Even though it was only 9:30 p.m., Catherine went to bed as soon as they got home, saying she needed to rest up for her big appointment. Joanna sat on her mother’s tiny screened-in porch drinking a glass of V8, the only nonalcoholic beverage Catherine had in the house. In the distance Joanna heard the steady beeping sound of one of the low bridges rising to let a tall-masted boat through. She could smell the rancid, brackish creek just beyond the trees.
Joanna’s phone rang, startling her. It was Charles. She stared at it, her heart thrumming. After the third ring, she answered.
“How’s your mom?” he asked.
“She’s okay,” she answered automatically. She cursed herself for saying it so nicely. What would happen if she continued to feign ignorance about Bronwyn? Would he admit it on his own? Crack under the guilt and come clean?
She looked through the screen door to the house. Scott was standing over the kitchen counter, pouring himself a drink. Probably Dewar’s Scotch; it was Catherine’s favorite. She hoped he wouldn’t come out. She hoped he didn’t hear her talking.
“So did someone give you a hot ride to Maryland?” Charles asked.
She sat up, horrified. How could Charles know? “W–what?”
“Because your car is still in the garage. You took the train, right?”
The air left her lungs. Right. He was joking. “Yeah. The train. And I called a cab from the house. It was easier than finding parking.” She squeezed her eyes shut, hating that she was lying.
“I guess Scott had his meeting today,” Charles said.
Joanna watched as Scott turned and shut the cabinet. Don’t come out, she silently willed, but he swiveled and headed for the screen door. She balled her fist.
“I don’t know how it went, though,” Charles was saying. “I tried to call Mom, but she was on her way to some party.”
“Huh.” Scott slid open the door and looked at her. She put a finger to her lips, and he nodded. You’re on the phone. I got it. But he didn’t leave.
“I don’t know if she’s talked to him, either,” Charles was saying. “She probably would’ve called me if she did.”
“Uh-huh,” Joanna said. She stared out at the dark backyard. Hank and Carla, the neighbors, kept a parrot’s cage on their back porch; she could see its curved shadow. The parrot often babbled when they left it alone, screaming out Hank and Carla’s names.
“Are you all right?” Charles asked.
Joanna jumped. “I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know. You sound … not altogether there.”
“I’m fine. Just … you know. My mom.”
“Do you want me to come down there?” Charles asked.
“W–when?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow morning. I don’t know.”
Her pulse beat so strongly she could feel its steady pace in her fingertips. Did that mean he’d called Bronwyn and canceled tomorrow’s meeting? Or had they met today, and he now had some free time?
She wound a piece of hair around her finger so tightly that it pulled at her scalp. Scott was sitting on the glider, staring. Why didn’t he just leave? Why couldn’t he understand she wanted to be alone?
“I thought you had your work interview tomorrow,” she finally said.
Charles paused. She paused. Neither said anything. She wondered if he knew that she knew. Maybe Bronwyn had called him and said, We’ve got to call it off. I called your house and she answered.
“It’s okay,” Joanna said when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything more. “I don’t need you here. I’m holding up all right.”
There was a sigh on his end. “Well, okay then,” Charles said.
“I should go,” she said quickly. She clapped the phone shut and sat still for a few long moments, a sob building in her chest. She thought the phone might ring again, but it remained silent.
The distant beeping started up again; the boat must be through, and the bridge was coming back down. Joanna stood up, padded into the kitchen, poured out the V8, and replaced it with Dewar’s. Then she went back outside and slumped down on a plastic chair. Scott was smoking a cigarette, making the whole screened-in porch smell of it.
“Was that Charles?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes.”
The wind knocked the long chimes hanging from the porch roof together. A dog barked a few houses down. Catherine’s porch was so small that Joanna and Scott’s knees were almost touching.
“So are you going to tell me or not?” Scott said quietly.
She whipped her head up. “Tell you what?”
Scott’s face was hidden by the shadows; she could only make out the outline of his jaw, the tips of his hair, and the whites of his eyes. “Where Charles’s out-of-town trip has taken him, of course,” he said. “Where he was calling from. What he’s writing about.”
“That just came out. I had to tell her something before she asked.”