Chương 2
I almost unbuckled it.
I didn't.
The house looked unchanged.
That offended me.
There were three coffee mugs in the dishwasher.
Gemma's sneakers were under the bench by the door.
Johnny's jacket hung from the brass hook he had installed crooked and refused to fix because, according to him, level was a corporate conspiracy.
I stood in the hallway for nearly ten minutes.
Then I texted Claire.
Inside.
She replied immediately.
Good.
Lock the door.
I locked it.
Three days passed badly.
I slept in pieces.
I ate whatever people left on the porch.
I ignored seventeen calls, four condolence cards from people I barely knew, and an email from Gemma's school asking when someone could collect the contents of her desk.
I answered that one.
Not yet.
On Friday morning, I woke to pounding on the front door.
For one terrible instant, I thought it was Johnny.
Grief did that.
It created stupid hope faster than reason could kill it.
Then my mother's voice came through the door.
"Naomi, open up."
I sat upright on the couch.
I had fallen asleep there wearing one of Johnny's sweatshirts.
The pounding came again.
"Naomi."
Jared this time.
"We know you're home."
I checked the clock.
9:18.
My family had landed the previous evening.
I knew because my father had posted a photograph from the airport lounge complaining about delayed luggage.
I walked to the door but did not open it immediately.
Through the narrow glass panel, I could see my mother adjusting the collar of a cream linen blouse.
My father stood behind her with his hands in his pockets.
Jared was looking at his phone.
None of them looked like people arriving at a house where a husband and child had disappeared from the world six days earlier.
I opened the door.
My mother looked me up and down.
"You look awful."
Her first words.
Not I'm sorry.
Not come here.
Not how are you standing.
You look awful.
I said nothing.
She stepped forward as if I had invited her inside.
I blocked the doorway.
That surprised her.
"We're not staying long," she said.
"Good."
Jared glanced up.
"Can we not do this weird thing?"
"What weird thing?"
He sighed.
"This."
His hand moved vaguely between us.
My father cleared his throat.
"Your mother means we came because there's a situation."
I looked at each of them.
Their skin still held the color of the Caribbean.
My mother's sandals had tiny grains of pale sand caught near one strap.
I wondered if they had come straight from unpacking.
Then I wondered why I cared.
"What situation?"
Jared shoved his phone into his pocket.
"My restaurant."
I waited.
He frowned.
"We need forty thousand."
The number was so absurd in the doorway of my dead family's house that I thought I had misheard it.
"Forty thousand dollars?"
"It's a short-term thing."
"For what?"
Jared looked at Dad.
Dad looked at Mom.
That choreography was familiar.
It had existed since childhood.
Jared created the problem.
Dad minimized it.
Mom assigned responsibility for fixing it.
Usually mine.
My mother folded her arms.
"There was an issue with payroll taxes."
"An issue?"
"Don't interrogate him."
"I'm asking what you want forty thousand dollars for."
Jared rubbed his jaw.
"The business got behind."
"How far?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"It's complicated."
"Then explain it."
My father's mouth tightened.
"Naomi, this isn't the time."
I stared at him.
For once, he seemed to hear himself.
His eyes moved toward the black dress draped over the chair behind me.
He looked away.
My mother did not.
"Your brother has employees depending on him," she said.
"My daughter depended on you to show up once."
Jared exhaled loudly.
"Here we go."
Something inside me changed at the sound.
Not broke.
That had already happened.
This was smaller and cleaner.
A latch lifting.
My mother stepped closer.
"We explained the vacation."
"You sent me a beach picture while Gemma was being lowered into the ground."
"We didn't send it to you."
"You posted it publicly."
"That's different."
"Family is everything."
Her face flickered.
She knew exactly which caption I meant.
Then the irritation returned.
"Are you seriously going to punish Jared because you're upset with us?"
I almost admired the construction.
By the end of the sentence, refusing to hand over forty thousand dollars had become cruelty.
Johnny used to call that one of her magic tricks.
She could put a knife in your hand while she was holding the handle.
I heard his voice with painful clarity.
Naomi, your family never asks for help.
They only test how much they're able to take from you.
He had said it after my parents convinced me to cover Jared's rent during his first failed restaurant venture.
I had called Johnny cynical.
He had kissed my forehead and said, "Probably."
Now Jared stood on my porch in a six-hundred-dollar watch asking for more.
"I don't have forty thousand dollars for you."
My mother laughed once.
"You absolutely do."
My stomach tightened.
"How would you know what I have?"
Silence.
Not long.
Maybe two seconds.
But long enough.
My father looked at her.
Jared stopped shifting his weight.
My mother recovered first.
"Johnny had life insurance."
The porch seemed to tilt under me.
The insurance payment had not arrived.
The claim had barely been filed.
Only a few people knew the amount.
Claire knew.
Johnny's employer knew.
Our attorney knew.
And Johnny knew.
My parents did not.
At least, they were not supposed to.
"How much do you think the policy is?" I asked.
My mother waved a hand.
"Enough."
"How much?"
"Naomi."
"Say the number."
Dad spoke softly.
"This isn't helping."
I looked at him.
His eyes refused mine.
That was when the black folder on the hall table stopped being something I had planned to deal with next week.
May you like
It became the only thing in the house that mattered.
The folder had arrived from Johnny's attorney the day before the funeral.
