Sonny switched it off triumphantly. “So, obviously we’re going with the divorce stories segment,” he said. “Money, custody, cheating—it’ll be great.”
He smiled easily at Izzy. “I know what you’re thinking, I could produce this show myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you stay. I’m no good at paperwork.”
*
The wind whipped Izzy’s hair as she ran to her car and slammed the door shut against the chaos outside. Summer and autumn seemed to be colliding in the sky, as if it couldn’t make up its mind between the two. The humidity was tangible, the heat a twenty-degree leap from this morning, but the wind carried oddly icier blasts that warned of bone-chilling days ahead.
Izzy started the engine, and instantly the front and back windshields fogged, a smattering of supersized raindrops dotting them as if on cue. She looked in the direction of home, where the sky was brighter in the distance. She had to get out ahead of the storm. She did not want her coworkers to see her marooned in the parking lot, sobbing pathetically over what was ostensibly her baby sister’s happy news. Which she was about to be. Any second now.
Her phone buzzed into the car’s Bluetooth system, and Izzy glanced down at the display. Her mother. She couldn’t talk to her, not like this.
She flipped the vents on full blast, and the bottom few inches of fog faded. Good enough. Blinking back tears, she whipped backward out of the parking space and heard a sickening crunch.
In the rearview mirror the culprit loomed—a light pole with a large concrete base. The very one, in fact, that she looked at almost every morning thinking, One of these days I’m going to end up hitting that. Swiping angrily at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she looked around and didn’t see anyone. What were the odds that no one inside had witnessed her gaffe through a window? The thought of it pressed on top of the humiliation she was already feeling, and without even getting out to look at her car—she was confident the light pole was fine—she hit the gas.
Penny and Josh were married. Married. It wasn’t as if throwing a baby into the mix was what made him officially and forever off-limits.
So why did she feel as if the sky were caving in on her all over again?
“Auntie Izzy!” Her mother’s ecstatic voice mail message was auto-playing through the car stereo now. “I’m so excited Penny finally got through to you with the news! I just called to gush. You’re going to be such a great aunt. Not like those other aunts.” The notes of her laugh were a giddy song, and real tears were trailing down Izzy’s cheeks now, fast and hot. This was not how this was supposed to be. She should be just as happy as her mother was. She deserved to share in this happiness. Josh had ruined everything. “Don’t tell your father’s sisters I said that,” her mother was whispering now. “Call only if you want. Can’t wait to see you soon!”
The rain teased her throughout the drive, as if someone were aiming a garden hose over her car in brief intervals, but the downpour never came. By the time she pulled onto her block, her hands still shaking, a patch of bright blue showed itself in the blustery clouds, and she knew with certainty that it was mocking her. Had she actually thought she was doing better, here on her own? She’d only been fooling herself.
The garage was still filled with the largest boxes from the move, the ones she wasn’t sure if she should throw away—the too-expensive-to-toss-too-colossal-to-keep wardrobe carriers with the hanger bars, the packaging from binge-ordered décor she still wasn’t sure she liked. She hadn’t missed the garage until this exact moment, when parking in the driveway meant bearing her scars for the neighborhood to see. She briefly considered backing in, but given the day’s track record, that didn’t seem wise. Maybe it’s not that bad, she told herself as she pulled the car up close to the house, cut the engine, and walked around to survey the back bumper.
But it wasn’t just the bumper. The left taillight was smashed, surely inoperable, and ugly dents and scratches smeared the side rear panel. The metal of the trunk looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. No, something harder and bigger than that.
Like a lamppost.
“Damn it!” she yelled, kicking the tire. With her next kick came a fresh flood of tears, floating her fists into motion as well, and soon she was full-out whaling on the car, pummeling the trunk with the whole of her arms and the tire with the toes of her boots, letting out primal grunts of fury.
Behind her, someone’s throat cleared loudly, and she stopped without turning around, heaving to catch her breath.
“You look like I feel,” said the voice behind her. And she recognized it as Paul’s. “On behalf of me, thank you for doing that. It was quite satisfying to watch.”
She barked out an ugly laugh. She couldn’t bear to turn.
“Permission to approach the vehicle?” She heard his steps draw near, and a large hand appeared beside her and slid itself over the top of the trunk. “This one I could hammer out from the inside,” he said. “It’ll have crinkly spots, like used wrapping paper, but we can get the shape back.” He bent toward the taillight. “This one is just a trip to the hardware store. And the side panel…” He moved to examine the streaks. “Not an easy fix outside of a body shop, but you could make it less noticeable with touch-up paint.”
“Thanks,” Izzy said. “Maybe I’ll—” She could think of no one she knew who was capable at this sort of thing. “Ask my dad,” she finished lamely, knowing he’d never touched a bottle of touch-up paint in his life. Though infinitely interested in getting his hands dirty in the natural world, he cared little for the man-made.
“I could help,” Paul said. “You may have noticed I’m not doing much else. For some reason I feel like I can’t leave the house, yet every hour that goes by it seems less likely that I’m going to be throwing a welcome home party.”
Discomfort washed over Izzy. “I can’t ask that of you,” she said. She still hadn’t looked at him. She knew she must appear wild, her eyes puffy, her hair blown into a tangle, her hands and forearms red and throbbing from their assault on the metal.
“You didn’t,” he said. “In fact, I’m asking it of you. I need something to do with myself. I’m going crazy. And this is leaving the house without leaving it. I can see it from here.”
Why was he being so nice? Fresh tears filled Izzy’s eyes. She shook her head again.
“Please,” he said. “Just let me do something nice for someone today. You can stay inside if you want to. I just … I need this.”
She knew she should be ashamed. If anyone here should be doing something for someone, it should be the other way around. She should fix him a meal. She should offer to help in some way—in any way. Where the hell was Team Paul?
But she could conjure no genuine feelings. The stormy skies she’d dodged earlier were still raging in her brain.
Reluctantly, she turned to face him. “Maybe just the taillight, so I don’t get pulled over?”
He nodded, touched her arm so briefly she thought she might have imagined it, and was gone as quickly and silently as he came.
She didn’t know anything, not really, about being married, or raising kids, or splitting up. But regret … regret, she knew. And his voice had been thick with it.
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