moment. He rolled down his window, turned back, and let loose with one of the longest, and loudest, streams of obscenities I have ever heard in my life. The honking car screeched around to pass him. He made a series of gestures, screaming after it, and then turned back to me.
I leaned down a little so he could see my face. I wanted him to know how absolutely serious I was, how much I meant what I was saying.
“You’re not allowed to use that against her,” I said. “You’re not allowed to talk about it, about her and me, with your lawyer at all.”
“Okay. Okay.” He leaned over and opened the door. “Just get in. Please? It’s getting all wet in here.”
I stood where I was, considering my options. I was cold. And wet. I wished, wished, wished that I had my own car. But I didn’t. I opened the door and slid into the bucket seat. The heater in his car was working well. He angled all the vents toward me.
“You said it doesn’t have anything to do with me.” I spoke without looking at him, my purse cradled in my lap. “But you’re the one it doesn’t have anything to do with. It’s between us. It’s between her and me. You need to just stay out of it.”
“Gotcha. Okay.” He extended his hand. “This glove is leather. A dead horse. Beat it.”
I shook his hand limply, still looking away.
“This thing has heated seats, you know. They’re great. You’ll feel it in a minute, even through your coat.”
His voice was shaking a little. I said nothing.
“Please put on your seat belt.”
We stared at each other. I looked like her. Everyone said so. You couldn’t look at me and not see her eyes, her mouth, her strong chin. It must have been strange for him, to be so mad and done with her, and still have a daughter with so much of her face.
I put on my seat belt. He reached behind him and got a Styrofoam box out of the backseat. I could smell the steak inside. “I got the potato, too,” he said, handing the box to me. I started to shake my head, and he set it carefully in my lap.
“You’ll get your appetite back.” He sounded tired. He put the car in gear, glancing up in the rearview mirror. “It’ll all be okay, sweetie. I promise. Okay? Just wait and see.”
8
GRETCHEN GAVE ME A RIDE back to Jimmy’s. She felt bad that she wouldn’t be able to stay and help me clean—she had a study group, and then she would be on duty at the dorm the rest of the night. She offered to come over early Sunday morning, but I told her not to. The party had been my idea. I would clean the rest of the mess up myself.
But when I got inside, alone again, all I wanted was to take a bath. The garden tub off the master bedroom stretched out, wide and long, beneath a window with a view that, from the lower vantage of the tub, showed only sky, which was a deep gray, the winter afternoon already fading. But the bathroom itself seemed to have its own, tropical climate. Potted begonias and ferns hung from the ceiling. The rim of the tub was populated by stone statues of friendly looking forest animals, some of which cleverly hid the speakers for the waterproof stereo over the faucet, which I quickly learned to operate with my toes. I used a small amount of Haylie’s expensive shampoo. I kept the water hot, the jets on high, the music loud. I knew I needed to clean. I knew I needed to study. I knew I needed to call Tim back, to at least let him know I was okay. But I didn’t want to lie to him, and I didn’t want to tell the truth. Actions had consequences. I knew that. I only wanted to put them off for a while.
Just as I got out of the tub, steam still rising from my skin, my phone rang. Tim’s number flashed on the screen, and I picked up. I don’t why. Habit. Guilt. A desire to hear a kind voice.
“Hi.”
“Hey. You’re okay.” There was a pause. “Did you not get my message?”
I sat on the bed, still wearing a towel. The room was dim, but in the mirror, I could see a crescent of my face illuminated by the small, gray light of my phone.