Better to Trust Page 8

  In theory, Alison knew she was right. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life feeling sorry for herself. She needed to focus on the future rather than dwelling on the past, but knowing that and doing it were two different things.

  The breeze picked up and a paper nearly blew off the table. Becca caught it and anchored the math worksheet under a Citronella candle.

  “I can’t get away from Singapore math, even outside work,” Becca said.

  Alison covered her smile with her napkin, hoping Becca wouldn’t notice she was wiping drool at the same time.

  “We’re good together, Alison. We like the same things, we laugh at the same stupid jokes, we even read the same books. When’s the last time Michael read a book that didn’t have to do with the Red Sox or accounting theory?”

  She was right. Michael and Alison had never had much in common other than a comfort with each other, a shared desire to have children, and being Jewish. Ten years in, the attraction had faded, the children weren’t coming, and religion seemed irrelevant, since the whole point of marrying a Jewish man was so the kids would be raised Jewish. The light had faded from their marriage long ago, but now leaving seemed so complicated. She literally couldn’t walk out the door.

  “How are things with Michael?” she asked.

  Alison shrugged her shoulders.

  “You don’t have to feel guilty,” she said. “He’s not the right person for you and that’s okay. Divorce happens all the time.”

  Alison knew this was true, but Becca saying it didn’t sit right with her. Becca had never been married, so she had no idea how hard it was to make this decision. “Alright,” she said. It was the best she could do.

  “No, it’s not,” Becca said. “You deserve to be happy just like anyone else.”

  She reached out to hold Alison’s hand. Alison raised her eyes to the house and saw Rhea carrying the laundry basket across the living room. Her heart sped up, from Becca’s touch but also because Rhea and Nate were right on the other side of the sliding door.

  “I …” Alison was not sure what to say. Part of her wanted to agree that their promises still stood even though she was now an invalid, but the more rational part understood that everything had changed.

  Becca trailed her fingers along the back of Alison’s hand. “I know,” Becca said. “You don’t even need to say anything. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Alison wondered what Becca thought she was seeing in her eyes since she didn’t feel sure about anything. Becca leaned forward and brought her face within inches of Alison’s. Her breath smelled like the spearmint gum she used to pop into her mouth after quickies in the faculty bathroom during their half-hour lunch break. She put her hand on Alison’s cheek. Just as their lips touched, the sliding door opened.

  Nate bounded onto the deck and stopped short. Becca pulled back and slid her chair away from the table. The brief moment of peace that had settled over Alison at the touch of Becca’s lips instantly evaporated.

  “I just came to get my math homework,” he said. “Were you kissing?”

  Of all people to walk in at that moment, Nate would be her last choice. His diarrhea of the mouth could explode at any minute, blurting out their secret in gym class, or in the middle of play practice, or to Rhea at home.

  “I was just whispering something to Mrs. Jacobs,” Becca said. “Not a big deal.”

  “Is it a secret?” he asked. “I’m a really good secret keeper. Even ask my mom.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” Becca said.

  “So, what’s the secret?”

  “It’s between us,” Becca held her index finger over her lips.

  “It really looked like you were kissing,” Nate said. “What would Mr. Jacobs think about that?”

  “Mrs. Jacobs and I are very good friends,” Becca said. “Sometimes friends kiss when they haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

  “Like that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Becca nodded. “Now maybe you should go finish your math homework. You wouldn’t want to get an incomplete.”

  “Fine,” Nate walked over and grabbed his math worksheet from the table. “I’ll go work on my fractions.”

  “Well, that was a close call,” Becca said once Nate was back inside. “Let’s hope he keeps his mouth shut.”

  “I … hope,” Alison said.

  “Alison …” Becca’s voice trailed off, but Alison knew what she was about to say. “I want there to be a day when it doesn’t matter if Nate or anyone else walks in on us. I know we had only started talking about your marriage before everything happened and maybe it’s not appropriate to bring it up now. But I love you. And I miss you like crazy. My feelings haven’t changed. I’m here for you always, no matter what.”

  As Becca talked, Alison wondered what would have happened if Michael had walked in instead of Nate. In that case, maybe he would have been the one to call it quits on their failing marriage, letting her off the hook and giving her one less thing to worry about.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sadie

  February 23, 2019

  “WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME?” Sadie’s mom asked, turning the car in the direction of the train station.

  “I don’t know,” Sadie said. “Maybe eight or nine.”

  She pulled her flowery skirt down to cover her knees, part of an outfit her parents had given her for eighth-grade graduation, wrapped in tissue paper in a white box with a pink ribbon. She had opened the gift at her party with everyone watching, and smiled politely, knowing she would never wear the skirt in public. As soon as she got to the station, she would put on the short black one she had bought at the mall with her babysitting money. Her mom let her get away with a lot, but clothing was one battle she always fought. She wouldn’t let Sadie leave the house in short skirts or crop tops, and if she wore leggings, she always insisted her shirt cover her behind. Sadie found it strange that she was so strict about this one thing when she let so many others slide.

