to make their dream come true.”
“I know.”
“And the Chosen Child is a family,” Judith says. “It’s your family.”
Chloe thinks of the things she could tell Judith about her “family,” about Beverly on Instant Messenger all day with some biker guy in Reading, PA. About Casey from the China program, who tokes up before work, who goes home on her lunch hour every day to smoke a bowl, who is so addicted to the drug you’re not supposed to be able to get addicted to that every four months, when she travels to Guangzho to escort families and their new baby girls, she pads her bra with pot to get her through the two weeks overseas. “It really helps with the jet lag and the nausea, you know, because of all the strange smells over there,” she has told Chloe.
As if reading her mind, Judith says, “We may be dysfunctional, but we’re a family. You can’t quit family.”
“I know.”
“Okay, then.” Now Judith does put her fists down and punches herself to a standing position. “And Ken and I were just talking; we’re going to have Beverly move you up to twelve dollars an hour at the next quarter.”
Just then, there is a ping: You’ve got mail!
Judith raises one eyebrow, stares at Chloe long enough to make her squirm, and leaves.
WHEN SHE IS GONE, Chloe can’t turn the monitor on fast enough, click the red mailbox, and it is from Dan! She opens it, and already, before she even reads a word, her stomach sours, understanding from the shape, the horizontal sliver of space it takes up on the wide white screen, that it will be brief, completely unsatisfying.
Hey, babe. Just chilling here at the café while doing some wash. Sweet sesh this morning, light wind, not too intense. Missing you like always. Paolo’s honking, gotta jet, love you.
33
Everyone Knows It’s Wendy
EVA
Maggie can only stay the weekend. Driving him to the airport Monday morning, Eva feels a panic, her heart beating too fast. Or is it the caffeine, the huge coffees they got at Strohecker’s on the way out?
“I don’t want you to go,” she says.
“Me neither. Duty calls. But you’re doing okay, right?”
Eva takes a shaky breath. Is she doing okay? While she is formulating her answer, thinking about how much she can say to him about the dark, slippery slope into the abyss in twenty minutes of postcommuter interstate, Wyeth begins to fuss in the back. She reaches behind her into the bucket of Wyeth’s rear-facing car seat, finds his pacifier where it has fallen down in the crook by his thigh, and pops it into his open mouth, holding it there while she drives with one hand. In the silence that follows, Eva’s eyes pull closed too, just a moment, but Magnus shouts and jerks the wheel straight in her hand.
“Are you falling asleep?” His laugh is not a funny one—a barking exhalation of adrenaline, terror.
“No, sorry, just tired.”
There is a long beat of silence; she can feel him watching her.
“You’re amazing, you know. Seeing you as a mom is surreal, especially given the model we had…,” her brother says.
“Imagine if I still had the stick shift,” Eva says, trying to lighten the mood. “I suppose I could steer with my knees—”
“Really. You’re like the glue, holding these guys together. I’m being, well, me, whining to you about Genai wanting to settle down, boring you with my woman problems, and Paul’s all trying to be Mr. Busy-Businessman, and of course the baby’s NeedyMcNeedy. Even Henry, the pissing cat, needs you. You’re like Wendy to all the Lost Boys. I ordered you a jacket off eBay.” (It will arrive four days later; a vintage hot pink sateen cheerleader jacket with the name Wendy embroidered over the left breast, and Eva will burn it in their fireplace, because she’s not worthy.)
“How do you think Paul is doing?” Eva asks, to change the subject. She is still shaken—had she really almost fallen asleep there? What is wrong with her?
“Enh.” Maggie shrugs.
“Exactly. I mean, I know we’re so lucky, Paul and I. We’ve got each other, our house, and finally our baby, but sometimes, Mag, I just feel like someone has popped my top and scooped me out with a melon baller. Hollow.”
“I know,” Magnus says, and he looks out the window at the river.
They drive in silence, the sound of Wyeth furiously slurping on the pacifier she holds for him filling the car.
“Good god, your poor jibbles.”
“Yeah,” Eva says on a sigh.
“Poor