These Girls (24 page)

Cate searched her mother’s face. She expected to see a tumble of emotions—sorrow and anger and jealousy—but her mother’s expression remained inscrutable.

“How do you feel about it?” Cate asked softly.

Her mother sighed. “I saw it coming. Your father doesn’t like to be alone. And he’s a good catch.”

“But are you okay?”

“It hurts. I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But I was prepared for it. We talk every few weeks, your father and I. He wants to be friends. He asked if he could call you tomorrow, after I told you. Honey, I know this is a shock for you.”

Cate wondered if her mother was trying to protect her, even now, by subverting her own feelings so she could focus on Cate’s.

“It’s so weird,” Cate said. She felt a pang deep inside her stomach. Suddenly the smell of roast chicken and lemon, which had been so delicious moments ago, was overpowering, and nausea rose in her throat. “I shouldn’t feel this surprised, should I? I just can’t believe he’s getting married.”

She wished her mother had let her father tell her, instead of trying to be a buffer. It was silly, but suddenly Cate wanted his reassurance that he still loved her. She thought about her father and Darlene walking on the beach, holding hands, clinking together champagne glasses as they started a new life. Having the kind of trip he’d experienced with Cate’s mother only early on in their relationship, before the children came along. When they got back from the trip, he’d probably move into Darlene’s apartment in Rittenhouse Square. Cate would have to fold Darlene into their relationship. The next time she saw her dad, she’d insist his new fiancée come along. If she didn’t make an effort with Darlene, she might really lose her father.

Cate looked at her mom and saw her plate was still mostly full. Another thing she’d inherited from her mother; an inability to eat when she was stressed.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked. They were being so polite—too polite! Didn’t her mother want to smash dishes and yell and cut up her wedding photos? Darlene would be a yeller, Cate suddenly realized. She remembered how, at the restaurant in New York, the waiter had tried to take Darlene’s dessert before she was finished eating. She’d grabbed his forearm and said, “Young man, there’s still tiramisu in that dish. Take it away and risk a premature death.” The waiter had cracked up, and Darlene had savored her last bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated delight while Cate’s father laughed and toasted her with a glass of Merlot. Cate’s mom probably would have let the waiter remove the dish without a word, too embarrassed to make a scene.

“It’s just going to take a little time to process,” Cate said. She pushed away her plate. The meal her mother had prepared so lovingly lay like a rock in her stomach. “Does Christopher know?”

“Dad was going to phone him this weekend. I’m going to talk to him, too, but with the time difference, it’s always tricky. I might not be able to catch him for a couple days.”

Cate nodded. She’d call her brother in Hong Kong this week. He was the only person who could understand exactly how she felt. She swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. Her big brother lived halfway across the world, and now her father was moving on. Any whisper-thin fantasy she might have harbored about her parents putting back the pieces of their family was gone. But the truth was, Cate was also forging ahead. With her new promotion, she couldn’t see herself leaving New York anytime soon. If she wanted to work in magazines, she needed to stay there.

“You must be so lonely,” Cate blurted. “Mom . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” her mother said. “I’ve got my book club and the church flower guild. We’re doing a lot of weddings. And there’s always so much to do around the house. All the stuff Dad used to take care of—raking and getting in wood for the winter and having the car serviced. . . .”

“Would you want to do something else? Work part-time or volunteer?”

“Who would want to hire me, at my age?” her mother said, not quite pulling off a laugh. “I don’t have that many skills.”

“But there’s so much you have to offer,” Cate said. “You could help a kid learn how to read. You could travel. They always need people to help out during a crisis, like when the Gulf oil spill coated so many birds and volunteers helped save them. You’d be really good at that.”

Her mother didn’t answer for a moment; then she sighed, a soft, nearly imperceptible sound. “I think it’s still hitting me. Not just the divorce but . . . getting older. You wouldn’t believe how quickly the time passes, Cate. Every year zips by faster than the one before. I feel as if I went to the hospital to deliver you one day, and the next, you were leaving for college. Every day was so busy and full, and yet it was over in the blink of an eye.”

