Chương 5
Rachel opened her front door wearing one fuzzy sock, one bare foot, and the expression of someone who had expected a normal Sunday.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“That improves it.”
She stepped aside.
Her house smelled like coffee and whatever citrus cleaner she bought in industrial quantities.
I set my bag near the stairs.
Rachel looked at it, then at me.
“How bad?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That bad, then.”
She did not hug me immediately.
I loved her for that.
Instead, she walked into the kitchen and moved a stack of unopened mail off one chair with her forearm.
“Sit.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“You’re pregnant and angry, which is basically two separate reasons I don’t want you fainting on my tile.”
“I’m not going to faint.”
“Great.”
She opened the refrigerator.
“Turkey sandwich?”
“No.”
“Soup?”
“No.”
“Apple?”
“No.”
She closed the refrigerator.
“I’m going to put crackers on the table and let adulthood happen around them.”
I sat.
The crackers appeared.
For a few minutes, I told her nothing.
Rachel did not push.
She poured herself coffee, discovered it had gone cold, made a face, and drank it anyway.
Finally she said, “Mom called me.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That Diane called her.”
I stared at Rachel.
“Why would Diane call Mom?”
Rachel pulled out the chair across from me.
“To get ahead of you.”
The answer was so immediate that I knew she had already been thinking about it.
“What did Mom say?”
“She was confused.”
“Of course she was.”
“She thought you and Nathan were moving in with Diane.”
I froze.
Rachel saw it.
“You never told her otherwise?”
“We decided two weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t tell Mom?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“After we signed the lease.”
“You signed.”
“Friday.”
Rachel lifted her eyebrows.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You texted me fourteen pictures of bassinets yesterday.”
“That was important.”
“One of them had gold legs.”
“It was ridiculous.”
“You wrote, and I quote, ‘This bassinet looks like a dictator’s baby sleeps in it.’”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Rachel smiled, then let the smile disappear.
“What happened?”
I told her about the church.
Not everything.
Not at first.
I told her about Diane asking Pastor Reed to bring me forward.
About the apology.
About the wrist.
Rachel stopped drinking coffee.
“She grabbed you?”
“Yes.”
“Hard?”
“Hard enough.”
“Show me.”
I held out my wrist.
The marks had faded from angry red to dull pink.
Rachel stared at them for several seconds.
Her face went quiet.
That was worse than anger.
“What did Nathan do?”
“Eventually, he stood up.”
“Eventually.”
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“Okay.”
That single word contained an entire argument she had decided not to have yet.
I continued.
Carol.
The rumors.
The things Nathan had told Diane.
The money.
At three thousand dollars, Rachel put down her mug.
At the seven-thousand-dollar credit card balance, she said, “Jesus.”
At the property taxes, she stood up and began walking around the kitchen.
When I reached the five-thousand-dollar check, she stopped.
“And you left.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t leave him.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking several things, most of them illegal.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m kidding.”
She opened a cabinet.
“Mostly.”
I took a cracker.
My hands had started shaking sometime during the story.
I had not noticed until I tried to bite it.
Rachel noticed.
She put a glass of water beside me.
“Does he gamble?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Secret second family?”
“Please stop.”
“I’m eliminating categories.”
“He helped his mother.”
“With money that belonged to both of you.”
“Yes.”
“And then borrowed from her to hide that he helped her.”
“Yes.”
Rachel stared toward the backyard.
Her neighbor was using a leaf blower despite there being almost no leaves on the lawn.
The machine whined steadily through the glass.
“That’s almost impressive.”
“It isn’t.”
“No.”
She looked back at me.
“It’s stupid in several directions at once.”
I ate the rest of the cracker.
My phone had been silent since I left the apartment.
I had expected Nathan to call.
The fact that he had not made me both relieved and angry.
Rachel saw me check the screen.
“Has he texted?”
“No.”
“Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s allowed.”
I put the phone facedown.
“I keep trying to figure out which part is the worst.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Rank it later.”
She pointed at my stomach.
“Today, eat something and sleep somewhere nobody can unlock the door unexpectedly.”
I looked at her.
“The property manager is changing the lock.”
“Good.”
“Tomorrow, probably.”
“Then tonight you stay here.”
“I was planning to.”
“Good.”
She stood.
“The treadmill in the guest room has become a clothing ecosystem, so I’m going to rescue a bed from under it.”
I followed her upstairs because sitting alone suddenly felt harder.
The guest room looked exactly as she had described.
Three laundry baskets occupied most of the floor.
A pair of jeans hung from the treadmill handle.
A yoga mat had somehow become a shelf for unopened paper towels.
“You exercise constantly,” I said.
“I exercise in theory.”
She picked up an armful of clothes.
“I’m very fit conceptually.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped.
Rachel paused at the doorway.
“Do you want me to call Mom?”
“No.”
“She’s going to call you.”
“I know.”
“Diane told her you humiliated her at church.”
I looked up.
“What else?”
“That you’ve been isolating Nathan.”
The sentence stung more than it should have.
Rachel’s expression softened.
“I don’t believe her.”
“I know.”
“But Mom might not know what to believe yet.”
That sounded like our mother.
She disliked conflict so intensely that two contradictory stories could coexist in her mind for days while she waited for one to become less uncomfortable.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Not tonight if you don’t want to.”
May you like
I nodded.
Rachel carried the clothes away.
