Matt & Zoe, Page 2

  Jasmine runs straight to him and without hesitation slips between the slats of the stall. My chest tightens with immediate tension—Mono was Mom’s favorite, and I know Jasmine rides him all the time. Still—he’s enormous. His black fur glistens from the light streaming in the door of the stable, and his hooves stamp at the ground, raising clouds of dust. Jasmine doesn’t hesitate, climbing up the slats to sit on the top rail. Mono nuzzles his face against her and she wraps her arms around his head.

  Paul grins. “He adores her. Welcome home, Zoe.”

  I nod. I’m not discourteous, just unsure why he is here. “Thanks. I didn’t expect to be here.”

  “I’m so sorry about your Mom and Dad. I’ve been coming over here to keep an eye on the horses when I could—I was hoping you’d be back soon. Are you home on leave? How long are you staying?”

  That was a lot of words all at once. I open my mouth, unsure of myself.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. He moves straight to me and wraps his arms around me. I stiffen at first—who the hell does he think he is? Then I almost collapse inside. The tension in my muscles slips away as if it had never been there.

  “I think I’m here for good,” I whisper. “I’m out of the Army.”

  “Ahhhh,” he whispers. “So you’ll be taking care of Jasmine.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good,” he says. “That’s good. I didn’t know if she was with relatives or a foster home or what. I just knew no one was feeding the horses.”

  “Do you have time to be over here feeding Mom’s horses? What about your teams?” Paul’s horses often win national prizes in shows around the country.

  He releases me and waves a hand in dismissal. “Husband’s covering for me.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re married now? When did that happen?”

  He says, “Four years ago, honey. Blake quit his job two years ago to work with me.”

  I smile.

  Then I remember that four years ago I was in Iskandiriyah. I missed a lot of what was going on back home then. “I’m so happy, I just didn’t realize.”

  “It’s all right.” I will say this: he looks happy, and that’s a change. I remember seeing him at competitions on the circuit the summer before my senior year in high school—when Mom and I were arguing all the time. Paul was never relaxed. In fact, he looked like the most stressed out human being I had ever seen. He was stocky, with a thick muscled neck and sometimes awkward movements. He always used to look like he was thirty seconds from a heart attack. Now, he still looks red in the face, a little parboiled, but the stressed-out look in his eyes has melted.

  “Marriage seems to agree with you.”

  His smile reveals orderly gleaming teeth. I think they’re new… I don’t remember that unnatural smile.

  “How long have you been watching them?”

  “Ever since the accident, I’ve been coming over twice a day. Although Mono needs more attention. I’ve been riding him in the morning, but he missed Jasmine.”

  Jasmine hugged Mono again. “Can I ride him now?”

  Paul looks at me, and it takes me a fraction of a second longer than it should for it to sink in that he’s looking to me for permission. Because I’m in charge, both of the horses... and of Jasmine. I shiver. I’m not ready for this.

  “Go get your boots.” The words feel awkward coming out of my mouth.

  Jasmine plants a huge kiss on Mono, then jumps down from the rail and runs for the house.

  “I’ve never ridden Mono.” I’m eyeing the horse as I say the words. He’s huge. I know Jasmine rides him all the time, but it still makes me a little nervous.

  “Jasmine handles him like a pro,” Paul says. “She’ll be fine. Nettles is out back with Eeyore. Wasn’t she yours?”

  I nod. Mom always wanted me to be into horses, just like Dad wanted me to be into literature. Neither got what they wanted. “They’re doing okay?”

  “Yeah. They’ve all been moody. They miss your mom.”

  I swallow, unable to reply to his words. I do too.

  My Fault (Matt)

  When my phone rings, it’s two in the afternoon and I’m already late. I’ve spent the day driving from place to place, buying supplies for my classroom for the year. Dry-erase markers, paper, crayons, construction paper, glue—the staples of elementary education. Every year the school provides fewer materials and I buy more. I’m used to making do with even less, so it’s fine. At least the supplies are tax-deductible.

  I take my right hand off the wheel and fumble to pick up the phone. It’s Tyler Norris, a fellow elementary school teacher. There are very few men teaching in the lower level grades, so the two of us form a sort of fraternity, even though we’re nothing alike. Tyler is … exuberant. He’s outgoing, muscular, a guy’s guy. He’s an assistant coach for the high school football team and drinks like a fish. Beer, mostly. I’m pretty sure he was the guy chugging Jägermeister from the bottle in college while his frat buddies shouted, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

  He’s also my best friend, though it would be impossible for us to be more different from each other.

  I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

  No fancy Bluetooth or electronics for me. My Toyota is twelve years old. My flip-phone and the eight-year-old Mac I bought my freshman year at Boston University still work just fine. I love technology, but I love being out of debt more. I’m trying to pay off my student loans before I turn sixty.

  “Yo, Matty, what up? Where are ya?” Tyler’s voice is boisterous with an undercurrent of gravel.

  “I’m on my way, I got held up in traffic in Hadley. It’s chaos from the students coming back at UMASS.”

  “Right, right. They’re ready to start without you.”

