Chương 8
At home, if Ruth’s apartment could now be called home, she scrubbed a clean countertop until Ruth took the sponge away.
“You’re removing the laminate.”
“I’m cleaning.”
“You’re sanding.”
Rachel sat down.
Ruth put the sponge in the sink.
“I got a call from Leah.”
Rachel looked up.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m seventy-one and controlling.”
“What did she want?”
“To know if you’d meet her.”
“No.”
“That’s what I said.”
Rachel stared at the table.
Ruth waited.
“What else?”
“She says Grant wants to plead.”
Rachel’s heart kicked once.
“She shouldn’t be talking to you about that.”
“I told her.”
“What kind of plea?”
“I told her to stop.”
Rachel stood.
“Mom.”
“That’s all I know.”
“Did he tell her to call?”
“She said no.”
“Do you believe her?”
Ruth’s mouth moved.
“Not entirely.”
Rachel walked to the window.
Below, a woman in pink scrubs was trying to parallel park while a man on the sidewalk gave unwanted hand signals.
Rachel watched for longer than the situation deserved.
Finally the woman leaned out her window and shouted something that made the man raise both hands and walk away.
Rachel smiled.
“What?” Ruth asked.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Disappear while standing right there.”
Rachel turned.
“You taught me that.”
“I know.”
The prosecutor confirmed two days later that Grant’s attorney had asked to discuss a negotiated resolution.
Nothing had been agreed.
Rachel’s cooperation mattered but did not control the decision.
Calder repeated that twice.
“What does he want?” Rachel asked.
“To avoid a trial.”
“Why?”
Calder looked at her.
“The same reason most defendants do.”
“No. Grant.”
“I can’t tell you what’s in his head.”
Rachel picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“He hates losing in public.”
Calder did not write that down.
Rachel appreciated it.
The possible agreement would require Grant to admit criminal responsibility for the assault. Separate employment consequences were still unresolved. There would be a no-contact order. There could be incarceration or supervision depending on the final charges and the judge.
Rachel listened.
Then she asked, “Emma wouldn’t have to testify?”
“That is one significant advantage.”
“And the emergency recording becomes public?”
“Not necessarily in full. Some information could still enter the court record.”
Rachel looked at Bell.
“What would you do?”
Bell shook her head.
“No.”
“I’m asking.”
“And I’m not answering.”
“Why?”
“Because you have to live with it.”
Rachel hated her again.
At home, she found Emma sitting on the floor of Ruth’s bedroom sorting old photographs.
“Grandma says these are mine.”
“Your grandmother says everything in her house is eventually yours because she enjoys threatening us with inheritance.”
Emma held up a picture.
Grant was in it.
Younger.
He stood behind Rachel at a county fair with one arm around her waist and a paper plate in the other hand.
Rachel had forgotten the picture existed.
Emma looked at her.
“Do I have to throw these away?”
“No.”
“Grandma put some in a box.”
“That’s different from throwing them away.”
“Do you hate him?”
Rachel sat on the bed.
Her first answer arrived fast.
Yes.
Her second answer was more complicated.
“I hate what he did.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
Emma waited.
Rachel rubbed her hands together.
“Sometimes.”
Emma looked at the photograph again.
“I don’t.”
Rachel’s throat tightened.
“Okay.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
“I’m mad at him.”
“You can be both.”
“I miss when he made pancakes.”
Rachel smiled despite herself.
“His pancakes were terrible.”
“They were shaped like stuff.”
“They were raw in the middle.”
“The dinosaur was good.”
“The dinosaur gave you a stomachache.”
Emma laughed.
Then she cried.
The change was so sudden Rachel almost reached for her too quickly.
Emma pressed the photograph against her knee.
“I wish he was just dead.”
Rachel froze.
Emma’s eyes widened.
“I don’t mean it.”
“Okay.”
“I mean... then I wouldn’t have to figure out if I miss him.”
Rachel moved down to the floor.
Her knees complained.
She sat beside Emma.
“I think I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Rachel considered arguing.
Instead she said, “Probably not.”
Emma leaned against her.
They sorted photographs for an hour.
They kept some.
They boxed others.
One picture of Grant asleep on the couch with baby Emma on his chest made Rachel leave the room.
She stood in the bathroom, gripping the sink.
The mirror showed a woman whose bruises had faded yellow.
She looked more normal every day.
That frightened her too.
The house went on the market in November.
Rachel had not intended to sell so quickly, but maintaining two households was impossible and the mortgage belonged to both her and Grant.
The attorneys handled communication.
Every decision took twice as long because nothing could be casual anymore.
Price.
Repairs.
Furniture.
Whether the chipped marble counted as damage.
Rachel wanted to leave it.
The realtor wanted it fixed.
“Buyers notice chips,” the realtor said.
Rachel looked at the tiny missing crescent where Grant’s shoulder had struck.
“Fine.”
A contractor repaired it in twenty minutes.
Rachel was surprised by how angry that made her.
After he left, she ran one finger over the polished edge.
Nothing remained.
Emma came in carrying a cardboard box.
“Where do you want the phone?”
“What phone?”
“The wall phone.”
Rachel looked toward the hallway.
The old black handset had been reattached.
Most families would have removed it years ago.
Grant had insisted they keep a landline because mobile networks failed in emergencies.
Rachel almost laughed at the thought.
“Leave it.”
“You want the buyers to have it?”
“Yes.”
Emma shrugged.
“What about the cleaner?”
“Evidence.”
“Oh.”
Emma stood still.
“Do they give evidence back?”
“Sometimes.”
“I don’t want it.”
“We can buy different cleaner.”
“That one smelled bad before.”
Rachel smiled.
“True.”
They packed until dinner.
At seven, Ruth arrived with pizza.
She complained that the house was too cold.
May you like
Emma complained that the pizza had mushrooms.
Rachel ate standing at the island because the chairs were already wrapped.
