“It’s our secret.” He doesn’t want to have a secret with Ruth, but now he does.
A big secret. More than one. This secret and a bigger one. A serious one. Actually, several big secrets.
Ruth upends the last of her drink and sets it on the tray table. She leans her head on Rocco’s chest and presses her chin into his clavicle so hard it hurts.
“You know what would be crazy?” she says.
“What?”
“If we got married.”
“That would be crazy,” Rocco says. “Clinically insane. Certifiably insane. One more round?”
He should stop now. He had a tiny bit of trouble pronouncing certifiably.
“Totally,” says Ruth. “When does the crew cut us off?”
“Not yet,” Rocco says. “And we’ve got some time in the Mexico City airport. I’ll bet we can find a great bar.”
“Here’s to us,” says Ruth.
21
Charlotte
Charlotte didn’t mean to steal Ruth’s passport. She’s never stolen anything. She never even shoplifted as a kid, when everybody does. She has never done anything like that in her life. She is not a person who does things like this. She doesn’t believe she did it.
She probably wouldn’t have done it if Ruth, who can’t tolerate one split second of silence, hadn’t turned to her in the van and said, “I’m sort of glad we’re going home, aren’t you? Don’t you think we’ll all have to have some, like, totally honest conversations?”
Charlotte nodded. What did Ruth mean by like, totally honest conversations?
Something about it felt threatening. They both knew what she meant. She meant a totally honest conversation about Daisy.
It was as if Charlotte were someone else. Having an out-of-body experience.
When she saw the passport sticking out of Ruth’s purse, and when Ruth was staring out the window, oblivious, Charlotte realized that Ruth losing her passport would solve a lot of problems. Or at least it would give Charlotte extra time to think about how to solve one.
Ruth knows something that Charlotte doesn’t want her to know. Something Charlotte herself can’t bear to think about or call by name. Or admit.
Ruth figured it out. Charlotte doesn’t know how. And if Ruth tells someone, anyone—Rocco, Eli, anyone—the damage will be major.
Besides, what sane person carries her passport sticking out of her purse?
Charlotte’s not a thief. She’s furious at herself for doing this. Humiliated.
But she’s feeling a little desperate. More than a little desperate.
She needs to be home. She needs to be able to think. She needs to figure out what she’ll say if . . .
She takes the passport from Ruth’s purse and slips it into her own purse.
There. It’s done. No going back now.
She could always say she found it on the floor and give it back to Ruth. But she doesn’t.
She’s guilty and horrified at herself, but when she and Eli and Daisy get on the plane without Rocco and Ruth, relief instantly overpowers her guilt and shame.
CHARLOTTE HATES THINKING of Rocco stranded with Ruth in Mexico. She feels awful for leaving him, for being glad that Rocco and Ruth aren’t traveling with them. But she’s grateful for the few hours she’ll have to decompress before they get home. And doubly grateful for the chance to sort things out.
As soon as they find their seats on the plane, she feels free. Safe. As if she’s escaped with her life. But her life was never in danger, so what has she escaped? Mom? Oaxaca? She loves Oaxaca, and despite everything, she loves her mother. She admires her. She respects the life Mom’s made for herself, though it’s easier to admire her from a distance.
The airplane light seems golden as they prepare their little nest in the bulkhead seats they’ve been assigned as a reward for traveling with a child.
It’s a short flight from Mexico City, but even so, they take out Daisy’s books and stuffed giraffe, and slip off their shoes. Daisy claims both armrests, which she can do only because she’s sitting between people who love her.
The drinks cart has no tequila. They might as well have crossed the border. That’s probably just as well. They were drinking too much in Mexico; they’ll cut back when they get home. It’s noon; they should probably hold off.
But right now they’re celebrating, and they order vodka tonics.
At their mother’s, Charlotte had been impressed—no, amazed—by how Rocco stayed sober with everyone gulping down delicious margaritas.
Thinking about her brother will only undo the good effects of the vodka.
Rocco will be fine. If he can transport a truckload of perfect organic tomatoes from upstate to Union Square, he can get Ruth