Good Will: A Novel

By Tiffany W. Killoren

Four women learn to let go—and get back more than they ever expected. There's no road map for what to do when your husband dies—when he jumps off a bridge to escape mistakes that he made, or even welcomed, into your lives. But Lily doesn't need to consult a map for this particular part of her journey; she knows the way back to the small town she left behind. With a precocious seven-year-old who reminds her too much of his father tucked safely in the back seat, Lily leaves New York with everything she owns packed in a U-Haul, including memories that come in waves like fields along the highway, and an envelope she is too afraid to open. Once she settles in, she sifts through a box of things destined for the local thrift store—items from her past that will connect four women in unexpected ways and give them all the strength they need to move on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walrus Publishing
• Release date: Feb 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781940442310

Book preview

sunshine.

1. Lily

It was perfection, all of it. This spot on the bridge was one of their favorites and, even though most of the city shared their opinion, they had still liked to think it was their secret, a gem discovered that nobody else knew about and nobody else could find. They had always loved to watch the waves crash against the rocks, drowning out the noises of the city, working away at the surface until it shone like shards of glass in the moonlight, and, in those small spaces where the rocks were more protected, leaving behind small cauldrons of frothy whiteness, water stirred to a frenzied boil by the full moon. The sound came first, the thundering roar building momentum before the waves struck and then slowly retreating into the darkness to rest briefly before rising again. The scene was both peaceful and jarring, the beauty of nighttime’s natural routine at odds with the severity with which it delivered its message: no rock is safe from the water.

She looked off into the distance, the skyline like a colorful graphic backdrop to the water below and wondered if the beauty of it all overwhelmed him like it did her. She wondered if he had taken it all in, the wave-worn smoothness of the rocks, the frothiness of the water left behind, and the shimmering tips of the waves under the moonlight. She wondered if he had taken a moment to look around him as he stood there, if he had taken a moment to appreciate the beauty of it all before he jumped.

Lily glanced in the rearview mirror and watched Sam suck on the convenience store straw like it was funneling pure gold straight into his system. To a seven-year-old, fruit smoothies just did not compare with a Big Gulp. She turned her attention back to the road and set the cruise control at seven over the designated speed limit. She glanced back again and felt a twinge of shame that she had denied him these little splurges so often, his excitement at being provided soda equal to that of seeing a new gaming system under the Christmas tree. Perhaps she had been too strict. Perhaps she’d put her need to conform above her son’s need for a slushy fountain drink every now and then. Lily relaxed her legs and let herself sink down into the leather seat, the slurping sound of Sam trying to inhale every last bit of soda like a buzz saw to her guilty conscience.

How long’s the drive again? The straw screeched as it was pulled out of the plastic lid and reinserted, Sam moving it along the bottom of the cup searching for soda droplets in hiding. Lily cringed. I know you told me, but I forgot.

Sam claimed to forget a lot, words that would drive Lily insane when the toothpaste dried into a crusted mountain of goo because he forgot to put the cap back on, or when he required emergency trips to the store on the way to school because he had forgotten to tell her he’d signed her up to bring glow-in-the-dark highlighters in colors that were impossible to find. Lily had decided that seven-year-old brains couldn’t retain anything other than soccer schedules, baseball scores, and the price of whatever it is that has earned top billing on their must-have list. The length of the drive ahead, however, was something that she didn’t want him to focus on.

Oh, it’s a long one, Lily said, watching as a black car with duct tape securing one of its doors weaved in and out of traffic in front of her. We’re going to see some interesting things along the way, though. She hoped she sounded enthusiastic. He took the straw out of the cup completely and sucked its end, raising a single eyebrow. For a seven-year-old, Sam was skilled at calling people’s bluffs. Lily assumed it was from watching the adults around him playing mind games and learning for himself how the pieces moved. His second-grade teacher had called a few months ago to tell her that Sam was trying to sell other students the points he earned for good behavior. Jake had thought it entrepreneurial; Lily thought it concerning.

