Chương 9
Ryan swallowed.
Kelsey picked up the sandwich knife and put it in the sink.
Then she wiped the counter with a paper towel that did not need wiping.
Her hands were shaking.
“Where are you sleeping?”
Ryan looked toward the sofa.
“Here, I guess.”
“No.”
His face fell.
“Kels.”
“You’re sleeping in Jenna’s garage if she lets you.”
I almost protested.
Then I saw Kelsey’s face.
Ryan looked at me.
I sighed.
“I have an air mattress.”
He nodded slowly.
Kelsey turned away from both of us.
“Good.”
I walked back toward the main house with Ryan beside me.
Neither of us spoke until we reached the garage.
I opened the side door and switched on the light.
Ryan looked at the concrete floor.
“You ever think maybe I should’ve stayed under those bleachers?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He gave me a tired half smile.
“That sounded darker than I meant it.”
“I know.”
I pulled the air mattress from a cabinet.
“You still have to assemble the shelves tomorrow.”
“There she is.”
I handed him the pump.
He took it.
Then his smile disappeared.
“Do you think she’s going to leave me?”
I looked through the open garage door toward the small lit windows of the carriage house.
“I think that depends on what you do after tonight.”
He followed my gaze.
For once, he did not ask me to tell him what that should be.
The pump wheezed to life between us, filling the garage with a ridiculous mechanical groan.
Ryan stared at the slowly rising mattress.
“This feels appropriate.”
“What does?”
“Sleeping next to a lawn mower because I destroyed my life.”
“You don’t have a lawn mower.”
He looked at me.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
He crouched and pressed one hand against the mattress to test it.
The air pushed back under his palm.
“I should call someone.”
“Kelsey?”
“No.”
He sat on the concrete floor with his back against the shelving box.
“A lawyer, maybe.”
I looked at him.
“For the card?”
“For everything.”
The word sat there.
He rubbed his thumb over a scratch in the concrete.
“I used her information.”
“Yes.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it sounds worse out loud.”
“It is worse out loud.”
He nodded.
I could see him trying not to defend himself.
That was new.
“I need to know what I actually did.”
“You know what you did.”
“Legally.”
“I’m not your attorney.”
“I know.”
“Then call one tomorrow.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“You know, for somebody who works in supply chain, you really enjoy rules.”
“I enjoy consequences arriving in predictable packaging.”
“That was almost funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
The mattress reached full size and the pump shut off with a click.
The sudden quiet made the garage seem colder.
Ryan stood and carried it toward the back wall.
“I’ll tell her everything.”
“Not everything you think she can tolerate.”
He paused.
“Everything.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“What if everything is too much?”
“That decision stopped belonging to you when you started hiding it.”
His face tightened, but he did not argue.
I went inside through the mudroom door.
The house felt strange after the noise of the day.
Too large.
Too clean in places.
Too marked in others.
A shallow scrape ran along the baseboard near the stairs.
One of the movers had left a bottle of water on the windowsill.
Kelsey’s mother had forgotten a scarf over the back of a kitchen chair.
I stood in the middle of the living room and listened.
From outside came the faint hum of the carriage house air conditioner.
From the garage, the side door opened and shut.
I had imagined my first night here differently.
There had been a bottle of wine in the refrigerator.
A frozen pizza.
A novel on the counter.
I had planned to sleep on a mattress on the floor because my bed frame was not being delivered until Tuesday.
That version of the evening now seemed to belong to someone with a less complicated family.
I opened the refrigerator.
The wine was still there.
So was the pizza.
I stared at both and closed the door again.
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
I considered letting it ring.
Then I answered.
“Hi.”
“How is he?”
“Alive.”
“Jenna.”
“He’s sleeping in the garage.”
She was quiet.
“He told you about the debt?”
“Yes.”
A longer silence.
“How much did he tell you?”
I leaned against the counter.
“Forty-three.”
Mom inhaled.
“You knew?”
“Not the full amount.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you know?”
“Your father said there were cards.”
“Mom.”
“I didn’t know numbers.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a few months.”
I shut my eyes.
“Did Kelsey know?”
“No.”
“And that didn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothered me.”
“But you didn’t tell her.”
“That was Ryan’s place.”
I laughed once.
The sound came out harsh.
“Interesting boundary to discover tonight.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll interfere in where he lives, how much rent he pays, who rescues him, what I should do for him, but when it comes to telling his wife he’s hiding debt, suddenly everyone respects privacy.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
“He’s my son.”
“And I’m your daughter.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn this into a competition.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
“I’m not.”
“It always becomes that with you.”
The words landed harder than she probably intended.
I stared at the dark window over the sink.
My own reflection stared back.
“When does it become that with me?”
Mom sighed.
“You’ve carried this resentment for years.”
“Because you keep feeding it.”
“Jenna.”
“No.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“You don’t get to tell me I’m imagining a pattern while standing in the middle of the pattern.”
She went silent.
I could hear the television in my parents’ house through the phone.
May you like
Dad said something in the background.
Mom lowered her voice.
