“Same old same old.”
Does he even hear himself? “Mom drove up here again last night.” Silence tells me he didn’t know. “You have to stop her. It’s embarrassing.”
“Your leaving’s been hard on her, honey.”
“She has to get over it.”
“She will, Rory. Just give her time.”
“Why do you do that? Why do you pretend she just needs time?” Where have you been all these years, Dad? “What are you going to do after you sell Double? Where will you go?” Where will I go? Where will I be? If he gets rid of the only thing I’ve known, does that mean he can so easily get rid of me?
“What do you mean, sell Double?” he says carefully.
“Oh, my God.” I snap the change purse closed and drop it into the pocket. “You didn’t think Mom would tell me? She tells me everything.” Way more than I ever want to know.
“I’ll talk to her,” he says in that distant voice that means nothing.
“Whatever, Dad. Just forget about it.” By the time we hang up, I know he already has.
—
Chelsea doesn’t say sweetheart, or honey, or darling. She’s clear. She’s direct. There’s no guessing with Chelsea.
“I texted you,” I say.
She grabs her long hair and pulls it over a shoulder. “I was up late getting ready for class.”
“Did you need help with that?”
She looks at me over her reading glasses, taps the papers in her lap. “What’s this about?”
“You weren’t alone. You had someone over.”
She sits back in her chair and looks at me. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t do jealousy.”
“You think this is jealousy? Oh, I promise you. You’ll know jealousy when you see it.” It’s not jealousy. It’s fear, the unpleasant sloshing in my stomach. I bend to pick up her cat, winding around my ankles. I press my face against her head, the soft fur tickling my nose. I want to believe her. I have to. “No one knows about us.”
“I didn’t think we had to talk about why.” So many reasons. She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers, interlacing our fingers together. Her cat meows and jumps down. “Look, it was just my mom. She was on her way to Maine and I gave her my bedroom. Okay?”
It’s weird to think of Chelsea having a mom. I wonder how they get along. Arden understands more than anyone, but Arden’s not there anymore, not like she used to be. Something’s changing between us, so who’s left?
“I hate this place.” I take her hand and turn it palm up and trace her heart line with my finger.
“There’s nothing wrong with this place. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that you two don’t belong together.”
“I don’t think I belong at Harvard, either.” I can’t believe I’ve said this out loud. I don’t dare look at her.
“Maybe not.”
I let out my breath and look up. Her eyes are molten brown, not even a speck of gold. “So where do I belong?”
Chelsea tilts her head and looks at me. She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. I know what she’s thinking. With me. I pull my class ring off and push it into her palm. “You can borrow this if you want.”
Natalie
DETECTIVE GALLAGHER WANTS a few minutes of our time. He’s alone in the family lounge, sitting in the chair facing the door. What does he do, chase everyone else out when he wants to use this space as an interrogation room?
“How’s Arden?” he asks as Theo and I come into the room. It’s a pleasantry, something to say. I don’t think the man cares, not in a genuine way. I don’t bother to answer, but Theo says, “We’re worried. There should have been improvement by now.”
I don’t want Theo to share this and expose our vulnerable fear to this man who only wants to hurt us. But that’s Theo. He always thinks the best of people. He lets them trip over their feet. He reaches out a hand to help them up. I stand by the window, with my arms crossed. “Have you spoken with our attorney? She doesn’t want us talking to you without her being here.”
“It’s all right.” Theo throws me a warning glance. “What is it? What do you need to know?”
“When was the last time Arden was home?” Detective Gallagher says.
We’ve been over this before. I don’t answer. Theo says, “Two weeks ago, for her birthday. She surprised us.”
He nods. “What about since then?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“She ever say she was afraid of Hunter?”
I turn toward the man in surprise. “No.” I look to Theo, who shakes his head. “Never. We’d have told you if she had.”
“She never told you he texted her Wednesday: I know where you live?”
I come over, sit in the chair opposite him. “No.”
“Have you ever talked to Hunter?”
I find Theo’s hand. “We’ve never even met him.”
“So you’ve never talked to him.”
“No,” Theo says.
“What about last Thursday afternoon when he called your house?”
“What?” I look to Theo. He looks back blankly.
“We didn’t talk to him,” Theo says.
“Someone did. For five minutes and twelve seconds.”
But that’s impossible. I scroll past through the days, the hours. “Thursday afternoon? I was at the restaurant.”
“I would have been home with the boys after school,” Theo says. “What time did he call?”
“Four-thirty-eight.”
Theo sighs. “It was Henry. I caught him on the kitchen phone. He hung up as I came in the room. I thought it was a telemarketer.” He looks to Detective Gallagher. “He knows he’s not allowed to answer the phone, but he does it anyway.”
What could Hunter have talked to Henry about? “What does this mean?” I let hope dance past. “Do you think it was Hunter who started the fire?” But Detective Gallagher just flips his notebook closed. “Thank you for your time,” he says.
—
My mother calls that afternoon. “Oliver wet the bed,” she says in a low voice. “I found his pajamas in the laundry room, buried under the towels.”
