You keep it going, the idiot babble, fast, happy, and meaningless, until the photographer nodded and you started the interview.
“Debbie, what’s the matter? You seem so quiet.”
“I’m tired, that’s all.”
Okay, she would wait. You always waited that extra second, that uncomfortable second of silence that cried out to be filled with a sound, a word. Inevitably, the person being interviewed filled that silence, usually by saying something they shouldn’t.
“I mean, I don’t know. I feel bad,” Debbie ended the discomfort.
Ellen paused again, as though in thought.
“What’s bothering you?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the weather.”
“The weather is perfect.”
“Yes,” Debbie agreed without meeting her eyes.
“Don’t worry. It will probably rain in February and we’ll be flooded out and we’ll be working twenty-four-hour shifts and Brown will have us all sleeping on cots in the newsroom. He thinks he’s in Viet Nam or something, not that he ever was, God knows. You won’t be hoping for rain after that. Can you imagine seeing Brown sleeping next to you on a cot?” She pushed for a smile, a relaxation of the tension.
The small smile came but ended when Debbie lifted her shoulders like a child who knew she was going to stay unhappy, no matter what treats and promises were offered.
Ellen went back to the banter.
“God, I thought the second flood had come. Brown kept staring out the windows, praying it would keep raining. I kept praying somebody would let me go home. Where’d you get that?” She nodded toward the enormous hutch filling one wall of the dining area.
“It was my great-grandmother’s,” Debbie said. “I couldn’t leave it.”
Ellen could imagine somebody hauling that damn thing across the plains and the Rockies in a covered wagon. She had seen the paintings of the household goods tossed along the wagon trails.
“Can you imagine bringing that thing across the country in a wagon?”
“I think it came by boat. I think that’s what Dad said, or train.”
Ellen nodded. They were talking now. One slight push, a nudge, and they would move wherever she wanted them to go.
“Where did they bring this thing from, originally?”
“I know what you were doing,” Debbie cut in angrily. “I know what you were doing.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“When you were talking to Sandi.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you were talking about me.” Debbie was looking at her now, her eyes wide and questioning.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ellen lied.
“Yes you do,” Debbie nodded. “You were talking about me, weren’t you? You were saying that I wanted attention. You really think that?”
“Debbie, we were talking about an obnoxious house guest,” Ellen tried half-heartedly. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one.
“You meant me,” Debbie insisted. “I’m not dumb, you know. You may think I am, but I’m not.”
“No, I don’t think you’re dumb,” Ellen protested.
“And you meant it. Didn’t you? About the attention?”
“Maybe for a minute, but I can be so wrong about things. It was a bitchy thing to say and I am sorry for it. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Okay,” Debbie nodded, the anger gone. “That’s okay.”
Good, thought Ellen, that was done.
“You were wrong about that other thing too,” Debbie said then.
“What other thing?”
“That truth can be a kindness. That’s not true,” Debbie said, pushing the slice of pizza around her plate with her finger.
Ellen shook her head. “You’re the one who feels so strongly about the truth,” she said, reminding her of that first-day remark, the one she found so naïve.
“Maybe not anymore.”
They both sat with the thought.
“Look,” Debbie finally said, “I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” Ellen assured her, willing to do anything to make up for the past few minutes.
“No,” Debbie said, leaned over and touched at Ellen’s hand. “This is important. You have to promise me you will never tell anyone else.”
“I won’t say anything, Debbie.” Ellen smiled reassuringly. How bad could this really be?
“Because I don’t want anyone to know ever,” Debbie said in a worried voice.
“And who would I tell?”
“No one!” Debbie shouted it out. “You can’t tell anyone!”
“Debbie, it’s okay. I won’t say anything to anyone.” She put both hands up. “You have my word.”
She waited.
“How do you feel about abortions?” Debbie asked, looking away.
“You know,” Ellen chose her words carefully, “like it is not my business to tell another woman what to do with her body.”
“I had one,” Debbie said. Her voice was so low Ellen had to lean toward her.
“What?”
“After Christmas. I had an abortion.”
Ellen shook her head slowly. Time, she needed time.
“It wasn’t bad,” Debbie continued. “I thought it might be bad, painful, but it wasn’t bad. It only took a few hours. I was only worried that somebody would find out. And poor Clifford.” Her face softened with the name. “He was scared to death. He was sure I was going to die.”
“Clifford?” Ellen all but screamed the name.
“Yes. He was the only one I told and he said he wanted to come with me,” Debbie explained. “He kept acting like everything was okay, but I could tell he was scared about what was going to happen. He kept saying, ‘I better come in. I better come in.’”
Ellen could barely breathe. Each word hit her like a slap.
“I’m okay, though.” Debbie touched her hand again. “Everything is okay. I promise. I am glad I can tell you. It means so much to me.”
“Oh, Debbie,” Ellen’s breath finally came. “I wish I had known.”
She did not wish she had known. She didn’t want to know now.
“Was it Jason’s?”
“It doesn’t matter,” stated Debbie.
“Of course it matters, and it was, wasn’t it? That son of a bitch bastard.”
The anger made Ellen feel strong again.
“No, I’m the one who got pregnant,” Debbie insisted.
“And he had nothing to do with it? That man has been getting away with bloody murder for years.”
Even as she said the words, she worried about them. Was it bloody murder? Is that how Debbie felt about the abortion.