Cate reached out and enveloped her mother’s hand between her own. It felt small and bony, like a trapped bird. Her mother was depressed, Cate suddenly realized. Not clinically, unable-to-get-out-of-bed depressed, but she probably endured the heavy, gray sensation of constantly having to walk through a cold drizzle.

“It’s never too late,” Cate said. “Would you want to go visit Christopher in Hong Kong? He said he’d love to have you. Why not do that for yourself?”

“He’s been asking me to. I think . . . maybe it’s time. Maybe I’ll go.”

But Cate wondered if she really would, or if her halfhearted resolve would slip away, like water through the cracks in a cupped hand. If her mother had just one really close friend, someone Cate had gotten to know through the years, Cate could call her and ask her to keep an eye out, to cajole her mother into going for daily walks and weekend excursions. But then, maybe if her mother had sought out friends all along instead of just living for her family, she’d be in a better place now.

Sure, her mom had chatted with other parents at soccer games, and, back when they were married, she and Cate’s father had occasionally gone out to dinner with other couples. But most of those couples were through her dad’s connections, Cate realized. They were his co-workers, his old college roommate, his tennis partner. She’d never truly understood how quiet her mother’s life had been.

“Have you gone to see the doctor?” Cate asked. “It might be good for you to have someone to talk to.”

“A therapist?” Her mother nodded. “I’ve thought about it. I just . . . I guess I haven’t gotten around to finding one.”

“Let me do that for you,” Cate said. “Find you a therapist and book you a flight to Hong Kong. Please?”

Her mother’s eyes were wet. “You’re a good daughter, Cate.”

“I’ll try to come home more often, too,” Cate said. She didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she’d figure out a way.

They stayed in the kitchen, talking for another hour, and then Cate went to her room to unpack her bag and take a shower. But first she sat on her narrow single bed, staring at the patterns the moonlight painted on the wall as it filtered through the branches of the old oak tree in the backyard. Memories clung to her mind: making an igloo with her father and Christopher after a record-breaking, three-foot snowfall, then coming inside with tingling toes and red cheeks to gobble down chili and
honey corn bread before falling asleep on the rug in front of the fire. Their street hadn’t been plowed for almost a week, so they’d hunkered down, using up pantry items to create increasingly funny dinners and voting on the winner. It was a canned corn casserole topped with crushed Cheerios, Cate suddenly remembered. She saw herself in the kitchen, using a rolling pin to grind the cereal held in a plastic bag, while her father set the table and her mother scrounged up a can of pineapple juice for everyone to drink. Later, her dad had read them the first book in the Narnia series, and as Cate lay on the couch, the words washing over her, she’d felt a deep contentment, like a blanket that magically warmed her from within.

She felt a single tear run down her cheek. She thought she’d known the story of her own family. How much of it had been a fabrication?

A beep jolted her out of her reverie. Cate searched through her purse until she located her ringing cell phone. It was Trey.

“Hey,” he said. “I just called the apartment and learned you’d gone home for the weekend. Everything okay?”

“I came to visit my mom,” she said. She knew her voice sounded downbeat, and she tried to inject some energy into it. “I’d forgotten we’d made plans. But Renee is there with Abby . . .”

“Yeah, they seem to be doing great. Abby was actually laughing when I spoke to her.”

Cate smiled, and tried to ignore a little pang of feeling left out.

“Anyway,” Trey continued, “I wanted to tell you the interview with Reece’s roommate was amazing. Fantastic details. And guess what? She called Reece at the end of our talk and put in a good word. Now I’m getting another shot at Reece.”

Cate felt limp with relief. “Thank you,” she breathed, feeling like the words were inadequate.

“No worries,” he said. “I can write it fast, once I do the interview.”

“You just saved my job,” Cate said. She was so grateful. Her family might be falling apart, but at least her professional life wasn’t.

“Oh, come on. It’s one story. No one would blame you if a flaky celebrity canceled. It happens all the time.”

“I just—I want the issue to be good. It’s complicated,” she said, thinking about Sam and the polygamy story. Cate could survive one blown story; two would make her look like a disaster. When Sam had come into her office—after the world’s longest bathroom break—he’d told Cate he’d been sick and hadn’t been able to get to the rewrite yet.