  “Text me when you’re on the train and I’ll come pick you up.”

  “That’s okay,” Sadie said. “Piper’s parents will drive me home.”

  When Sadie had asked her mom if she and Piper could go downtown today, she told her they would be walking the Freedom Trail as part of an assignment for American history class, and then meeting Piper’s parents for dinner at Faneuil Hall. Her mom had agreed immediately, without asking questions. Piper’s mom was single and Sadie wasn’t even taking American history, so her mom had failed, or passed, the test, depending how you looked at it.

  “You have a lot going on,” Sadie added.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, everything with Aunt Alison.”

  Sadie didn’t understand exactly what was wrong with her aunt—something about bleeding in her brain—but she knew everyone was on edge. Her father was usually the one who calmed people down and said that everyone was making a big deal out of nothing, and even he seemed anxious.

  “Who told you about that?”

  “I heard you and Dad arguing about it last night.” Sadie had been headed downstairs to get some ice cream, but she’d stopped when she heard the tone of her parents’ voices.

  “I can’t believe they just showed up in my office unannounced,” her father said. “It was a fucking ambush.”

  The only other time Sadie had heard that word was in social studies last year when Mr. Tryniski had used it to describe the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. How could that have anything to do with Aunt Alison and her father?

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” her mom had said. “It wasn’t an ambush. They’re just trying to find the best person to take care of her, and you’re the best in the country.”

  “There are lots of good surgeons,” her father said. “They should have gone with the guy in Ohio.”

  “This is the not the time to be humble, Grant. You know this is your area of expertise. I need you to do the right thing here.”

  “I don’t know what the right t
hing is, Cynthia,” Grant said. “The ethics are tricky. I looked up the AMA statement when I got home. It recommends against treating family members unless it’s an emergency.”

  “This is an emergency. You said yourself that she could bleed again at any time. My sister is in trouble and you’re the one who can help her. I know she can be a lot to deal with sometimes, but she’s still my sister, and I can’t lose her.”

  Sadie heard her mom’s voice crack, the way it always did when she was about to cry, and she felt her own eyes burn. She was upset because her mom was crying, and because her aunt was in trouble, but most of all because she was being shut out of the conversation. No one was telling her what was going on, like she was still a little kid.

  Sadie loved her only aunt so much, sometimes getting along better with her than she did with her mother. She felt like she could say anything to Aunt Alison, share what she was really thinking without fear of judgment. With her mother, she always felt on guard, like she needed to filter everything first. Every six months or so, Alison would pick Sadie up and take her shopping at the fancy mall in Chestnut Hill, often buying Sadie a cute top or a bracelet or a bottle of the fancy shower gel her mother said was too expensive. Afterwards, while they shared a tortilla salad for lunch, Aunt Alison always made Sadie promise not to show her mother the gifts. It was their secret.

  Her mom stopped the car in front of the station and turned to look at Sadie. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said. “That argument was between me and your father.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t want you to worry. The adults will figure it out.”

  “I’m not a baby anymore,” Sadie said. When she was younger, she used to think her parents treated her too much like an adult—talking about politics at the dinner table, using anatomically correct names for body parts, bringing her along to cocktail parties—but now that she was a teenager, they were doing the opposite.

  “You have enough stress in your life with all your schoolwork and skating.” Sadie hadn’t mentioned to her mom that she would be missing her required Saturday practice at the rink today. She would make up a story, tell Coach Volkov she’d been in the bathroom with diarrhea all day, using graphic detail to avoid questions.

  “I’m almost an adult,” Sadie said. “You can start treating me like one.”

  “Almost, but not quite,” her mom said. “I’ll make sure to share what you need to know. Now go learn about Paul Revere.”

  Her mom opened her purse and took several twenties out of her wallet. “Just in case,” she said.

  Sadie took the money, opened the car door and slammed it behind her. When she didn’t see Piper on the platform, she found a seat on a bench. At times like this, she wished she had a sibling so someone else understood what she was up against. Opening her backpack, she pulled out her black skirt and sat down on a bench to put it on under her longer skirt. Once she had it over her hips, she slipped off the flowery skirt and stuffed it into the bag.

  When she looked up, Piper was walking in her direction, her hair now bright pink instead of the usual black.

  Sadie stood up. “When did you do that?” Sadie asked, pointing to Piper’s hair.

  “Last night,” Piper said. “I needed a change. The black was getting depressing.”

  Disappointment flooded through Sadie. She had been looking forward to walking around Boston like twins with their raven black hair and thick eye liner, and now everyone would be looking at Piper’s hair while Sadie faded into the crowd.

  “It looks cool,” Sadie said.

  “Cool? We have to work on your vocabulary.”

  The condescending tone was one of the things Sadie didn’t like about Piper, but she accepted it because otherwise they got along well. Hanging out with her was so much more exciting than spending time with the skater girls, which usually involved watching a movie or stupid TV and talking about, but not eating, food. Sadie used to be best friends with Emma, one of the most talented skaters at the rink, but now that Emma was being groomed to try out for the Olympic team, she didn’t have much time to hang out.