  I mutter a curse. “I’m ten minutes away. Stall them, please.” As I say the words, I pull out into the traffic circle. Everything goes black as a minivan comes out of nowhere and crushes the front of my Toyota. Force yanks me toward the steering wheel, but the seat belt locks me in place. With a loud bang, the airbag deploys right into my face.

  It takes a few seconds before the shock lifts. I turn off the car and just breathe.

  Steam pours out of the front of my car, and Tyler is shouting in my phone “Matty? Matty? You okay?”

  I groan. Then I say, “Tyler, I just got into an accident. Tell them I can’t make it today.”

  “You all right? Oh, man—”

  “I’m fine,” I say. I need to get him off the phone. I flip it shut and gingerly reach for the door handle.

  The door opens. I step out, still disoriented. The front of my car is crumpled in, but the minivan doesn’t appear to have sustained any damage. Sitting behind the wheel is a young mother with bleach blonde hair and wide blue eyes.

  She opens the door and slips out of her seat. She’s wearing a UMASS t-shirt, and as I stand up next to my car, I revise her age downward. She’s not a mother, she’s a college kid driving her mother’s van. I don’t know if her almost white hair is bleached or naturally blonde, but it’s cut longer in the front than the back. Her t-shirt is a little too tight. Not that I’m complaining.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, are you?” Sir? Do I look like a sir? I look down at the steaming front end of my car. The white cloud is not encouraging.

  “Looks like you ruptured the radiator. You shouldn’t talk on the phone while driving.”

  “Pot, meet kettle. You hit me, kid.”

  “First, I’m not a kid. And second, I had the right of way. I hit you because you raced out into the rotary without looking.”

  Just what I need. A twenty-year-old college sophomore patronizing me about my driving. “Lady, I’ve never had an accident in my life. How fast were you going? There’s no way I pulled out too fast for you to stop.”

  She shakes her head, a grim look on her face. I’d have thought she was completely emotionless—her facial expression is remote—but her hands are shaking. “We’ll le
t the police do their report. I’m just grateful neither of us was hurt. You got insurance information?”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah, let me get my insurance card. Unbelievable.” I lean into the car to open the glove box. Traffic is moving again, inching around us. Her van is partially obstructing traffic. I hear sirens in the distance. Amherst Police, probably. Christ. This is going to end up costing me if the ticket gets blamed on me. Meanwhile, some over-privileged college kid walks away from the accident with no repercussions at all.

  I retrieve my insurance card and stand back up. “Here. And you’ve got yours?” I dig out my driver’s license and hand both to her.

  She hands me back an expired driver’s license. Not recently expired either, but expired more than a year ago.

  Who lets their license expire for more than a year?

  I write down the insurance information and her license number. The address is in South Hadley, right around the corner from the school. That gives me pause, but not long enough to make me shut up.

  The insurance card, of course, is in her parents’ names.

  “Out for a spin in your mom’s van, huh? With an invalid license? That’s grown up, about what I’d expect from a college kid.” I’m working myself up into a near rage.

  She looks at me with a vicious expression and says, “You’re an asshole.”

  “Well, that’s mature, too,” I mutter. I’m frustrated and stressed. The meeting with the school board is happening right now and I’m supposed to be representing the union. And I can’t if I’m here dealing with some twenty-something-year-old who was probably texting and didn’t see me as I entered the traffic circle.

  The police pull up. Not one, but two Amherst Police sports-utility-vehicles, blue lights flashing. One comes to a stop on the grass behind me and the other parks behind the college girl’s van. I go back to writing down her information.

  Zoe Welch. College Street, South Hadley. She's 24 years old--older than I thought. 413-555-1200.

  Where do I know that name from? Welch? I’ve only been in South Hadley for two years—it’s a small town, but not so small that everyone knows everyone. Whatever, it doesn’t matter where or if I know her from. What matters is that we get this over with, that I get the meeting rescheduled, and that I move on from this as quickly as possible. I am so frustrated.

  Police officers descend upon us. I hear one of the cops say, “Zoe Welch? You’re back? I’m so sorry about your parents.”

  The girl’s response is too quiet for me to hear. I’ve got a sick feeling in my stomach. I’m so sorry about your parents. What does that mean? Where is she back from? And what happened to her parents that the local police know both her and them?

  I let those questions roll around my head while one of the cops walks me away from the scene and asks me my version of the accident. I follow, my brain still on the girl and the I’m so sorry about your parents.

  I give my name and particulars to the police officer, who introduced himself as Officer Cavendish. He’s chewing gum, wearing mirrored sunglasses, and wouldn't look out of place on a football field.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” Cavendish says. It must be a slow law enforcement day because I’ve got his full attention. His partner is wandering over too.

  I want to stay silent. I start to say, I’m not sure what happened, it’s possible she was going too fast. I want to shift blame away from me, because my life experience hasn’t taught me to trust the police, but my mouth, as always, has a mind of its own. Instead of saying something sensible, or asking for my lawyer, or remaining silent, I gawk at myself as I say the words, “It was my fault.”

  What? Seriously? Who says that?

  “I was late for a meeting and got distracted when my phone rang, and I rolled too far into the intersection. I didn’t see her until it was too late because I wasn’t looking.”

