other under the orange glow of a parking lot light, our expressions remarkably similar, eyebrows lowered, lips pursed. I told him I still wanted to be with him. I told him I was still having a hard time with my parents’ divorce. I maybe went on a little too long, until finally, he interrupted me and told me, in the nicest way possible, that what he wanted was for me to get out of the car.
And so I did. His reaction was what I’d expected, in my head at least. It was what I deserved.
But I thought things might go better with Marley. I didn’t want to take advantage of her loneliness, but I assumed it would work in my favor. Even after she started to close her door on me, I asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. She said she’d eaten. I have to admit, I was surprised. Up until she actually closed the door in my face, it seemed impossible that even Marley might decide that she didn’t need me around after all.
13
NATALIE WOKE IN DARKNESS, forgetting, for a moment, where she was. Her knit hat was still rolled down over her eyes, and even after she pulled it off, she couldn’t see. Out of habit, she moved to her left; in her apartment, she’d always slept far to the left on her queen bed, even after a year of sleeping alone. But now, trying to rise, she bumped her forehead on the cool, cement wall of her daughter’s dorm room. She lay back down. Bowzer, lying beside her, sighed from deep in his throat.
“You’re okay, boy.” She reached over to rub the fur behind his ears. Even the back of his head felt thin. But he rolled toward her, hind legs kicking. She smiled. He still got some pleasure out of being alive. When he didn’t, she would take him in. She would.
She got up, this time on the right side, and groped her way across the room to turn on the overhead light. She didn’t know where Veronica was. Her books and backpack sat on her desk. Her coat was on the hook. There was no note saying where she had gone or when she might be back. Of course, she didn’t need to leave a note for her mother. Veronica was an adult; she could come and go as she pleased.
Natalie cracked open the door, and peeked out in both directions. She hoped Veronica was down the hall, talking with Marley. Earlier, she’d wanted to remind her to do it, but she’d stopped herself. She could still get away with reminding her daughter to take care of her teeth and to sit up straight, but regarding the big things, it seemed to her, the die was already cast.
She closed the door and turned, looking around the room. She was pretty sure Veronica would go talk to Marley. Despite what the incredibly unpleasant Jimmy had said, she did not think her younger daughter was selfish or thoughtless, at least not characteristically so. She’d been careless lately. She’d shown some poor judgment. But she had always been sensitive to other people’s feelings. Elise was, too, under all that bluster, but between the two of them, Natalie thought of Veronica as having the softer heart. She was maybe four the day they were stopped at a railroad crossing, watching a coal train roll past, just the two of them in the old station wagon. For years, they’d spent their days together; Dan was at work, and Elise was in grade school. On the day she and Veronica were stopped for the train, Natalie had just read an article in a parenting magazine that advised her to seize educational moments, so she turned around to explain to Veronica what coal was, what it was used for, and where it came from. Veronica listened patiently in her booster seat, little legs dangling, brown eyes thoughtfully watching the train roll by, until Natalie got to the part about dinosaurs.
And then there were tears. Veronica raised her arms to her mother, like some pleading, painted saint in a Little Mermaid T-shirt. “Why did they all die? Even the moms? Even the kids? Did it hurt?”
Natalie almost laughed, but caught herself: the anguish on her daughter’s face was real. As the train thundered by, she did her best to convince Veronica that extinction, when it came to dinosaurs, wasn’t that sad. For one, she pointed out, dinosaurs weren’t that nice.