“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Did you hear that?” Steve asked his former wife as she drifted back toward oblivion. “Caroline says there’s nothing to forgive.” He kissed her softly on the lips, then slouched back in his chair. “I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness. I was such a prick.”
“You just weren’t a good match,” Caroline offered, trying to be kind.
“Poor Becky,” he said, gently stroking her arm. “You deserved better.”
Didn’t we all? Caroline thought, pushing herself out of her chair and floating toward the door, her head lost in a drug-filled cloud. When she looked back, her brother was hunched over Becky, whispering soft words in her ear, still stroking her arm.
Caroline woke up the next morning with a headache, the result of a night spent arguing with Michelle, their earlier altercation having spilled over into her dreams. She swung out of bed, her head pounding with each step as she padded toward the bathroom and gobbled down two extra-strength somethings, then returned to bed. Remnants of her disturbing dreams hovered just out of reach, as stubbornly elusive as the daughter who provoked them. Half an hour later, her head was still pounding, keeping time with the beating of her heart. She thought of Becky, how she’d ignored her headaches until it was too late. She wondered if she, too, could be nursing a tumor, and if anyone would be there to mourn her loss, as Steve had mourned his former wife. Would Hunter be filled with similar remorse for the shabby way he’d treated her? Would Michelle regret her harsh words, her blistering accusations?
“Okay. Enough of that.” She showered and dressed, then went downstairs, made a pot of coffee, and retrieved the Sunday paper from outside her front door. She was sitting at the kitchen table, working on the crossword and enjoying her third cup of coffee, the caffeine having mercifully reduced her headache to a dull throb at her temples, when Michelle entered the room. Her daughter was wearing a black leotard and a hot-pink cropped top with the logo TRACK FITNESS stenciled in bold black letters across her chest, her hair pulled into a high ponytail and tied with a ribbon the same color of pink as the laces of her sneakers. She poured herself a cup of coffee and drank it standing up in front of the sink.
“Good morning,” Caroline said.
“Morning.”
“I didn’t realize you were here.”
“What else is new?”
Caroline’s headache returned full force. “It’s just that I didn’t hear you come home last night.”
“No, you were pretty much dead to the world when I looked in on you.”
“You looked in on me?”
Michelle rolled her eyes as she finished her coffee and deposited her empty cup in the sink. “I’m off to the gym.”
“Don’t you think you might be overdoing the exercise? I read somewhere that too much aerobic exercise can actually shorten your life.”
“Funny. I heard the same thing about reading.” Michelle headed for the front door.
“Michelle, wait.” Caroline followed after her. “Can we talk about what happened yesterday?”
“I think we’ve probably talked enough, don’t you?”
“You made some pretty strong accusations.”
“Forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. You have to know I love you, sweetheart. More than anything in the world…”
“I do,” Michelle said. “Really. I do. Now I have to go or I’ll be late for my class.”
“Wait,” Caroline said again, reluctant to let her daughter leave, but not knowing what else to say. She ducked into the living room and grabbed her purse from the floor where she’d left it the previous afternoon. “Can you pick up some coffee? We’re almost out.” She fished inside her purse for her wallet, withdrawing a twenty-dollar bill and handing it to Michelle. “Wait,” she said again, as her daughter was turning to leave.
“Something else we need?”
“My phone,” Caroline said, her hand searching the bottom of the bag. “Where’s my phone?”
“How should I know?”
“Did you take it? When you came home last night…”
“Why would I take your phone, Mother?” Michelle asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “You probably just put it somewhere…”
“I haven’t touched it.”
“Well, neither have I.”
“It was in my purse. I forgot to take it out when I went upstairs.”
“Which means I took it?”
“Give me back my phone, Michelle.”
“Give it a rest, Mother,” Michelle said before opening the front door and jogging down the front walk to the street.