That guy’s going to hurt someone, Lily said, looking at the duct-taped car as it veered off onto the shoulder to avoid colliding with the one in front of it. Licenses should be revoked for stupid behavior.

Negligence, Sam announced. It’s a disregard for the safety of others that falls below the expected standard of care. I read about it in one of Dad’s old books. Sam craned his neck to get a good look at the car as they drove past it. I’m not really sure how they figure out what the standard of care is, but I bet there’s a book on that, too. He sat in thought, biting one end of the straw with the rest dangling out of his mouth like a red-and-white striped cigarette.

Although proud of Sam’s intelligence, Lily knew they were getting close to the time when his still-developing brain surpassed her fully mature one. When that happened, she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to have a conversation without first fully researching topics. Why Sam wanted to read Jake’s law books, a collection lined up on a bottom shelf in his office collecting dust and smelling of old paper, was beyond her. She now wondered if she should have kept any of them, the collection left in a cardboard box by their curb that morning next to the trash bin and a bag of empty wine bottles.

Yes, Lily said. Disregard for others. She tried not to let her voice show how ironic she found the phrase given their situation. Sam was good at picking up on such subtleties.

She reached for the stainless-steel travel coffee cup from its holder but could tell by its weight that it was empty. She didn’t need any more caffeine, but it was her go-to source of comfort whenever a glass of Sauvignon Blanc was inappropriate, or her hidden chocolate stash was gone. Lily had always hated driving I-80. Semi-trucks seemed oblivious to the smaller vehicles at risk of being sucked up under their mud flaps during sudden lane changes. Talk about negligence. At times, she couldn’t see any of the road ahead, the towering trucks speeding down the road like traveling skyscrapers that blocked the sun. These trucks had always scared her, their birds-eye-view making her feel as vulnerable as a mouse hiding from watchful eyes in the cornfield, the same cornfields that seemed to surround them now like a golden sea of silk.

Did you pack all of my Minecraft posters? Sam’s gaze was now fixated on the colony of windmills in the distance, giant images that looked like creatures from a sci-fi movie stalking the landscape, waiting to strike.

Yes, sweetie. Everything in your room was packed. We didn’t throw anything away. Lily spoke the words convincingly and hoped that the keen eye of her overly observant son wouldn’t notice that a portion of his Lego collection had been donated along with any other toy she couldn’t immediately identify or that seemed to be missing parts. She had packed Sam’s room when he was at school, trying to spare him the sight of things being taken off shelves and tucked away in boxes that might not be opened for awhile. No child needs to see that. He had been through enough.

My laptop?

Here, Lily said, gesturing with her head toward the leather carrying case on the passenger seat.

X Box?

In the trunk.

Sid?

Lily smiled. The gray blanket that Sam had loved since birth and named after one of his favorite cartoon characters was something that he liked to pretend he no longer needed yet found its way into his bed every night.

In your suitcase, folded on top. It was the last thing I packed.

She looked in the rearview mirror and saw Sam’s face soften, the look of concern giving way to the beginnings of a sugar crash.

If you’re tired, I can pull over at a rest stop and get Sid out for you, she offered, guessing that the stress of the move might be more powerful than any desire Sam had to rid himself of his security blanket. Hearing nothing in response, Lily looked behind her and saw Sam shrug.

I could pee anyway, Lily said. You should probably go, too, after sucking down that soda.

At the next rest stop, Lily took the exit ramp, keeping an eye on the cars behind her. She knew it was crazy, but she felt compelled to make sure they weren’t being followed. The mess that they were leaving back in New York couldn’t be piled into garbage bags and left on the curb for someone else to worry about, and she half-expected to see an apparition of her husband standing on the side of the road, soaking wet, and waving goodbye with a hand wrapped in seaweed.

