I can see she's a natural.
She looks
happy.
Unafraid.
Like she did yesterday
when we were in the car
together.
There's a difference in her face.
A calm.
A thought floors me.
What it would be like to be afraid
every
minute?
Not only at night?
I
get a text from Dad, asking me to work for him that afternoon. He even comes to school to pick me up after classes are over.
“I need you to do some last-minute filing before people arrive tonight,” he messages. “We'll be taking them through the office to see everything. You can make a couple extra bucks. What do you say?”
“Sure.” I'm nervous, but if I'm in the back, things will be fine.
“Let Annie know I've taken you so she doesn't sit around and wait.”
“I'll tell her,” I say.
When we drive to the office, Dad talks about the people coming in from out of state. And how this deal is going to grow the business. And thank you, Sarah, thank you for helping me.
“Listen,” he says. “When this is done, we're doing something as a family. Just the four of us. A vacation. No phones. Just our family.”
Tears form in Dad's eyes.
“I owe you an apology too, Sarah.”
Then he pulls me close in a hug.
I don't speak. Just feel the warmth of his arms.
“Will you be okay?” he asks, releasing me.
“Sure,” I say.
“I'll come back to pick you up later,” he says.
I nod and take the box of paperwork from his car and into the building.
Paul is behind glass walls with a young couple who have a baby in a car seat. Has he sold them a house already? They all look pretty thrilled.
I can smell coffee and someone, somewhere, has made popcorn.
I'm working away not thinking of anything really, except the violin piece that I can't get out of my head. My fingering, bow strokes, timing all play over and over in my brain. I have to admit, it sounds pretty good. Both in real life and in my mind.
I've been working at least an hour when Emma Jean stops in the room.
“Hey, Sarah,” she says. “Have you seen your father?” She languishes against the doorjamb, her long blonde hair (extensions, I'm sure) falling forward and says, “I've been searching for him all day.”
Just like that, with the way she asks, I wonder if more is going on with Emma Jean and Dad than selling houses. I think of the times I've seen them together here in the office: Her smiling when he comes in the room. Her hand on his arm when they're together. All the times he's left the house late at night. All the phone calls. All the messages.
Were they to Emma Jean?
A family vacation.
Family time.
My fingers tremble, and the paper in my hands shakes.
Is she having an affair with my father? I think of that card. His apology last night. The promises now. Could this be?
Does Mom know?
Would Dad do that?
And what about Annie?
Does Annie know something I don't?
“Sarah?”
“I don't know,” I say. “I mean. The airport.” I can't look at her without thinking . . . without thinking icky things.
“That's right. The possible merger.”
How could she forget that? It's all Dad's been talking about. I bet the rest of the office has been talking as well. It means big things for everyone. Expansion. More money.
“Gotta go,” I say. I push past Emma Jean.
There's really no place to go with my handful of papers, so I hurry to the bathroom. My father with this woman? It bothers me so much that I hurry into a stall and do all I can to calm my stomach. Then I pull on my coat and leave the building. I realize those papers are still on the counter in the restroom. Not good. Though I was nearly done filing.
I'm going to get fired, but I don't care.
I gotta go.
I walk down Main, climbing over snowbanks as the wind tears at me, wishing the sidewalks were clearer. Wishing I didn't know what I think I know. Wondering how Mom will feel. Something has grabbed my guts, and maybe our lives will never be the same again, hugs and promises and whatever. And just when I thought they were getting better.
The traffic is horrible. A car beeps as it zooms past. Already my cheeks are numb and my ears burn. I should have called Annie. Asked her to give me a ride home.
Everything, everything whirring through my mind points to an affair.
I try to calm the vomit feel in my stomach.
Is this why Annie hates working there?
I breathe deep the air that might freeze my lungs, the air that smells of exhaust.
A red BMW pulls up next to a snowbank and I walk like I can't see it. The window rolls down and there's David. He's smiling. Wasn't he in the office?
“Hey, Sarah,” David says. “What are you doing out here? The weather's awful.”
That's a good question. I have no idea why I've left. I just know I have to get home. I'm sick with worry. Or just plain sick.
“Are you headed to your place?”
I nod.
“And there's no one here to take you?”
I shrug.
A semi passes, splashing slush in my direction. There's a baby seat in the back of David's car.
“I can take you home if you want. I have to go pick up my kids from the sitter anyway â Lisa has to work late. Do you want me to take you?”
I don't answer. A moment later I hear the door unlock. I climb into the car. He turns the heat on high and we drive off.
When I get home from school
the house is quiet.
The perfect kind of
quiet.
Mom is gone
(finalizing things? Picking up
last-minute items?) and Sarah
must still be at work.
I go into the kitchen and
do what I do best.
Make myself
salmon,
couscous,
I even steam carrots and Brussels sprouts.
I pile the food onto my plate, go into the living room,
light the fireplace,
and sit alone
to eat.
“Where's Sarah?”
Mom wants to know.
I'm at the piano.
Going through what we'll play.
Thinking about the change
in Dad.
Letting the music carry me.
Playing.
I've missed the piano. It's
taking me awhile to
get used to the keys again.
They are cool, foreign,
under my fingers.
Can't believe it's been almost a year
since I played
not including this last-minute practice.
But it's like being on a bike.
I remember
and love
the feel of this.
“Huh?”
“Your sister?
She's not at the office.
Not with Dad at the airport.”
My heart flutters.
Sarah's missing?
She wasn't home for dinner.
I close the piano then
call her phone, but she doesn't answer.
There's a just-like-that
headache behind my eyes.
I check her room
panic trying to control me
and see her in bed.
W
hat are you doing in here?” Annie asks. From the tone of her voice I can't tell if she's mad or worried. “Why are you in bed?” She sits on the edge of my mattress.
