Chương 10
It did not feel like enough.
Two days later, Madison called Rachel.
Scott had apparently contacted her himself.
“I told him not to drag me into this,” Madison said after hello.
Her voice sounded like Vanessa’s, younger and flatter.
“I didn’t ask him to.”
“I know.”
Rachel waited.
Madison sighed.
“My dad said something happened with Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Rachel hesitated.
“She poured punch over her dress and told her I was responsible for Daniel’s death.”
Silence.
Then Madison said, “Jesus.”
Rachel stared at the backyard.
The lawn needed cutting.
Daniel had been particular about cutting it diagonally.
Rachel had never understood why.
“Did your mom ever do things like that to you?”
Madison laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“She didn’t pour punch on me.”
“I’m not asking you to give me ammunition.”
“Good.”
“I just need to understand whether I’m dealing with one terrible incident or a pattern.”
Madison was quiet for so long Rachel thought the call had dropped.
Then she said, “When my dad filed for divorce, Mom told me he was leaving because I kept taking his side.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that.”
Rachel opened her eyes.
“Okay.”
“I hate when people say they’re sorry about stuff they didn’t do.”
“Fair.”
Another silence.
Madison said, “She apologized later.”
“That matters.”
“Sure.”
“But?”
“She apologized for being upset.”
Rachel waited.
“Not for what she said.”
Rachel looked at the security camera notification on her phone. A delivery driver had left a box of printer paper on the porch.
Ordinary life kept arriving.
Madison said, “Mom needs the story to hurt less for her. Sometimes that means somebody else has to be the bad person.”
“Your dad?”
“Usually.”
“And now me.”
“Looks like it.”
“What about your grandmother?”
Madison exhaled.
“Grandma thinks love means staying.”
Rachel looked toward the family room where Helen was reading beside Sophie.
“Staying where?”
“In the room. In the family. In contact. Whatever. She thinks leaving is the worst thing you can do to somebody.”
Rachel watched Helen turn a page.
“What do you think?”
“I moved to Arizona.”
That was answer enough.
Before hanging up, Madison said, “Don’t send me the recording.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
A beat.
“If Mom calls me, I’ll tell her I talked to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Rachel realized Madison had said the same thing Rachel had told Helen.
You don’t need my permission.
The family’s habits were beginning to show themselves like old watermarks.
Sophie’s birthday was rescheduled for three weeks later.
Not twenty-two people.
Six children from school.
A trampoline place where someone else handled the cake and nobody in the family had to pour anything.
Sophie chose jeans and a purple T-shirt.
Rachel did not mention dresses.
Ethan helped fill small gift bags and complained that seven-year-olds received better candy than ten-year-olds.
“You had a seventh birthday,” Rachel said.
“I don’t remember it.”
“You got a telescope.”
“That was a terrible gift for seven.”
“You asked for it.”
“Seven-year-olds are idiots.”
Sophie threw a gummy bear at him.
It hit Helen in the shoulder.
For a second, everyone froze.
Then Helen picked it up and ate it.
Sophie laughed so hard she slid off the couch.
Rachel laughed too.
Later that night, after the children were asleep, Helen came into the kitchen carrying an envelope.
“I’m moving out.”
Rachel looked up from her laptop.
“What?”
“I found an apartment.”
The words hit Rachel with an unexpected ache.
Helen had moved into the in-law suite three months after Daniel died because neither of them had been sleeping well and both claimed the arrangement was temporary.
Temporary had become eighteen months.
“When?”
“Next month.”
“Why?”
Helen sat.
“Because I think I’ve been hiding here.”
Rachel closed the laptop.
“From Vanessa?”
“From being alone.”
Rachel said nothing.
Helen folded the envelope once.
“It’s a senior apartment. Not assisted living. Don’t make that face.”
“I didn’t make a face.”
“You did.”
“What face?”
“The nursing-home face.”
“I do not have a nursing-home face.”
Helen smiled.
Then she became serious.
“I need to make decisions without living in your house.”
Rachel leaned back.
“Are you seeing Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
Rachel had known.
Helen’s Tuesday “book club” had acquired perfume and nervousness.
“How often?”
“Twice.”
“How was it?”
“Awful.”
Rachel almost smiled.
Helen did.
“She cried. I cried. She blamed you. I told her to stop. Then she blamed me.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her she was right about some of it.”
Rachel’s eyebrows lifted.
Helen looked down at the envelope.
“I let her get away with things because confrontation frightened me. I taught her that if she made the room uncomfortable enough, somebody else would end the argument for her.”
“That doesn’t make what she does your fault.”
“No.”
Rachel was surprised by the certainty in Helen’s voice.
“But it makes some of what I did my responsibility.”
They sat quietly.
The dishwasher clicked.
Helen said, “She wants me to say the recording was misleading.”
Rachel’s hands went still.
“What did you say?”
“I told her it wasn’t.”
A small sensation passed through Rachel’s chest.
Not forgiveness.
Something earlier than that.
Possibility.
Helen unfolded the envelope and pushed it across the table.
Inside was a printed copy of an email.
Vanessa had sent it to Helen two weeks before Sophie’s birthday.
Mom, Rachel is going to take the kids to Minnesota and once she does, we’ll see them twice a year if we’re lucky. You know that’s true. She already acts like Daniel’s family is a burden. Sophie is the only one who still wants us around. If Rachel keeps making her feel ashamed for being emotional, Sophie will stop talking to us too.
Rachel read it twice.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because I should have shown it to you then.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I thought Vanessa was venting.”
“She was recruiting you.”
Helen nodded.
May you like
Rachel looked at the date.
Six days before Helen told Vanessa about Rachel’s comments while stuffing birthday bags.