  Cavendish stops chewing his gum and looks at me under raised eyebrows. “Your fault?”

  “My fault. I pulled out right in front of her.”

  He grunts. “All right. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He started to walk away and I put a hand out. “Quick question… one of the officers said sorry about your parents to her… what was that about?”

  Cavendish shook his head. “I think you need to mind your own business,” he grunts. He’s cranky. I wait as he walks off.

  I call Tyler. He answers on the first ring. “You all right, Matt?”

  It’s an indicator of how concerned he is that he doesn’t butcher my name. “Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, any chance you can take a ride up toward Atkins Farm? I’m going to have to get the car towed, it’s not going anywhere.”

  “Yeah, yeah. After I told them about the accident, Barrington rescheduled the meeting.”

  “Well, that’s a minor miracle.”

  Tyler chuckles. “You aren’t kidding Matty. All right, I’ll be there sometime tonight.”

  “Tyler…”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  We hang up just in time for me to get a ticket for improper entry into the traffic circle. The girl is getting back in her van as a female UMASS cop talks with her. All the local jurisdictions getting in on the act. Must be a slow day. I want to walk over there and apologize, though I’m not sure what for. I’m too late. She starts the undamaged minivan, fastens her seatbelt and drives away.

  Thirty minutes later a tow truck is hauling my Toyota away and I’m in Tyler’s car, headed back home.

  “So who hit you?” Tyler asks. “Was she pretty?”

  Tyler’s real subtle.

  “Yeah,” I say. “A real knockout, she ran me right over.”

  He gives me a strange look, then it hits him. He lets out a surprised guffaw. “That’s pretty good! Matty, when did you get a sense of humor? And more importantly, did you get her number?”

  “Shut up, Tyler.”

  “You did! High five!” He raises his right hand for a high five, even as he steers up the winding road with his left. We’re halfway up the hill to the Notch, a pass just east of Bald Mountain and the primary road from Amherst to South Hadley. I see another car coming down the highway as Tyler swerves.

  “Tyler, watch the road for Chrissake!”

  He laughs and returns his right hand to the wheel. “Christ. Always serious. Is this why they appointed you to do the negotiations with the school board?”

  “Yeah. It’s because I have no sense of humor, Tyler. You know that.”

  “What’ll you do if people ever learn the truth about you, Matty?”

  “What truth?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Like I’d know. I do know one thing though.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I know we’re going out for drinks tonight! Nine o’clock at McMurphy’s.”

  I frown. McMurphy’s Tavern is tiny and often packed full of college kids from Amherst and UMASS on the weekends.

  “Tyler, we’re not twenty-one anymore,” I say. Never mind the fact that tomorrow is the first day back at school for teachers.

  “Who cares? The girls are!” He laughs and I shake my head.

  Chapter Three

  What are your plans? (Zoe)

  “Are you sure she should even start school yet? It seems so soon.” Nicole’s voice sounds a little tinny on the phone. She’s out on patrol I think, so she’s probably using a headset. The sun glares off the glass in the minivan, right into the house—it’s going to be another hot, humid day. The light streaming through the windows looks wavy where it lights up uneven rectangles on the bare floor. Some of the windows are original handmade glass. All of them are dirty. Mom and Dad were both always too busy with academics or their personal pursuits to worry about the fine details of housework.

  I sigh. In some ways Nicole is right. Maybe. Part of me feels like it is too soon for Jasmine to go back to school. But there is no right answer for Jasmine. “I’d agree, but she asked to go back. Which is a lot coming from an
eight-year-old. I think she needs some normality in her life.”

  “I get it,” Nicole says. “I just wish I could go back in time a week, and … well, you know.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I do too.”

  “What are your plans?” She asks.

  I shrug, even though she can’t see me. “I don’t know. I’ve got a meeting with the Veterans Services office at UMASS tomorrow. It’s too late for this semester I’m sure, but maybe I’ll go back to school.”

  Nicole’s response is predictable. “You know, there’s an opening in the department. I’m sure you would be a shoe-in for the academy.”

  “Nicole, I’m not interested in being a cop.”

  “Why not? You were a great MP.”

  I snort. “Bullshit. I went along with it because that’s what you wanted to do. I liked the civil affairs work. Riding around in a patrol car and dealing with traffic violations and drunk college kids? No thanks.”

  “So what’s your plan then?”

  “I don’t know,” I snap. “Right now it’s to get settled and get Jasmine back into school. I haven’t even buried my parents yet, all right?”

  “Jesus, Zoe, I’m sorry.” Nicole’s voice is low and repentant.

  “It’s going to take me a little while. Three days ago I was expecting to have a career in the Army. I liked what I was doing. Tokyo was gorgeous, and I was good at what I did and it just… everything's turned upside down, all right?”

  Nicole’s sigh is drawn out. “I get it, Zoe.”

  “Anyway,” I say. “I’ve got a meeting with the counselor and her second grade teacher in about an hour. Jasmine’s going to come, so she can see the classroom and get a little comfortable before school starts.”

  “It’s a good idea. You want the school to be paying attention to her.”