What is your problem?
Cate had almost screamed at him. But instead she’d said, “Monday morning at ten o’clock. If it isn’t in by then, we’re scrapping it.” She’d picked up the phone and started to dial a number, hoping he wouldn’t see her hand tremble, and then she’d glanced back up at Sam, her eyebrows raised, as if surprised to find him still standing there.

Cate hoped she’d conveyed that she was too busy to spend any more time worrying about Sam’s story, rather than the truth, which was that she couldn’t bear to fight with him, not knowing if she’d win.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Trey asked. “You sound kind of down.”

“I just learned my father is getting remarried,” Cate blurted.

“I’m sorry,” Trey said.

“No, I’m an adult, right? I shouldn’t be that upset.”

“I don’t think there’s an expiration date on feeling like that,” Trey said. She could hear rock music in the background, and she pictured him in one of the big chairs in his living room, his feet propped up on his distressed wood coffee table. “It’s not easy no matter how old you are.”

“Are your parents together?” she asked.

“Yeah, but they’re a strange couple. I wouldn’t say they’re in love. I guess they’re . . . comfortable with each other.”

Cate knew exactly what he meant. “I’m mostly upset for my mom.” She lowered her voice, just in case her mother had come upstairs. “And it’s strange to be rewriting my own history. I thought we were this perfect family when I was growing up, and it turns out, we weren’t. It was an illusion.”

Cate cleared her throat; she needed to get off the phone quickly. She shouldn’t be talking to Trey like this. “Anyway, I really appreciate you calling and updating me on the story. One less thing to worry about.”

“Cate,” he said, and she caught her breath at the tenderness in his tone. “It’s going to be okay.”

She knew he wasn’t talking about the story. She held on to the phone with both hands, wanting to believe him.

Eighteen

ABBY WOKE UP SCREAMING.

Someone was hurt. There was blood and yelling and a long, hopeless wailing that blended with the shriek of the ambulance siren. And in the background that song was playing, the one that caused panic to swell up like a balloon in her: “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round . . .”

Abby had to get help. A person lay on the ground, not moving . . . She had to do something!

“You’re safe,” a voice broke apart the dream. Arms reached for her, folded around her.

“Annabelle!” Abby cried. “Where is she?”

“It’s okay,” Renee said. “You were just having a nightmare.”

Abby took in a shuddering breath as tears streaked down her cheeks. She could still hear the echo of that wail—that awful, anguished sound. Fragments of her dream rushed back: the squeal of a car’s brakes. A scream. “No,” Abby whimpered.

“Shhh,” Renee was saying. “I’m here with you. You’re safe, Abby.”

“It was a dream,” Abby said in a halting voice.

“That’s all it was,” Renee agreed, smoothing back Abby’s hair.

Abby’s ragged breathing slowly evened out. Renee reached over and flicked on the light on her nightstand. “Can I get you some tea?” Renee offered. “Or do you want to go back to sleep?”

“No!” The word shot out of Abby. She clutched at Renee’s hand. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” Renee promised. She climbed onto the bed and tucked her legs underneath her. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“Thank you,” Abby whispered. Slowly she began to orient herself: She was in New York. She’d run away from Maryland, taking nothing but her wallet and cell phone and a change of clothes. “I had to leave my job,” she said, almost to herself.

Renee nodded and spoke gently. “Trey said you were taking care of a little girl. Annabelle is her name?”

“I was her nanny,” Abby said slowly. “I love her so much. But there are . . . things about me that no one knows. Things I
did
. I had to leave.”

“Abby, I couldn’t imagine you doing anything wrong,” Renee said in a reassuring tone that had the opposite effect.

“But I did!” Abby’s tears exploded again, rushing down her cheeks as her thin shoulders convulsed. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know I was doing it, I just . . . I just . . .”

Her words dissolved as the sobs overtook her. Renee patted her back and made soothing sounds, but Abby couldn’t stop crying. Her tears came harder, and she struggled to draw in air. She didn’t know how she could endure this. Her life was ruined. She had no job, and she’d dropped out of school. She’d lost Bob and Annabelle. And she missed that little girl so much it was a physical ache. She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t—