Chương 4
Margaret had stopped answering most calls for a while afterward. She quit the church committee she had complained about for twenty years. She stopped going to the grocery store on Tuesdays because Tuesday had been the day she and her husband went together.
Ethan flew to Ohio twice.
Claire had intended to go the second time.
A client crisis kept her in Chicago.
Then Thanksgiving came, and Margaret went to her sister’s house in Arizona.
Christmas brought another canceled flight.
There had always been a reason.
Reasonable reasons.
Accumulated, they had become something less reasonable.
“You could have come to Chicago,” Ethan said.
“I know.”
“You could have met her normally.”
“I know.”
“So why this?”
Margaret picked at a loose thread on the bandage.
“Because I got nervous.”
“About Claire?”
“About all of it.”
“What does that mean?”
She glanced toward the door.
“Your life.”
He frowned.
“The lodge. The people. That dress probably costs more than my first car.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters when you’ve spent thirty-five years buying shoes at Kohl’s.”
Despite himself, Ethan laughed.
Margaret pointed at him.
“There. Still alive.”
He rubbed his face.
“Mom.”
“I wanted to see the place before everyone knew who I was.”
“Why?”
She took longer to answer.
“Because I wanted to know her.”
“You could talk to her.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Ethan’s hand dropped.
“What?”
“She didn’t know who I was.”
“I understand that part.”
“I brought her coffee.”
“You brought Claire coffee?”
“She didn’t drink it.”
“She doesn’t drink coffee before noon.”
“I know that now.”
Ethan stared.
Margaret’s mouth tightened.
“She was busy. I watched her with the planner. With her mother. With that tall friend.”
“Tessa.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
Margaret sighed.
“I didn’t like how she talked to people.”
Ethan became still.
Margaret noticed that too.
“Have you seen it before?”
He looked toward the window.
“Ethan.”
“Sometimes.”
“How sometimes?”
He stood.
The office was too warm.
He went to the thermostat and turned it down even though it was not his office.
Margaret watched him.
“She gets stressed.”
“So do you.”
“I know.”
“Do you push waitresses when you’re stressed?”
“No.”
“That was not a rhetorical question.”
“I said no.”
Margaret rested her bandaged hand in her lap.
“You love her.”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
Margaret nodded.
“That’s inconvenient.”
He looked at her.
She gave him the sad little smile he remembered from childhood, the one that appeared whenever life refused to simplify itself for him.
“You can love somebody,” she said, “and still have a problem.”
By six that evening, the wedding had become a logistical disaster.
Guests had booked rooms for two nights. The caterer had prepared dinner for seventy-three people. A string quartet had driven four hours from Boulder. The photographer’s contract guaranteed coverage until nine.
The marriage license had already been signed.
Claire and Ethan were legally husband and wife.
They simply were not speaking.
Melissa converted the reception into dinner without speeches.
It was one of the strangest meals Claire had ever attended.
She did not go downstairs.
Her mother brought her soup.
“Your father is furious.”
Claire looked at the bowl.
“At Ethan?”
“At everyone.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
“He wants to speak to Ethan.”
“Tell him not to.”
“I already did.”
Claire looked up.
Her mother sat opposite her wearing the silver dress Claire had chosen six months earlier.
“You agree with Ethan.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
Her mother folded her hands.
“What would you like me to say?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Perhaps stop asking.”
Claire pushed the soup away.
Her mother pushed it back.
“Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
Claire took one spoonful.
It tasted of potatoes and leek.
She began crying.
Not dramatically.
Her eyes simply filled while she was chewing.
Her mother handed her a napkin.
Claire wiped her face.
“I ruined everything.”
“Yes.”
Claire stared at her.
Her mother sighed.
“You wanted honesty.”
“I wanted comfort.”
“Those are different products.”
A laugh escaped Claire before she could stop it.
Then another tear slid down her cheek.
Her mother looked toward the window.
“I have not always helped you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“With what?”
“This.”
She gestured vaguely toward Claire.
“That’s helpful.”
“I taught you that mistakes were emergencies.”
Claire stopped.
Her mother rubbed one thumb over the other.
“When you were twelve and got a B in math, I asked what happened before I told you I was proud of the A’s.”
“Mom.”
“When you got into Northwestern, I asked why you hadn’t gotten into Stanford.”
“You said you were joking.”
“I was not.”
Claire stared at her.
Her mother’s mouth moved as though she had tasted something bitter.
“I’m not taking responsibility for what you did today.”
“I know.”
“But I recognize the machinery.”
Claire looked at the soup.
“I shoved her.”
“Yes.”
“What if she’d gone into the fire?”
Her mother did not answer.
That silence was more frightening than reassurance would have been.
At seven twelve, Ethan texted.
Margaret is at the hospital getting an X-ray. She asked me to tell you.
Claire read the message three times.
She typed:
Is she okay?
Deleted it.
I’m sorry.
Deleted that too.
Can I come?
She sent it.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
At seven twenty-nine:
No.
Claire stared at the word.
She deserved it.
Knowing that did not make it hurt less.
The X-ray showed no fracture.
Margaret had a bruised hip, abrasions on both palms, and a sprained wrist.
She insisted on returning to the lodge because her luggage was there.
Ethan wanted to take her to a hotel.
“The roads are getting worse,” she said.
“Then we’ll stay near the hospital.”
“My good bra is at the lodge.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“I packed one good bra.”
“I cannot believe this is the argument.”
“It’s an expensive bra.”
He laughed despite himself.
May you like
Then he put his forehead against the steering wheel.
Margaret stopped smiling.
