On Wednesday, Kim picked up the phone and called Lisa. She had already made several overtures—sending a seventy-five-dollar bouquet to the hospital (anything over a hundred dollars would have implied culpability), and dropping a batch of home-baked healthy cookies (oatmeal, raisin, and flax seed, sweetened with maple syrup) at the hospital’s reception desk. But she needed to talk to Lisa; she needed to explain. Her heart thudded in her chest as Lisa’s phone rang in her ear.
“Hi. You’ve reached Lisa Monroe. Sorry I can’t take your call right now. . . .”
Voice mail. Kim was somewhat relieved. It would be easier to deliver her rehearsed speech without interruption. Of course, voice mail could mean that Lisa was still angry and screening her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She had things to say.
“Hey! It’s me, Kim.” She sounded too breezy, too casual. She lowered her register. “I wanted to check on Ronni. And on you. If there’s anything we can do, or anything you need, just call. We’re here for you. . . .” She paused, gathered her courage. “Hannah can’t wait until Ronni’s back at school. She really misses her. This whole thing has been hard on Hannah. On all of us. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what you’re going through. . . .” Her heart thudded louder as she plunged ahead. “The police were here. They said that what happened was a terrible accident, but we’re not responsible. We weren’t negligent. I mean, it’s not like it was a party party. There were only a few girls. We had no way of knowing they were planning to drink. . . .” She trailed off. God, she hoped she didn’t sound smug . . . or worse, triumphant. “Anyway, I hope you’ll reach out if you need anything. Or just want to talk. About anything. I’m here for you.” She hung up.
She was suddenly aware of a pungent odor—dirty sneakers—that announced her son’s presence. When things settled down, she’d have a talk with him about personal cleanliness. On second thought, Jeff should handle that conversation. It was a father’s job to teach his son to shave, to use deodorant, to buy odor eaters for his smelly shoes. . . . Her son’s malodorous aura was just one more example of Jeff’s failings as a partner.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving for school?”
“I’m riding my skateboard. It only takes five minutes.”
“Have you got your lunch?” Kim hustled toward the fridge.
Aidan perched on a barstool. “What’s going on with Ronni?” He had been spared the drama of that night, thanks to his sleepover, but Kim had filled him in.
Kim peered into the fridge, keeping her tone light. “I think she’s fine, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of Lisa.”
“Is Lisa mad at you?”
“She has no reason to be.” Kim found the lunch containers she’d packed for her son the night before and extracted them.
“Wouldn’t you be mad if something bad happened to me when I slept over at Marcus’s house?”
“That’s different.” Kim deliberately placed the lunch containers in Aidan’s insulated lunch bag.
“Different how?”
Kim closed the lunch bag and faced her son across the breakfast bar. “You are a good kid with no history of risk-taking behavior. Ronni, on the other hand . . .” She trailed off.
“So you blame Ronni?”
“I never said that,” she snapped. Why was her thirteen-year-old son grilling her like some criminal? Twisting her words to make her seem like the villain? On the upside, maybe Aidan could have a future as a prosecutor?
Kim lowered her voice, spoke firmly but calmly. “We are not responsible for what happened to Ronni, Aidan. The police cleared us. Lisa may be upset, but when Ronni is better and back at school, she’ll come around.”
She observed her son taking this in, processing it. A flicker of concern contorted his features, but he seemed somewhat appeased. “I should get going.”
Kim handed him his lunch bag and kissed his cheek. “Have a good day.”
KIM PACKED UP her laptop in preparation for her meeting with Tony. Normally, she would have fussed with her appearance. She wanted to look good, but not like she was trying to look good. She wanted Tony to think she was low maintenance and naturally pretty. But today, she’d let her hair dry into its myriad of waves and cowlicks and dispensed with the carefully applied, muted makeup. Usually, she felt excited to see him, anticipating the illicit thrill of sitting across from him in a quiet coffee shop, their knees almost touching under the table, their hands fluttering self-consciously between their coffee mugs and keyboards. Typically, these sessions consisted of a modicum of work and a lot of harmless flirting. But today, her heart wasn’t in it. As she drove to their meeting place in Bernal Heights, her heart felt heavy and tired, too old and worn for playful banter or innuendo.
When she entered the faux-rustic café and saw him sitting there, sipping his cappuccino and staring at his computer screen, she felt a surprising rush of . . . well, fondness was the only word that seemed appropriate. It wasn’t strong enough to be love—she had only known the guy five minutes! And given recent events, she couldn’t muster any lust. But she knew then that this was more than just a flirtation. There was something real between them, a profound friendship, if nothing else. She could talk to Tony, she could open up and he would listen without judgment. She should have been able to talk to her husband that way, and maybe she could have, if Jeff ever stopped working or working out. Or stretching or showering after working out. Or making a protein smoothie after working out. He never seemed to stop moving.
Tony looked up and smiled, and something twisted in Kim’s chest. He stood and held his arms out for a perfunctory hug, their standard greeting, but as she walked into his brief embrace, she felt herself collapse against him. Emotion clogged her throat and her eyes were wet. She wanted to lean against his chest; it was narrower than Jeff’s, lean and hairy, she could tell from the opening of his shirt. She wanted to bury her face in that hairy chest and weep.
Tony held her at arm’s length. “Hey . . . What’s going on?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“I got you an Americano misto.”
Oh God, he remembered her favorite drink. Maybe she did love him. She let him maneuver her to a chair, where she sat and proceeded to spill the events of the past Saturday.
Tony could have said, “I told you so,” but he didn’t. Instead, he muttered, “Jesus . . . How is the girl?”
“I think Ronni’s doing okay, but I don’t actually know. Lisa’s so angry she won’t talk to me. She won’t even let Hannah visit Ronni.”
“Lisa wants someone to blame. It makes her feel better. But this wasn’t your fault.”
Kim nodded. “The police cleared us of any wrongdoing. But still . . . I should have checked on them. But I’d had some wine and half an Ambien. I just went to sleep.” Her voice was trembling. “I thought it would be okay. . . .”