her smile faded. “So now what do we do with all this?”
Plastic bags of unsorted donations were everywhere. One chair was piled with tiny bottles of Vaseline. It looked a little like the Brands’ dining room, although that was also because the Brands’ dining room looked more respectable these days, thanks to Kate’s new wave of energy.
“I don’t know,” Kate admitted. She put her hands in her pockets and took a deep breath. “Listen. Aunt Louise … I was wondering, have you told my mom?”
“Told her what?” Louise was still distracted by the mess around them.
“About me and Theo.”
Louise’s eyes flicked to her, then slid away. “No.”
“Because I’ve been getting weird texts from her. Or at least a lot of texts. Checking in.”
She had woken up to three messages from her mother:
Hi, how are you feeling today?
Did you get that refill you were worried about??
Are you maintaining a PROFESSIONAL DISTANCE from your work??
“Well, that’s not because of me,” Louise said. “Maybe there’s some other reason she’s worried. She’s probably looking for warning signs.”
“Warning signs of what?”
“You know.”
“Why?” Kate asked, her voice coming out a little accusatory. “Do you see warning signs?”
Louise threw up her hands. “I don’t know, Kate. We don’t know each other that well, do we?”
The comment nicked an artery. It was one thing for Kate to sense a gulf between her and her aunt, for her to realize how little time they had spent together before this summer, and another thing for Louise to acknowledge it. Kate felt both guilty and wounded, like all the effort she had put in so far that summer—all the errands run together, all the episodes of Madam Secretary, all the times she had helped Frank untangle his dumb radio wires or studiously ignored Louise’s thoughtless comments—had gone unrecognized. Had disappeared under the weight of the little things she had done wrong: the times she had delayed coming home after work by going to Pawpaw’s, or when she told Louise to lay off Theo, or when she forgot to call. Kate wondered how the calculations worked, sacrifice versus selfishness. If only there were a spreadsheet she could consult to tell her who was right or wrong.
“I’ll help you figure out what to do with these when I get back,” Kate said, gesturing at the donations.
“Fine.” Her aunt waved her away. “Have a good day at work.” A touch of bitterness in the final word, as if Louise had noticed halfway through the sentence that it was past its expiration date.
MIRANDA
SERIES 2, Personal papers
BOX 9, Diary (1982–1993)
* * *
FEBRUARY 24 1991
The other night on TV there was a news special about battered women. Battered: a ship in a storm, taking on water. High winds tattering the sails.
Disappointed in myself because I don’t remember much about the women they interviewed. I mainly remember the interviewer. He pulled each woman’s story out of her with such dexterity. A question, a question, a question, and then the story slipped out all at once, like a blood clot after a nosebleed. He was talented, that man. He cried on command at each story. As if removing their clot made his own eyes water. But personally I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets home and unbuckles his brown leather belt and lays into his wife. I suspect most marriages involve a little hitting.
I’ve been trying to call Lynn. Candace always picks up and she always has an excuse prepared. Lynn’s at work, Lynn’s out for a run, Lynn will call me back.
Candace, I’ve known Lynn longer than you have. I knew her when we were young, which is the truest way you can know someone, before life has had a chance to chip away at you, refine those rough shapes into features. I knew Lynn when we were only clay. So I know Lynn won’t be calling me back anytime soon.
Of course what I said to Lynn at Thanksgiving was cruel. I don’t dispute that. People like me, cruelty rises within us, blood tide, pushing at our skulls. The only way to relieve the pressure is to drill a hole. Lynn doesn’t understand this, but Jake must. He must feel it when he hits me. How can I fault him for that, really, when I know I’m the same way?
No one is a good victim. Not really. If they dove into any person, if they slipped between the walls of you and took you out, pinched you between their fingers, they would see you are not worthy of