Page 10 of Whatever Will Be

Mara rests her head on Caitlin’s shoulder. I watch Gretchen get choked up and try to disguise it by clearing her throat. She holds out slender hands, ringless and unmanicured, which is fine by me. I don’t know why anyone thinks gobs of jewelry and glittery fake nails looks good. I like the fact that nothing about Gretchen appears to be fake.

I can’t explain why these thoughts are running through my head and I kind of wish they’d stop.

“Come on, girls.” Gretchen makes a brave and unconvincing attempt to sound cheerful. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

They hop right off the chair in unison and dash to her. Caitlin is through the door in a flash but Mara clings to Gretchen’s waist for a second before following her sister.

“No running please,” Gretchen warns. Then she looks at me over her shoulder. “I really don’t know where Danny went. He’s processing his shock. Check the carriage house.”

I don’t get a chance to respond. Gretchen exits with grace in a cloud of fruity perfume while I take the time to admire her ass.

That’s right.

I have no shame.

2

Trent

The ‘carriage house’ has always been a hilarious way to refer to the single window structure that looks like a fancy shed with electricity. Set on a foundation in the far corner of the backyard, I’m sure no one has ever stored an actual carriage inside.

I remember when the exterior of the carriage house matched the cloudy grey of the main house. Danny and I painted it one summer afternoon when we were bored. His mother sure had fits over that but his dad was the one who gave us the money for the paint and said we could pick whatever color we wanted. We picked electric blue. The carriage house is still electric blue.

There are more toys in the backyard, more evidence of Jules living here with her two girls. A plastic play pool has been propped up against the cinderblock fence. A maple tree has been cut down to a thick stump and a fat baby doll poses on top of it.

No one has decided to hang out in the backyard to enjoy the frigid temperature. A snow sky presses overhead. I heard we might be looking at a couple of inches tonight.

My knuckles are already stiff when I rap sharply on the carriage house door. Danny must have been standing nearby on the other side because he answers in two seconds.

Danny Aaronson was my first friend and my best friend. Right now he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and his black suit appears to have been trampled by horses before he decided to throw it on.

Unlike Gretchen, he seems stunned to find me here. His eyes are bleary, either from grief or from alcohol or both.

“I meant to call you.” He leans an elbow against the doorframe.

“Doesn’t matter. Dan, I’m sorry as hell.”

He winces and nods. “Yeah.” He looks behind him and steps back. “Come in.”

“You don’t have to get back to the house?”

“Can’t deal with that shit.” He drops into a washed-out green recliner and rubs a hand over his face. “Fake fucking people and their fake fucking sadness. Most of them couldn’t give a crap about my sister.”

The green recliner has a twin and the springs groan under my weight when I claim it. A plastic tea set sits on a wicker table. There’s a small tent in the shape of a pink castle in the corner. By the looks of the place, this has become a playhouse for Mara and Caitlin.

However, the bottle of Jack Daniels squatting beside the tea set is definitely not the property of two little kids.

“How long’s it been, Trent?” Danny leans back in his chair.

I don’t think he’s quite drunk yet but he’s getting there.

“Since the last time we were in the same room? Almost three years. You were playing a series in Miami and we met up after a game.”

He snorts. “After party at the Python Room. I remember. You stayed for about twenty minutes.”

“Don’t like noise. Don’t like people.”

He nods. “It was good of you to dash up here from Miami with no notice. How’d you hear about Jules?”

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