I roll over. “It's Emma Jean and Dad, isn't it?”
“What?” Annie sounds confused.
“They're sleeping together, aren't they?”
It's not a question, because by now I'm sure. I pull the covers over my head. Feel four years old.
“Does Mom know?”
In the darkness I peer out at Annie. For a moment, she looks like a ghost.
“Is that why you hate men?” I'm still under the covers. I can smell dinner. Can hear my father talking to Mom. When did he get home? “You found out about them, didn't you?”
Annie throws back her head and laughs. Flicks on the light. Doubles over. Keeps laughing. Then when she's wiping tears from her eyes, she kisses my forehead. “You are so cute. Dad would never do that. Let's go practice.”
Relief floods me, then a spark of anger.
“What do you mean? I thought . . .”
Annie grabs my hand in hers. “Dad is absolutely devoted to Mom,” she says. “He's just been too busy with work. Remember
our apology last night? I heard him talking to Mom, later. Telling her, essentially, what he told us. And Emma Jean? She can have her choice of men, and does. Nope. It's not that.”
“But,” I say. My face burns. I feel stupid to have made such a mistake. But thankful. Really thankful.
“Look, Dad can be a real jerk, but he's an honest jerk, unlike a lot of people at his company.”
When we're done running through our piece, Annie closes the piano and says, “What in the world made you think Dad was having an affair?”
There's laughter in her voice and I tap her with the violin bow.
My face goes cold then hot. “You hate the office. Hate the parties.”
Annie's still on the piano bench. She fiddles with the Mozart book, running the pages through her fingers. Dad is gone now, off for drinks. Mom went with him.
“Gone to relax,” he told us, “before the party tomorrow.”
“Look, he's been selfish. But right now I think he's just worried about growing the business.” Annie straightens the music then flips off the light.
“I'm trying to figure things out,” I say. I loosen the bow and put my violin in its case. It's dark now. And I'm hungry. Starving. That ride home with David wore me out. My supposed discovery did too.
“Emma Jean has a boyfriend who's two decades younger than she is. She's not interested in Dad.”
“Are you sure?” I look my sister right in the eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then why do you hate Mr. Freeman? And Dad's office.”
Annie looks at me. Her mouth becomes a slash in her face. She takes a breath and says, “Wanna go running?”
S
arah.”
In my dream, Annie's voice, soft like the moon's light, comes into my mind.
“They found him,” I said.
“Sarah.”
“He wore a dress and used superglue to put on the beads.” Mozart plays in the background, sounding a lot like when Annie sings.
“Sarah. Wake up!”
“Annie?” I sit up. “You scared me. What time is it?”
“Scoot over,” she says.
I peer at the clock on my bedside table. It's 1:44. “Why so early?” I move, heavy with being tired, to let Annie crawl in bed with me.
“I'm ready to talk.”
“Ready to talk about what?” And then I know.
This isn't Tommy stuff. It's something else.
She gets under the covers. She's cold. Like she's been outside cold.
“I can't sleep thinking about tonight. When everyone comes over, I mean.”
“Why? Are you nervous?” I tuck the pillow behind my back.
She shakes her head. She smells like an old penny. She has been outside. Her feet are freezing.
“I had a bad dream,” she says into my hair. She leans against the headboard too. Rests on my shoulder. She's shivering. “It was about him.”
“Tommy Jones?”
“The man.”
“Mr. Freeman?” My heart has stopped working. I should pound my chest. Make my heart beat again.
“No. He was just the first person I saw . . . after. I guess . . .” Annie's quiet. Then, “I wanted to be mad at someone. He was my best option. My first option. After.”
“After what?” My mouth is dry. “Tell me.”
She's quiet. I'm so awake I can hear the house moving in the cold. “What do you mean, the man?” I say. “A man? Not our neighbor?”
She shakes her head. Nods. Says, “Yes. No. Another man. This is . . . it's like . . . it's my fault. Like I had something to do with it. Because I did, you know? Because of the way I looked. Because . . .” She takes a breath, chews the air. “Because I said I liked him. Loved him.”
“Okay.” I wait, finish breathing. My heart slams in my head now, giving me an instant headache.
“I want you to know this. It's not Dad's fault.”
“Dad?”
“He was always encouraging.”
“Annie!”
“Listen, Sarah. This is hard to talk about.”
I close my mouth. Keep it tight.
“At work. Daddy had me stay extra hours sometimes. And
sometimes.” Annie stops talking. Takes my hand. “And David Carter was there.”
“Okay.”
“I had a crush on him and he said his wife didn't love him and he kissed me and I let him. More than once. And then, then in the office after everyone was gone, he wouldn't stop. And I was okay with it.”
Annie's voice has gone low. Soft. Pained.
Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe this isn't real. He took me home yesterday. He has that car seat. A wife. Children.
“I thought I loved him. Tommy had already tried stuff at school. There were the notes. And I was sure, sure David cared. He said he did. I think he still does. He still says he'll leave his wife.” Annie sucks in air. “And he was a real man. You know? Not a kid.”
A part of me wants to tell Annie to shut up. To not tell me this.
“He kissed me and touched me and said Lisa didn't love him and he knew that I did and I could show him and he would be gentle.”
I'm numb. There's a bad taste in my mouth. Strong. Wicked.
“Do you believe me?”
I can hardly say the word. “Yes.”
“When I saw how far it was going to go, I told him no. But he touched me anyway. He pushed up on me and breathed down my neck. We were in Dad's office on that sofa. The leather one. Then David's hands went everywhere. Everywhere, Sarah. And then . . .”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“He said he loved me. Said he wanted to be with me. And we did it. Had sex and I told him no, but he said it would be okay.”