The rest stop mirror was cloudy, a tarnish working its way through the glass like a spreading disease. Lily was a classic beauty—long blonde hair, perfectly arched brows and lips that may have had just a hint of help getting so plump. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup because it tended to age her, sticking instead to mascara, blush, and lip gloss that came in a gold-plated tube with an expandable mirror and cost eighty dollars. She was thinner than she had been in years, an observation that would have made her happy if not for the reason. A healthy dose of stress, exhaustion, and grief could apparently melt the pounds away faster than any pill, but it left a grayness where the weight used to be. Instead of losing ten pounds, Lily looked like it had been taken from her and held for ransom.

Lily leaned in to inspect her face, her failure to apply any type of moisturizer, eye cream, or makeup for the last few days making her realize how much of a difference they actually made. She and Jake had fought over that tiny little tube of eye cream and its exorbitant cost, the price tag of beauty that she defended time and time again while explaining the benefits of Microdermabrasion, Botox, and skin peels. Now, staring at the deep wrinkles that had emerged along her mouth and at the corners of her eyes, Lily felt like she had won her argument. Her reflection was proof that the billion-dollar beauty industry isn’t just the slight-of-hand street magician Jake always claimed it to be. Her low ponytail was now half undone from being wedged against the car’s head rest She opened her purse, dug around for a moment, and then pulled out her comb, which emerged with a yellow receipt wedged between its plastic teeth. Lily took the paper and unfolded it, willing her fingers to stop as they smoothed the paper to reveal words she had no need to ever read again. The itemized receipt of services provided by the funeral home was printed neatly in bold font, a handwritten sympathy note along its bottom.

We, at Jacobson & Sons, express our deepest sympathies to you and your loved ones.

We appreciate that you trusted us to help you and your family through this difficult time.

In the harsh fluorescent light of a roadside bathroom, Lily realized the message was stamped, a pre-written sympathy note in cursive font that gave the appearance of a personal message. She crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash. Then she examined the woman staring back at her from the mirror, the one with wrinkles emerging where Botox had worn off and clogged pores in what used to be porcelain skin. It was all evidence of a new title that she had earned far too soon.

Widowed.

2. Mallory

She was sitting on the toilet, mid-pee stream when she heard the chime of her cell phone followed by the pitter patter of tiny feet across the hardwood floors.

Nicholas, bring the phone to mommy! Mallory hurriedly wiped, pulled up her leggings, and reached for the door handle.

Nicky! Bring mommy the phone! Nicholas! she pleaded, tripping over the wet towel that still lay on the bathroom floor from her morning shower.

Did you wash your hands? Audrey asked, watching her mom run down the hallway and into the living room. It was too late; Nicholas had the phone to his ear and was giggling. Mallory pried the phone away from his chubby two-year-old fingers, a task made more difficult thanks to the syrupy residue left behind from his breakfast waffles.

Yes, this is Mallory, she said, out of breath. Is this Peter? I’m so sorry, my son got to my phone before I could. She sat down on the couch and shot Audrey a threatening look. The six-year-old failed miserably at the one task assigned to her—watch your little brother while I get ready. Smiling at the stuffed puppy that Nicholas sat in her lap, Mallory sat up straight and put her fingers to her lips to signal to him that it wasn’t time to play.

Audrey sipped her juice and leaned against the doorway, intently watching her mom’s face. She had recently started pouring her morning juice into a coffee mug to practice for when she was older. Now she blew softly into the mug, pretend cooling her juice before taking another sip.

Oh, well, okay, Mallory said, looking at the floor as she nodded. Well, I certainly appreciate the opportunity. If you have any other positions that come open in the future, I hope you keep me in mind.

Mallory ended the call, tossed the cell phone on the couch, and picked up the stuffed puppy. She pulled at its black and white ears and put its face in the air to pretend it was going to bite Nicholas, barking playfully as the worn stuffed animal attacked him and made the two-year-old collapse into uncontrollable giggles. Mallory could tell her daughter was staring at her, but she didn’t look her direction, the familiar warmth of failure sitting like a lead weight in her stomach.

