was messy work getting up the stairs with the poles, too. Fortunately, her mom’s door was the first one she came to. She knocked.
No answer.
Elle’s heart pounded as she got out the set of keys she had been given. Well, “set” was the wrong word. The keys she had to her father’s house were a set. There was his front door key, the key to her locker at school, the key to her bike lock. For her mom’s apartment, there was only the ring and one single, notched dangler.
Unlocking things, she cracked the door an inch. “Mom?”
When there was no answer, she threw open the door. “Mom!”
That was when she heard the shower running. And then a muffled answer through the bathroom’s closed door.
“Thank God,” Elle whispered. Louder, she said, “I’ll just wait, Mom.”
Leaving the skis outside, she hoped they wouldn’t get stolen as she closed herself in. And then she wasn’t worrying about her equipment for the trip home anymore. The interior of the apartment was so dark, she couldn’t see, and she stayed right where she was for that reason—and others. After an eternity, she realized she hadn’t kicked the snow off her shoes, but before she could step out and stamp on the welcome mat, the bathroom door opened and light spilled into the central room.
“I’ll be right there,” her mom said as she went into her bedroom.
The other door closed, but with the light still streaming out of the loo, Elle’s eyes were able to get to work. The sofa and two armchairs were from the old family house, and they had fit into the living room there. Here, with so much less space, they were crammed in too tight, no room for a coffee table between them, their cushions too big, their backs and arms too tall. At least all the walls were cream so the dark red didn’t exactly clash, but neither did it really fit. The color was way too vivid, the tan carpeting making it look like raspberries on oatmeal.
Everything was neat—which was a relief—nothing out on the tiny three-top table in the galley kitchen, no dishes around the sink, no cereal boxes on top of the fridge or debris on the countertop. As always, Elle told herself that that meant everything was okay. She’d seen Intervention and Hoarders.
Tidy meant it was okay.
Right?
“Not even close,” she mumbled to herself as she rubbed her nose.
The smell was stale and dusty, and that, coupled with all the closed blinds, made her feel like she was in a damp cave.
Figuring she better do something about tracking in snow, she took her cross-country’ing shoes off and set them on the rubber mat just inside the door. Then, in her three pairs of socks, she padded over to the kitchen table and sat down. As she waited, it was hard not to notice how barren the front of the refrigerator was: No school calendar. No pictures of her and Terrie. No coupons, or birthday cards, or notes.
Just like there were no framed glossies of her and Terrie in their school uniforms on the mantel over the electric fireplace. Nothing hung on the walls, even though their mom had left with a couple of landscapes that were actual oil paintings rather than posters. No plants; then again, the venetian blinds were all cranked down tight, just a glow around the gaps between them and the jambs showing.
So no way to grow anything in here.
As she took a deep breath, she smelled the same shampoo her mom had always used, and had to rub her stinging eyes.
“I didn’t expect you.”
Elle dropped her hands. “Hi.”
As her mom stood in the doorway to her bedroom, she seemed on the surface to be exactly the same person who had always been there in the mornings making breakfast, in the afternoons after school, in the evenings at the dinner table. She still had thick chestnut brown hair, and dark eyes, and a dimple on one side as she smiled. But she was like a house that had been deserted, the lights on with no one home.
There was nothing behind that stare.
When had she left them? Was it when she’d learned about Megan?
She must know, right?
Elle opened her mouth. But instead of giving airtime to her questions—or confessing that she had been told something private about her parents’ marriage—she said, “I called. You know, to tell you I might be coming over.”
“I’m sorry.” Her mom turned on the hall light and walked over to