“Good. Well, I’ll let you go then.”
Kate let Alice hang up first; then she slowly lowered her own phone. She looked at Zoe, standing opposite her in the kitchen.
“What are you doing here this time of the morning, Zoe?”
She looked shy. “Um … I just wanted to see you. Actually I wanted to tell you about … this guy, Harry.”
Kate fought the urge to smile, to tell her to join her in the sunroom so she could find out all about Harry.
“But…” Zoe’s shy expression melted away. “Why was my mom calling you?”
“She’s very upset with me, Zoe.”
“Oh, no.” Zoe closed her eyes. “This is all my fault.”
“No it’s not. I’m your mother’s nurse, I should never have let you into my house without her knowledge. And I should have told her about what happened at school. She has every right to—”
“—to what?”
Kate sighed. “To be angry.”
“She should be angry at me, not you. You’re the one who … who…” Zoe blushed. Kate was starting to find it her most endearing trait.
“Zoe,” Kate said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re here, honey.”
She was trying to do the right thing, trying to make it swift, but Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Did my mom say that?”
Kate couldn’t speak. She knew she had to make Zoe leave, but she couldn’t find the words.
“She did, didn’t she?” Zoe said. “I can’t believe this. I’ll explain to her, I’ll tell her—”
“Zoe.”
“What?”
“I think it might be for the best.”
Zoe blinked. The hurt and surprise in Zoe’s eyes made Kate want to take the words and stuff them back into her mouth. But she couldn’t. “You should go home to your mother. And honestly, I need some time too.”
Zoe looked mortified. “Oh. You mean … you don’t want me here?”
“That’s not it,” Kate said, but tears were already welling in Zoe’s eyes. All Kate wanted to do was gather her in her arms and take it all back, but what would be the point? The result would be the same. So instead, she went against every instinct she’d ever had and remained silent and watched her walk out the door.
*
Kate couldn’t stay in that empty house another second. So, she decided, she was going to work. At least there she could be of use to someone. She drove purposefully through the pretty suburban streets until, without deciding on it, she pulled up in front of her father’s house.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing here, rather than at work. Reaching out, perhaps, to the only blood relative she had? Maybe she was just desperate. In what she had thought was a full life, she was fast running out of people. She wasn’t sure when her heart started to pound. Her palms were a little sweaty too, and she had that pain in her sternum—the one that felt like indigestion but was actually mild anxiety. All because of a visit to her father.
She rapped on the door. After about thirty seconds, it swung open.
“Kate.” Her dad blinked a couple of times, then glanced at his watch. “Did we have an arrangement?”
“No, but I thought I’d pop in. If that’s all right.”
“Oh, well … I mean … yes. Of course.”
It wasn’t the reception that she’d been hoping for. But as he stood back, allowing the door to open further, Kate realized he was inviting her in.
Actions.
Inside, she sat on the same couch she’d sprawled on as a kid—after school watching TV or on a Saturday morning with a book. She didn’t remember having any particular affection for it then, but now it filled her with emotion. Her dad sat beside her, stiffly. There were no hugs, no offers of a cup of tea. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
“I’m sorry to just show up like this,” she said.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really,” she admitted.
He watched her, not speaking but at least looking concerned. It was all it took for her to not burst into tears. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Dad. I just … needed someone and—”
“Where’s David?” he asked.
“In Mexico.”
He considered that a moment. “Are you having marriage problems?”
“No!” she said. “Yes. I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”
It was amazing the difference a shift in attitude could make. Her dad’s words alone had done nothing to make her feel like her visit was welcomed. But everything about his actions—inviting her in, asking her to confide in him—conveyed something else entirely. And it made her want to talk to him.
“David doesn’t want to try for another baby,” she sobbed. “He’s done with miscarriages, he says. But all I’ve ever wanted was a child of my own. All we’ve done is fight about it. And now he’s gone off to Mexico to have a think about things. I just … don’t know what to do.”
It occurred to Kate that she couldn’t remember the last time she had come to her dad with a problem. She’d certainly never done it as an adult. She didn’t think he would care. But as she watched him now, thinking really hard, she could see that wasn’t the case. His forehead was pinched, and he chewed his lip, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. He cared very much.
“That does sound like quite a conundrum,” he said finally.
He pushed a box of tissues toward her. It brought up a memory. Of the time when she was eleven, and had the flu. Her dad had taken the entire week off work to take care of her. She’d been so ill, all she could do was lie on the couch and cry. He’d slept on the floor of her room at night, and during the day he was always nearby, offering tissues.
Actions.
“I’m not great at these kinds of things, Kate,” he said finally. “But if you want to talk … I’m not a bad listener.”
This was true, she realized. Her father had always been a good listener. Now that she thought of it, he had lots of good qualities—it was just that his inability to communicate well hadn’t allowed her to see them. It occurred to Kate how easy it must be for someone who was uncomfortable with social interaction to become isolated in the world. She also realized how easy it was to overlook the value that person could bring.
“You know what?” she said. “A good listener is exactly what I need.”
52
Alice was lying on the couch, hoping a nap would come, when the door crashed open. By the time she opened her eyes, Zoe was standing over her, her finger pointed at her.
“Did you tell Kate she wasn’t allowed to see me anymore?”
Alice sat up. “Zoe—”
“Did you?” she cried. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Zoe so angry.
“Yes, I did.”
She saw it then, something she’d never seen on her daughter’s face before—a flash of pure white rage. “How could you? After everything Kate has done for us?”
“Give you a place to hide, you mean, when you were playing hooky from school?”