In Barbados she bought another exorbitantly priced one-way ticket—this one to home. The flight wasn’t due to leave for another two hours. But at least it was a proper plane with an aisle and seats on either side of it…
It was close to midnight when Karen finally landed in the city. She took a taxi straight to the hospital. She found her daughter still awake and lying prostrate on a bed watching her favorite vaguely inappropriate tween Nickelodeon sitcom, her leg elevated and bandaged all the way up to the thigh. There was a giant laceration on the side of her face. “Mommy,” Ruby murmured in a slurred voice.
“My poor baby!” cried Karen, throwing her arms around her daughter. Matt was in a chair at the side of Ruby’s bed, looking at his phone. He didn’t say hello when Karen walked in. Karen didn’t say hello to him either. But after five minutes, she turned to him and said, “Thank you for taking care of Ruby. If you want to go home and get some sleep, I can handle things from here.”
“What a kind offer,” he answered in a deadpan voice. But he accepted it. He buckled his messenger bag, gave Ruby a kiss good-bye on the forehead, told her he loved her, and walked out.
Not feeling that she could abandon her daughter again, not even to go to the hospital commissary, Karen had a candy bar from a nearby vending machine for dinner. Under any other circumstances, the very idea would have nauseated her. But in that moment, high-fructose corn syrup seemed like the least of her problems. Besides, she hadn’t eaten since lunch.
As it turned out, Ruby had broken her leg in two places—one quite badly. Karen felt as if it were all her fault. Obviously, an accident of the same nature could have happened on her watch. But it hadn’t. And the fact that it had happened while Karen was sleeping with a man who wasn’t Ruby’s father filled Karen with a bottomless pit of guilt and remorse. She felt she’d lost sight of what mattered. It somehow followed that all her lies of the past month, including her theft of money from the Mather PTA, suddenly became an intolerable burden to her. For the relief of airing them, she decided she was willing to suffer whatever consequences awaited her, even if it meant humiliation, ostracism, and criminal charges.
In the meantime, Ruby needed a metal rod placed through the middle of her femur. She went in for surgery late the next morning. All went as expected and, two hours later, she came out groggy and with a giant cast on her leg and thigh. Four hours after that, Karen, feeling half alive herself, was able to bring her home.
It was almost evening by then, and Matt was unwinding on the sofa. On the TV screen, a ball was being passed between men wearing bright-colored jerseys. Matt addressed all his words to Ruby and glared at Karen, who did her best to avoid eye contact. In short, it was just like it always was. Except, somehow, everything had changed.
After Karen put Ruby to sleep, she went into her bedroom to finally unpack her weekend bag. Mustique already seemed a million miles away. In fact, were it not for the jarring sight of her new skirt and top, both of them now wrinkled and soiled, she could almost have convinced herself that she’d never been there. Karen quickly stuffed them in a dry-cleaning bag, which she placed in the back of her closet along with the snakeskin stilettos. Then she e-mailed her boss, Molly, to apologize in advance for not coming to work the next day and explaining that she’d had a family emergency. Molly wrote back immediately and, possibly because she loved nothing more than others’ hardship, urged Karen to take all the time she needed. Karen was relieved and grateful. But the far more difficult task of apologizing to Susan Bordwell still lay ahead.
Dear Susan, began the e-mail Karen composed that evening. Hope all is well on your end. I was wondering if we could get together to talk. It’s kind of important. Please let me know when you’re available. I’m out of the office this week, so I can work around your schedule. Thank you.—Karen.
As agreeable as ever, Susan wrote back ten minutes later.
Of course! Any time. How’s Monday after drop-off?
A text from Clay arrived at the same moment. It read,
Just got back to the gritty city. A tad lonely in paradise—despite the hot French maids. Ha-ha. Dinner? xo CP
As Karen stood staring at the words—Clay’s words—regret coexisted with astonishment. Had he really not noticed how furious she was when she left? Or did he think that was all in the past now? She also couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t even asked about Ruby. Maybe that was why, despite having been in his arms thirty hours earlier, Karen experienced his latest invitation as, above all, an imposition. As if it—and he—were one more thing on her to-do list that needed checking off.
Karen didn’t blame Clay for their affair—far from it. She was a grown woman; no one had seduced her without her full consent. But at some point in the past day and a half, she’d ceased to find him amusing or charming. It wasn’t just that he’d shown a paucity of concern for her daughter. It was the realization that he didn’t really care about anyone or anything. Because of it, he seemed as hollow as the conch shell she’d found on their private beach. If you held Clay close, you could almost convince yourself you heard the magnificent roar of the ocean itself.
Almost—but not quite.
The next morning, Ashley came over to watch Ruby, and Karen went to meet Susan at Café Beggar, the new coffee shop that held the current distinction of being the Mather Moms’ post-school-drop-off café of choice. Predictably, it had unfinished floors, Edison bulbs dangling from a vintage tin ceiling, a menu written on a chalkboard, and a variety of four-dollar anemic-looking gluten-free muffins in faux-healthy flavors like blueberry-yogurt-flax. Before it was Café Beggar, it had been a check-cashing place that took some predatory commission against the paychecks of poor people who couldn’t afford to maintain actual checking accounts at real banks.
To Karen’s surprise, Susan arrived in what appeared to be pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt with no bra, her hair falling out of a ponytail, her teeth looking a tad yellow. It seemed she wasn’t always the model of an orderly life (or wife). “Hello there!” she called.
“Hi!” said Karen, realizing how much harder it would be to confess her misdeeds to Susan’s face, especially now that she appeared half human after all.
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to hit the smoothie station before I sit down,” she said. “I haven’t had breakfast yet. It’s been one of those mornings.”
“Of course.” While Karen waited for Susan, she contemplated her opening. Should she preface her remarks with political rhetoric or just get straight to the point? Bjork’s latest album was playing on the sound system, and Karen felt as if the singer’s atonal ululating were drilling a hole in each of her temples. Finally, Susan returned with a large clear-plastic cup filled with a pasty, violet-colored liquid. Probably Berry Blast, thought Karen.
“Sorry about the wait,” said Susan, taking her seat.