Poor Oliver. “He hasn’t done that in years.” Of the twins, he was the first to get out of diapers.
“I think you need to talk to him.”
I take Theo’s laptop into the family lounge and prop it open on the small table. I put a big smile on my face and tap the video call button. It rings, connects. I hear the chatter of voices, then see my little boys, jostling for space on the couch, their round faces and neatly combed hair. The image tilts this way and that, and then my mother’s voice. “Here, let me put it right here. Okay? Then you both can see.”
“Hey, guys,” I say.
“Hi, Mom.”
They sit close together, their shoulders touching. They’re wearing their favorite red-striped polo shirts. The collars aren’t curling up the way they usually do, so I’m guessing my mom went to the trouble to iron them. “I like your haircuts,” I say.
Henry beams. “It’s way cooler than Caleb’s. So, haha.”
“Haha, indeed. Do you like your haircut, Oliver?”
His eyes are so blue. I never before noticed how much the boys look like my sister. In the week that we’ve been apart, they’ve grown, their cheeks hollowed a tiny bit, the blue of their eyes deepened. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the computer screen.
“I have an owie.” Henry crooks his elbow. He frowns at the image of himself in the corner, works to angle his arm so the Superman Band-Aid is front and center.
“Yikes. How did that happen?”
“Caleb pushed Lily, so I pushed him back.”
“Henry has a girlfriend,” Oliver informs me.
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
They squirm.
“Boys,” my mom chides, her voice coming from somewhere.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I say, and there’s a pause and then she says, “I??
?m going to go check on the bird feeder. The squirrels have been feasting. You two behave for your mama, got that?”
Oliver’s eyes track her departure and then he says, “Grandma gives us ice cream for breakfast.”
I smile. “That’s okay, honey. I told her she could.”
“With chocolate syrup,” Oliver whispers.
Henry’s nodding. “And mini-marshmallows.”
“Well, you two better live it up, because when I get home, it’s going to be zucchini and brussels sprouts twenty-four/seven.”
Henry giggles. “You’re so funny, Mommy.”
“Yep. I’m a real card.”
“What does that mean?”
I think about it. “I don’t know. It’s just something your grandpa used to say.”
“Grandpa George? I never heard him say that.”
No, my own father. Somehow, he’s crept into this conversation. It’s the way Oliver’s looking so steadily at me. I blink. “So listen. I wanted to talk to you two about Arden.”
“Okay,” Henry says. “Is she better? Can she Skype?”
“No, not right now. She’s sleeping.”
He pouts. “Every time she’s sleeping.”
“I know.”
“Sleeping’s another word for dead,” Oliver says.
“Oh, honey,” I say, dismayed. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. On Captain Fantastic it is.”
“You know that’s a cartoon. In real life, sleeping isn’t being dead.”
“What about Sleeping Beauty?”
“That’s just a fairy tale. It’s pretend, too.”
“But why is she sleeping?” Henry asks.
“Well, you know how when you’re not feeling well, you just want to lie down and rest?” Solemn nods. “Well, Arden’s not feeling well, either. She’s resting so her body can get strong again.”
“It’s taking a long time. It’s taking forever.”
“I know. It feels that way to me, too.”
“Sometimes when I’m resting I just pretend to be asleep,” Henry says. “Maybe Arden’s doing that, too, pretending.”
“No way. She can’t wait to Skype with you guys. She’ll want to hear all about Lily.”
“Lily isn’t my girlfriend,” Henry says.
“Right,” I agree. Oliver’s got his head down. I can see the track of comb teeth and his crown where the hair springs up. “What’s the matter, Oliver?”
He shrugs.
Henry says, “Oliver doesn’t think Arden’s going to get better.”
“Is that true, Oliver?” The rise and fall of one small shoulder. “What makes you think that, honey?”
Henry says, “That’s what Caleb said. He says his mom said that when people bump their heads like Arden they don’t wake up ever.”
“Does Caleb’s mom know Arden?”
“No,” Oliver says. He’s still got his head down.
“Has she been here to see all the doctors and nurses working to help Arden get better?”
“No.”
“Does she know they’re giving her special medicine?”
Oliver looks up. He’s a big believer in medicine. “No.”
“Okay, then.”
Oliver shrugs.
“I’ll tell you what. Maybe Grandma can bring you up for a visit soon. But you’ll have to promise to be super-quiet so you don’t wake Arden up.” I wish they would. I wish they’d charge into the room and bump into things and laugh and climb all over her and find all her ticklish spots.
“Okay, Mommy,” Henry says. “Can I go now? I want to help Grandma with the bird feeder.”
“Hold on just a second. You remember the rules about answering the phone?”
Henry’s eyes slide away from mine. “Maybe.”
“It’s like opening the front door. You know how you’re not allowed to do that unless Daddy or I are there. Right?”
“Yesss.”
“But you answered the phone the other day and talked to a stranger, didn’t you?”
“He wasn’t a stranger,” Henry protests. “His name’s Hunter. He’s Arden’s boyfriend.”
“Arden’s boyfriend?” I try to keep my voice light, but this knowledge shimmers. “What did he want?”