  “What should I say?”

  “Lit, sic, snatched,” Piper said. “Cool is out. You probably got that from your parents.”

  Sadie knew that was true. Her parents used that word all the time. Until recently, she had spent so much time with them, as all only children do, that she couldn’t help talking like her mother.

  “Got it,” Sadie said. “Your hair looks sic.”

  Piper ran her hand over her hair. “Thanks.”

  The train pulled into the station, making a screeching noise as it came to a stop.

  Piper got on first and chose two seats along the window facing into the compartment. As the train pulled out of the station, Sadie watched the familiar stone station building disappear into the distance, remembering how she and her mom used to take this train to go to the Boston Ballet every January. This year, Sadie had talked her way out of it, telling her mom they’d already seen all the ballets and it was getting boring. The truth was she didn’t really enjoy sitting next to her mom for hours at a time. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her mom wanted to be somewhere else, that they were only going so her mom could post a picture of them together on Facebook with the caption “mommy daughter day,” not because she actually wanted to spend time together.

  “So where are we going?” Sadie asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Piper pulled a metal water bottle out of her bag and offered it to Sadie. “Have a few sips. I’ve already gotten started.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” Sadie said.

  “Yes, you are.” Piper took off the top and handed the bottle to Sadie.

  Sadie took a sip and coughed. “What is this?”

  “Vanilla vodka,” Piper said. “My mom never uses the liquor cabinet. Good, right?”

  “Yeah,” It actually tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with vanilla extract, but Sadie pretended to like it. “So, where are we headed?”

  “I have plans, but first I’m messing with this guy.” Piper nodded toward an older guy sitting across the train. He had to be at least thirty, and he was wearing a V-neck T-shirt that showed his thick chest hair. He looked over at them and winked.

  Sadie felt her cheeks flush.

  “He’s hot,” Piper said.

  “Gross,” Sadie whispered. “What’s with the chest hair? Put that away.”

  “I don’t mind a little sleaze.” Piper blew a kiss back at him. “It’s hard to find in Newton.”

  Sadie elbowed Piper. “Are you crazy? He could be a psychopath.”

  Sadie took her phone out of her purse and opened up her Instagram. As she scrolled down, she saw a picture Piper had posted of the train guy pursing his lips. The caption said “Train Hottie.” How had Piper taken a picture and posted it without Sadie noticing?

  “Really?” Sadie held up her phone. “This is too much.” Despite her mother’s voice playing in her head, Sadie kind of enjoyed the slight danger of this flirtation, the way her heart raced as the guy’s eyes met hers.

  “Don’t worry, we’re getting off at the next stop.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” The train stopped at the Kenmore station. Piper grabbed Sadie by the hand and pulled her out the door, dipping her top off her shoulder as a farewell to the train guy.

  “That was crazy,” Sadie said as they climbed the steps to the street.

  “If that’s crazy, you’ve got to start living a little.”

  “Point taken.”

  “What rock have you been hiding under?”

  “I’ve been at the rink. The skater girls are rule followers. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun.”

  “Oh yeah?” Piper said. “You can prove that to me today.”

  Commonwealth Avenue was full of college students, families with kids in strollers, and couples holding hands, all enjoying the unseasonably warm winter day.
Piper walked with purpose, her easy confidence making Sadie excited for their day. She didn’t know what Piper had planned, but she knew for certain it wasn’t the Freedom Trail. Every time Piper handed her the water bottle, Sadie felt obliged to take a small sip. The longer they walked, the dizzier she felt, her thoughts swimming around in her head like goldfish in a bowl. It was disorienting, but somehow exhilarating at the same time.

  “Where are we going?” Sadie asked.

  Piper opened a glass door and Sadie followed her through into a shopping area. It seemed like a normal mall, the sides of the hall lined with some of the same stores they had in Chestnut Hill.

  “Shopping?” Sadie couldn’t imagine they’d come all the way downtown to try on clothes and buy makeup.

  “Better than shopping,” Piper said, stopping at a kiosk that said Skywalk on the front.

  When Piper asked for two tickets, her voice sounded so smooth and sure, unlike when Sadie spoke to adults, stumbling her way through what she was trying to say. The ticket woman pointed them towards an elevator and they piled in with a large family and a group of Asian tourists with selfie sticks. Sadie hoped none of them would smell the vodka on her breath.

  “Is this an observation deck?” Sadie asked. “I’ve never been up here.”

  “Never? Haven’t you lived here your whole life?”

  “Not here. Newton.”

  “It’s the same thing. You suburban girls think you’re so much better than everyone,” she said with a bite. And Piper lived in Newton, too. Why was she pretending they weren’t from the same place?

  The elevator dinged and the attendant herded everyone into a window-lined room, binocular viewers spaced evenly along the edges of the room. Piper quickly claimed one of the viewers, inserting two quarters into the slot.