Jane! “Fix you a drink?” She shook her head. She knew, from her negotiations training, that the important thing was to get somebody to say yes. “Anything you'd like?”

“You know what would be great?” She watched him perk up, as if she were about to suggest they settle in to watch pornography. “Go down to the hospital and stay with Eric. I know he could use some backup. It would be such a help.” And it would, she meant it. But she wasn't above saying it for her own purposes.

He went quietly. Bonnie found the plug for the outside Christmas lights and shut them off. She unplugged the Christmas tree and double checked all the doors. It wasn't that late, only a little after ten. She sat downstairs in the living room for a time, waiting for something to happen, then roused herself and went to check on the kids again.

They hadn't so much as shifted in their sleep. Bonnie stood at Grace's doorway, trying to match her own breathing to the child's, soft and sweet and easy. Eric and Jane's bedroom was down the hall. A light was on next to what was clearly Eric's side of the bed, with its utilitarian pile of folders and medical journals. Jane's side was Kleenex, hand cream, lip balm, nasal spray, cough drops, emery sticks. The bed was made up with a down comforter. Eric had one of those valet stands with a coat hung over it. She didn't know that anyone really used them. It was probably something Jane got him.

She stepped into the adjoining bathroom, peed, washed her hands. How long had it been since she'd shared a bathroom with Jane? Known everything about her down to how much toilet paper she used. Now, even laid bare, she was a mystery.

Bonnie went back into the bedroom and laid down on Jane's side of the bed. She took off her shoes and stockings, her watch and jewelry, and wrapped herself up in the comforter. The pillow smelled faintly of hair.
She'd imagined that this was how she might come to understand Jane, what had gone wrong. Or had always been wrong. Was that it? She sorted through her stack of memories. Jane, the audience and straight man to Bonnie's wild and crazy act. So long ago. They'd only been kids. She'd been such an intolerable brat. How had Jane, or anyone, put up with her?