Henry shrugs. “Just to talk to Arden. Can I go now?”
“You talked to him for a long time. What about?”
“I don’t know.”
It makes me uneasy but Henry’s face is guileless. “You realize it’s a safety rule?”
“Sorry.”
“When you’re older, you can answer the phone anytime you want.”
“Okay.”
“You can go now.”
“Finally!” Henry reaches for the laptop and puts it in Oliver’s lap.
Oliver’s face is centered on the screen. “He didn’t mean to be bad.”
“I know he didn’t. It’s okay.” Is it? We might never know.
He nods. He looks so serious. I put my face close to the screen. “I see you,” I whisper.
“I see you, too,” he whispers back.
“I love you.”
“I love you most, Mommy.”
—
Toward dawn, I wander down the deserted stairs and step out into the dim lobby. No one’s at the reception desk at this hour. The big glass doors beckon, and as I walk toward them, they glide open to gray pavement and velvety purple sky.
“Storm’s coming.” It’s Vince, sitting on the low brick wall encircling the flower beds, smoking.
I go over and look down. “Done avoiding me?”
He shrugs. “I have some practice being on the receiving end of that.” He taps a cigarette from the pack and extends it. I put it between my lips and lean down as he thumbs the lighter. The punch to my senses is dizzyingly familiar. I’ve missed this. Another broken promise. I sit down. “How’s Rory?” Vince had never texted me back; he hasn’t stopped by Arden’s room. Vince being Vince.
“You hear about the artificial lung?”
“Christine says she might not have to be on it long.”
“To know your kid can’t even inflate her own lungs…makes me wonder about all the other things going on inside her we don’t even know about. How’s Arden?”
I look off into the distance, to the smudged fringe of trees on the clouded horizon. “Nothing’s working, Vince. Nothing.”
“They can’t get the fluid down?”
“It keeps building back up. It’s relentless. And then I think, What if they do get it back to normal levels but it’s already too late? All that fluid pressing on her brain…” Saying this out loud breaks the glass. It allows me to pick my way through the pieces. “What if Arden’s already gone?”
“Do you remember when you brought the boys home and she showed up at our house with her little pink suitcase?”
I can’t get any sleep over there, Vince had told me she’d pronounced when he swung open the door. “I still don’t know how she got all the way to your house. I have this horrible suspicion she hitchhiked.”
“I bet Rory had something to do with it.”
“I bet she did. When did Arden ever do something that Rory wasn’t in on? Or, more often, take the lead on?”
“I think it was Rory who wanted to room with Arden, not the other way around.”
I glance at him in surprise. His profile’s to me, the clean line of his forehead and nose, the shadow of his cheek. I remember when he tried growing a beard, how mercilessly I’d teased him about it. I’d called him a Brad Pitt wannabe and he just puffed out his chest. “You do?”
“Rory needs Arden. Hard to be a leader when you don’t have a follower.”
“Arden’s not just a follower.”
“Of course not. Arden’s secure enough in her own self to let Rory boss her around. She doesn’t have as much to prove as Rory does.”
This is the closest Vince’s ever come to admitting Gabrielle’s been hard on their daughter. “What do you know about Hunter? Did you ever
meet him?”
“No, though Gabrielle spent some time with him when she visited campus. She said he seemed like a nice boy, but not good enough for Rory.”
“I doubt she’d think anybody would be.”
“True.”
“He called our house last week, looking for Arden.”
“She was home?”
“No. That’s what’s so strange. Why would he think she would have been?” I exhale a stream of smoke. “What if the police don’t find out who did this? What if we never know?” A boy was dead. Will suspicion hang over Arden the rest of her life?
He taps the end of his cigarette against the edge of the curb. “Maybe it’d be better that way.”
“How? How can that possibly be better?” I frown. “You’re the one who said we had to know.”
“I’ve been thinking. Do we really want to know who did this? What if knowing makes everything worse?”
“How can it be any worse than it already is?”
“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s better to let things go. Focus on the girls recovering, like you said.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Good old Natalie.”
It’s started raining, a quiet drizzle that leaves a sheen on the pavement. A car drives past, headlights a distant glimmer. Vince shakes his head. “Why didn’t you wait for me, Nat? I called you from Paris. You never called me back.”
Surprised, I look at his profile. This is the first time he’s ever mentioned it. I wasn’t even sure he remembered proposing. Come to Paris, Vince had said. What if I had gone? I wouldn’t be who I am today. There wouldn’t be Arden, or Henry, or Oliver. There wouldn’t be a small dachshund with floppy ears, a house on a lake with a ramshackle party barge, and a sun that eases itself up over the pines to flood my kitchen with light. There wouldn’t be Rory. “You’ve always been about the chase, Vince. I knew that once you were done chasing me, we wouldn’t have anything left. I decided it was better to be your friend than just another conquest.” And that, I understand suddenly, is why he fell in love with Gabrielle. She keeps a part of herself closed off. She keeps him guessing. He must feel like he never knows who’s going to be there when he gets home.
“It would have been different with you.”