“And, Bryte?” he asked just before she could end the call. “I’m, um, glad you called. It’ll be good to see you again. We never really—”
“Yeah, me, too!” she said, not wanting him to finish whatever he was about to say. She blurted a goodbye before ending the call. She held the phone in her hand and blinked at the 4:47 display, thinking about how surprisingly easy it was to decide to change your life forever, and how surprisingly easy it was to keep that decision from the one you loved the most.
JENCEY
After that first night, their relationship unfolded with surprising ease. The days bled together in a summer haze. She felt as if she were living in one of those montages from a romantic movie. Here’s the happy couple under the covers in bed, whispering and giggling and hiding from their kids. Here’s the dad sneaking back into his own bed as the first light of dawn streaks the sky. Here are the two families eating burgers outside around the picnic table, the kids’ mouths ringed with bright-red ketchup. Here’s him baiting her hook as they all fish at the neighborhood lake on the tacky metal pier, the setting sun painting the sky beyond them with wide brushstrokes of pink and orange and blue.
It was weeks before she finally told him about Arch, her words coming out in a rush sometime in the wee hours of the morning. She rested her head on his chest and whispered the whole story—the flight to the college up north to escape her stalker’s increasing menace, the whirlwind courtship and building a life with this man she loved far from home, the criminal behavior she’d been oblivious to, the agents who looked remarkably like the Men in Black showing up, trampling all over her flowers and her life. She breathed the tale in one long exhale, and when she was finished, neither of them spoke, each thinking, she imagined, about how far afield their lives had gone.
“Thanks,” Lance finally spoke. “For telling me.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” She was getting used to his scent, his touch, his shape. She let herself lean into it, telling herself not to get too cozy as she did.
Sometimes after Lance snuck back to his own bed and she was left alone, she had stern talks with herself. This wasn’t a permanent solution. It couldn’t last between them. And yet, they behaved as if it could. The worst part was, they were dragging their children into it with them, the six of them forming this odd unit, complete with inside jokes and alliances that grew stronger with each passing summer day. Every day she told herself that soon they would talk about it. And every day it just didn’t seem like a good time to bring up the future. Why put a damper on things? She would deal with it tomorrow, or next week, or . . . when he did. There was no need to mess with a good thing.
Because this was a good thing. And good things, she knew all too well, were rare. And fleeting.
She was just home from his house, arriving back at her parents’ home late in the morning as usual, after they’d all had breakfast together. She’d made French toast, and her hair still smelled of bacon and syrup. She was thinking about a shower, about how long it would take him to get the work done that he needed to do, about what they’d do that evening, when she felt someone watching her. She looked over to find her mother standing on the back deck, looking in at her, a frown on her face. Jencey felt her smile die on her own face. She swallowed, gave her mother a little wave.
Instead of waving back, her mother beckoned to her, summoning her out to the deck. She nodded and walked toward her, thinking as she did just where the girls were, if they were in earshot of whatever her mother was about to say. Just to be safe, she closed the door behind her when she got out onto the deck. “Hey, Mom,” she said, willing her voice to stay light and upbeat.
“Hi, Jencey.” Her mother rarely referred to her by name, choosing a variety of other endearments instead: honey, dear, sweetie. Lois Cabot’s mouth was a straight line, and there were more wrinkles around it than Jencey had ever noticed before. She wanted to reach over and smooth the wrinkles out like she sometimes smoothed her daughters’ clothes or hair. Instead, she clasped one hand inside the other, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I take it this is going to be a . . . habit?” Lois asked.
She almost played dumb and asked what her mother meant. But she was not a teenager anymore. “We were up late watching a movie, and I had a few glasses of wine so I didn’t want to drive. The kids fell asleep, and so I just slept in his guest room, Mom.” She shrugged her shoulders for emphasis, as if she hadn’t given her mother the same exact story multiple times in recent weeks.
“He’s married, Jencey.” Her mother using her name more than once in a conversation—this had to be some kind of record.
“It’s nothing, Mom. I promise.” She held her hands up like the scales of justice.
Lois continued. “And you’re in the midst of a very difficult time in your life.”
She refrained from saying, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Instead, she nodded, hoping to achieve a penitent, contemplative posture. “Our kids are friends. They enjoy spending time together. He’s also been through something . . . unexpected in his own life. We’re good company for each other.” The explanation sounded good in her own head, reasonable.
“I know all about his wife leaving him.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “You forget how active the rumor mill is in this neighborhood.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I remember.”
“People are talking. They see your car there overnight, how much time the two of you are spending together,” Lois said. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
“People are always talking, Mom, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s whether you care what they’re saying that matters.”
Her mother sniffed. “If history is any indication, you’ll move on. And we’ll be left here to answer for you. So will he.”
She knew this wasn’t about Lance. It was about the past, about how her flight from this place had been a one-way ticket instead of a round-trip. Her mother always thought she’d come back, had kept her old room intact as though she’d be back in a year instead of more than a decade. Though she’d never said it outright, Jencey knew her mother had felt rejected when she’d decided to stay up north. But Jencey didn’t have it in her to argue about the past. She didn’t have it in her to argue about the present, come to think of it. She wanted to hold on to the happiness she’d felt when she woke up, when she made breakfast, when they said they’d see each other later. She wanted to hold on to later. There was always something better just ahead. Isn’t that what she’d spent her life believing? Isn’t that what she’d fought hard to hold on to in recent months?
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, again angling for a look of remorse underneath her mother’s intense gaze. “I’ll try to be less . . . obvious.” She turned on her heel and stalked away, feeling every bit the teenager she’d once been, the old arguments rising up like ghosts. All that was missing was the slamming door.
CAILEY
When Zell got to feeling better, Ty came for dinner. He tried not to show he was mad when he found out I was using his old room, but when he thought I wasn’t around, I heard him ask Zell, “Why didn’t you put her in Melanie’s room?”
Zell said, “Shhh.” Then a few seconds later, she added, “You don’t live here anymore, so I’d say technically you don’t have a room.”