A Great Imagination
Later that afternoon, back at the house, Forrest was taking a shower. The children were off with friends. Regina was out on the patio.
It seemed like a perfect moment to take her aside and tell her what I’d learned.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said.
She looked up from her knitting. “Yes?”
“I just came back from the Barnetts’ house. Forrest was there. But he wasn’t doing anything bad. He was breaking up with Brenda, actually. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“Oh, really?” Considering how violently she’d responded to previous reports, Regina’s demeanor now seemed weirdly uninterested. Bored, almost.
“He told her she was a terrible person. He said you had every right to hate him.”
Every reason to want me dead. His actual words.
Regina considered this, but only briefly. For a moment she looked out over the green lawn of Wonderland—the perfectly trimmed shrubbery, the boathouse, the dock with the Chris-Craft tied up, the words “Queen of the Lake” painted on the side—and the perfect blue lake beyond.
“I see,” she said with a sigh. “Well, that’s good news.”
I should have been relieved. I’d told Regina the truth, and finally she understood.
Only something about her reaction felt all wrong.
She’d taken the news in so easily. After the scene I’d witnessed so recently, it surprised me to see Regina set aside her rage so swiftly, and with so little apparent surprise.
Maybe she didn’t entirely understand, so I figured I should say more.
“He told Brenda she disgusted him,” I said. “He loves you.”
“Oh, good.” She made a little sound. So quietly I could have missed it. She shook her head. She went back to her knitting.
“You aren’t mad anymore?” I asked her. “At Forrest?”
“You know the great thing about you, Frances?” she said, as I was picking up her teacup, preparing to leave. “You’ve got such a great imagination. You really should be a writer someday.”
I stood there for a moment, holding the teacup. I had this feeling I should say something more, but I didn’t know what.
“Why don’t you run along, dear?” Regina said to me. She’d never called me that before.
After I left, I retrieved my tennis shoes from their spot by the door and laced them up.
I grabbed my new racquet and threw it over my shoulder.
I hopped back on my bike. I rode over to the club.
I had my five hundred consecutive returns to accomplish.
For two solid hours, I just slammed balls against the backboard for all I was worth.