I’m sorry, mommy, Audrey said, taking another sip of juice and hiding her face in the mug so Mallory couldn’t see she was crying.

Oh, sweetie, Mallory went to her daughter and held close as orange juice spilled from the mug and ran like a faucet down the back of her shirt. It’s okay. Mommy will find a different job. She cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and looked her squarely in the eye. I don’t want you to worry. It’s all going to be okay.

Audrey tried bravely to blink away her tears. Okay, Mama. A pain lanced through Mallory’s heart. Audrey only reverted to calling her mama during times of stress, times when she wanted to be two years old again and soothed by a stuffed animal with lopsided ears that pretended to bite you. At six years old, it took more to console her, a string of disappointments and loss ripping away her innocence like a dress she had outgrown. She hadn’t outgrown it, yet, or, at least shouldn’t have. Mallory noticed the callous forming on Audrey’s right thumb. She had started sucking her thumb again.

Mallory tried to make light of the orange, syrupy river cascading down her shirt with a wrinkled nose and look of surprise. Audrey didn’t laugh. She searched her mom’s eyes for some evidence that she knew what she was talking about, that everything was going to be okay and the right job was just around the corner. Finding none, Audrey took the empty mug back to the kitchen and tossed it in the sink.

Mallory turned toward her son, who was engrossed in a pretend conversation with the stuffed animal that attacked him. Turning his head side-to-side, he tried to convince the puppy not to do it again with a strong tone and finger shaking in disapproval.

You need a haircut, kiddo, Mallory said, kissing him on the top of the head. Listen to me, mister, she said to the stuffed animal. You leave my Sticky Nicky alone! Audrey managed a smile as she walked back into the room, the nickname given to her little brother well-earned because his hands always seemed to be covered in a substance equivalent to fly tape.

Mallory walked over to the side table that she had just bought at Goodwill, it’s two-tiered design from the 1970s. She loved its shape, but intended to paint it, the bright orange chipping off in places and revealing a shade of poop brown underneath. The orange would do for now, its bright pop of color joining the other Goodwill finds around the room like a green glass lamp, pink laminate chair, and watercolor painting of a city scene that Mallory joked was going to get her a million dollars on Antique Roadshow.

Mail lay in the silver letter box she had picked up for ten cents at a garage sale, her name staring up at her through the plastic windows of unopened bill envelopes. She sifted through the stack again, hoping she had missed the envelope the first time, the outstanding child support payment the difference between making rent this month or paying the phone bill. She looked again, but there was nothing there except little plastic windows and glossy sales circulars that teased her with things she didn’t have the money to buy.

Lots of junk stuff, she said, realizing that Audrey was once again watching. Her big brown eyes had already seen too much and Mallory had sat her kids in front of a mindless TV show on more than one occasion just to stop them from watching her. Sometimes she felt like she was living under a microscope, a six-year-old all-seeing microscope that interpreted unspoken behavior, facial expressions, and even financial status by the amount she tipped the pizza guy. She felt guilty for thinking it, but she resented having to explain herself to someone who didn’t understand why the nice people at the bank didn’t just put more money in their account. They give out free suckers, so why not free cash?

Let me get my hair dry, change shirts, and we’ll go, okay? She gave Audrey a quick squeeze and peck on the cheek as she walked by, wishing her daughter would stop observing life and watch more mindless TV programming. She’d later buy the kids ice cream, something she did anytime a thought crossed her mind that she couldn’t control, but still felt horrible about.

Mallory made her way toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway and quickly shut the door, just in time to hear Audrey’s voice echo from under the door.

Don’t forget to wash your hands!

Picking up the wet towel and hanging it over the shower door, Mallory tried to make room for the hair dryer’s extension cord on the

Reviews for Good Will

[Kathy M · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Sine when did it become ok to sell books that have no plot whatsoever?