Chương 6
Eleanor looked at the ruined strip of cardboard in her fingers.
“When I moved in, Rachel tried very hard.”
“She did.”
“She labeled a shelf in the bathroom for me.”
“I remember.”
“I hated that shelf.”
“Why?”
“It made me feel like a guest.”
Mark stared at her.
“It was supposed to make you feel welcome.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever tell her?”
“No.”
“Instead you removed the label.”
“Yes.”
“She cried about that.”
Eleanor’s eyes moved to his.
“I didn’t know.”
“She thought you were saying it wasn’t your home.”
Eleanor looked down.
For the first time since the parking garage, Mark saw something in her face that resembled shame.
Not enough to repair six years.
Enough to begin measuring them differently.
Rachel stayed with her sister for four nights.
On the second night, Mark slept on the couch.
Not because Eleanor asked him to.
Because the bedroom smelled like Rachel’s shampoo, and the empty half of the bed made his chest hurt.
At 2:00 a.m. he went to the kitchen.
Eleanor was there eating crackers.
“You’re not supposed to have that much sodium,” he said.
She looked at the box.
“Arrest me.”
He got a glass of water.
She pushed the box toward him.
He took one.
They sat at the island.
After a while Eleanor said, “Are you going to lose her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then stop looking like a man waiting for a weather report.”
Mark rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t know what to say to her.”
“That has never stopped you from saying the wrong thing.”
He looked at his mother.
She ate another cracker.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“A little.”
He laughed.
Then his face tightened.
“I thought moving you would save my marriage.”
Eleanor stopped chewing.
“I know.”
“I hate saying that.”
“You should.”
He nodded.
“But it might be true.”
“No.”
He looked up.
“It might make the fighting stop,” Eleanor said. “That isn’t the same thing.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“I’m asking.”
“And I’m refusing.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve spent years letting the loudest unhappy person decide what happens next.”
She closed the cracker box.
“You need to decide something yourself.”
The following morning Mark called Rachel.
She agreed to meet him for lunch.
They chose a diner halfway between her sister’s house and his office.
Rachel arrived ten minutes late.
She wore black work pants and a cream blouse, and she looked more rested than she had in months.
That hurt.
Mark stood when she approached.
She sat without kissing him.
A waitress poured coffee.
Rachel ordered iced tea.
Mark ordered nothing.
“You should eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t concern. Your stomach gets weird when you drink coffee without food.”
He ordered toast.
For several minutes they talked about practical things.
Mail.
A utility payment.
Rachel’s laptop charger, which she had left behind after all.
Then she said, “Did Eleanor revoke the power of attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“She talked to a lawyer.”
Rachel looked at him.
“About us?”
“About everything.”
“Are we getting evicted?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel stared at the condensation on her glass.
“I hate that this is my life.”
Mark looked at her.
She immediately shook her head.
“That sounded awful.”
“No.”
“It did.”
“It sounded honest.”
The toast arrived.
He buttered one corner and stopped.
“I lied to you.”
“I know.”
“More than once.”
“I know that too.”
“I kept telling myself it was because I was protecting you from Mom.”
Rachel looked at him.
“And?”
“I think I was protecting myself from having either of you angry at me.”
“That worked out beautifully.”
He smiled faintly.
She did not.
Then, after a second, she did.
Only a little.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t fix it.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Did Eleanor tell you to say that?”
“Yes.”
Rachel laughed.
It came out before she could stop it.
Mark laughed too.
For several seconds they were simply two tired people sitting in a diner laughing at the absurdity of borrowing an apology from the woman at the center of their marriage crisis.
Then Rachel wiped beneath one eye.
“I’m still furious.”
“You should be.”
“Stop agreeing with everything.”
“Okay.”
“That was agreeing.”
“I don’t know what you want.”
“Neither do I.”
The waitress returned and asked whether they needed anything.
Rachel requested more tea.
Mark asked for jelly.
When she left, Rachel said, “I kicked a seventy-nine-year-old woman’s suitcase.”
“You kicked the suitcase.”
“I know what I kicked.”
“She was awful to you that morning.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
Rachel gave him a warning look.
He stopped.
She twisted the paper from her straw.
“I need her out of our daily life.”
Mark listened.
“I’m not saying abandoned. I’m not saying dumped somewhere. I’m saying I cannot live with her anymore.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“If staying married to you means living with Eleanor indefinitely, I’m not doing it.”
The sentence sat between them.
Mark’s instinct was to argue.
To say his mother was old.
To say families made sacrifices.
To say Rachel had known the arrangement when they married.
All of those things contained pieces of truth.
None answered the actual question.
“What if we move?”
Rachel stared at him.
“Move where?”
“Out.”
“Of the apartment?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“We can’t afford anything like it.”
“I know.”
“Your commute—”
“I know.”
“And the trust?”
“We leave it.”
Rachel looked almost suspicious.
“You’d give up your interest?”
“It isn’t mine right now.”
“It might be someday.”
“That’s the problem.”
“What is?”
“I keep treating future ownership like it gives me authority today.”
Rachel studied him.
The waitress brought the tea and jelly.
Neither touched them.
Finally Rachel said, “Can we afford a rental?”
“A smaller one.”
“How much smaller?”
“Probably two bedrooms.”
She stared at him.
“We have three now.”
“I counted.”
“Don’t sound like your mother.”
May you like
“Sorry.”
Rachel almost smiled.
