“Well, it is,” I persisted. “Not that it’s your fault. You spend every day with the scum of the earth, with crime and criminals. Your work’s affected your thinking.”
She shrugged. “On the other hand, maybe my work shows me how normal this is. I see stuff like this all the time. And worse.”
“Really? Well, if it’s so normal, how would you feel if it was your child?” My voice was rising. “What if Emily brought home some detached body part?”
She looked up at me and blinked condescendingly. “I’m not saying it’s normal. But it happens. It wouldn’t faze me.”
“It wouldn’t faze you? If Emily walked in holding somebody’s finger?”
“I don’t think it—”
“—or nose—”
“—would. No.”
“—or an ear? Or penis? How about a nipple? Would a nipple faze you?”
“Okay, I’d be upset. But I wouldn’t be fazed.”
I sipped some tea. “You’ve been in your job too long.”
“Maybe so.” She put down her rolling pin, set her jaw, and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of flour. We faced each other in charged silence, each wanting validation from the other, each unable or unwilling at the moment to validate.
My eyes burned, head ached. I stared at her folded hands, the emerald rings crusted with dough, the floured manicure.
“Look, Zoe.” She pushed flour-streaked hair behind her ear.
“You know I love you. But for all your brilliance and creativity, you can be really clueless.” “Meaning?”
“Meaning that you completely deny the parts of reality that you don’t like. For years—since your divorce, you’ve lived in your little bubble where everything is just as you want it to be. Gentle and fluffy and nurturing. And now, when reality shatters your illusion, you get upset. The truth is that people do cruel and horrible things. There are six homicides in Philadelphia every single week. Not to mention the rapes, robberies, and assaults. But that’s not new. What’s new is that you’ve noticed it. You’ve finally looked beyond your bubble and seen what’s been there all along. Welcome to the world.” She pressed dough into the tin, punctuating her words.
I closed my eyes. What could I say? I had no defense. There was a lot of truth in what she’d said. I did try to protect myself and my daughter from the ugly parts of life. Was that so wrong? Once again, I saw Detective Stiles pick up the finger and drop it into the Baggie. Thwap. I opened my eyes. Susan dumped the bowl of apples into the tin and slapped the rest of the dough on top.
“Sorry,” she barked. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but that’s how I see it.”
I watched her cut off the extra crust and squeeze the excess into her fist. She moved abruptly, without tenderness. Susan was ferocious. Not her usual self.
“So,” I asked, “what’s wrong?”
“Who said anything was wrong?” she snapped. Then she relaxed, lowering her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Zoe. Everything’s wrong. Tim’s traveling again, so I’m the only parent again this month. Bonita’s got final exams, so she’s not sitting regular hours. I’m up to my ears in lunches and laundry and homework and car pools and baths. And a huge caseload—three felony cases. That means three people will go to jail if I mess up.” She threw the pie into the oven and slammed the door. I felt a familiar rush of fondness for her.
She sighed, leaning against the stove. “You know, except for Tim, you’re the only one who ever does that.”
Uh-oh. What had I done? “Does what?”
“Pins me down. Makes me say what’s bothering me. Always knows when something’s bothering me.”
“Well, you’re not exactly subtle about it.”
“What? I’ve been completely calm and composed.” She yanked a dish towel off the rack.
“Right, Completely. A moment ago, if I’d said another word— another syllable—I’d have been wearing that pie.”
She grinned. “No, I never waste my pies. Maybe a bowl of flour, but not a pie.” She sighed and sat on a stool. “But you’re right. I’m on overload. I’m nuts. Completely bananas.” Her eyes wandered to the wall clock. “Speaking of nuts and bananas, it’s time for dinner. Staying?”
“As long as it’s not finger food,” I smiled. “Or hand and cheese.”
Susan winced. “No. Today’s special is knuckle sandwiches.” She handed me a cutting board. “Here, give me a hand.”
“Hey, I’m the guest. Guests don’t have to lift a finger.”