by Rea Frey
“Right on time.”
Hadn’t she said the same thing to Noah that very morning? “Can I…?” The memories surface and repeat, a barrage of images she can’t undo or erase until she talks about that day.
Grace chews something and swallows. “Of course. I’m here.”
“Where should I begin?” Lee asks in a whisper, but she knows exactly where she will start. Tears disturb her cheeks, but she lets them fall.
“Wherever you want,” Grace says. “I’m listening.”
Lee launches into it, offering the shortened version she’s gone over in her mind a thousand times. The grocery store that was only a few blocks away. Her mother, who promised to be back in less than ten minutes. The unexpected robbery that happened on the way out.
The fluorescent lights had highlighted her mother lying near the exit behind a roll of wavy caution tape—her head knifed apart like a coconut, all the innards of her magnificent brain scattered across the floor as if her body were a bag of trash mauled by a starving dog. There were three shot civilians, her mother the only fatality.
She’ll never forget the mound of her mother’s belly, budding with her unborn baby brother. The pretty yellow scarf, dotted with blood, blown from around her neck. The waistband of her skirt, twisted and mangled. The way it felt to stand there, witnessing her like that, like someone was physically carving out her heart. That was her mother on the floor. That was her brother in her mother’s belly.
Two lives lost in a single night.
Lee gets lost in the recollection, but Grace stays silent, listening, as she always does, until Lee comes to the very end. Every time she shares this loss, she remembers something new: a smell, a sound, a different sadness that cuts into her like a blade.
There’s no amount of talking that can undo the past, but she tries anyway. She tries to bring her mother back—if only for a moment, if only to say good-bye. She finishes. The silence hangs. Grace knows there is nothing she can say to make her feel better.
She ends the call.
5
lee
When Lee hangs up, she feels better. Every year, like clockwork, she has to purge the memory. She doesn’t ever talk about the funeral, how her father looked like he was made of crumpled paper in his oversized suit. She doesn’t recount the irritating fabric of her stiff black dress, the raw ring it left around her neck, or how she set fire to it after the service in the bottom of a trash can.
Lee hadn’t really had a chance to mourn her mother or baby brother because she stepped into her mother’s shoes seemingly overnight. She’d learned to adapt to her father’s moods, to stay out of his way, to stay gone. She learned to cook, give herself baths, forge permission slips, and even pack her own lunch on days she didn’t have enough change for the school lunch. It wasn’t about childhood—it was about survival. Neighbors stopped by almost every day, bringing wrapped casseroles and laundry detergent, and inspecting the place as she assumed Social Services might.
She abandons the memories and shoots Grace a quick text. Thank you for listening. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
She waits for the response: I’m always here for you. Thank you for trusting me enough to confide. Love you. XOXO
Lee opens her laptop and checks her in-box. She almost deletes the group email from Carol, wondering if it will be yet another way to improve her or Mason’s life, but this one is for a potential girls’ trip. Intrigued, Lee opens the email. The images sweep her away in possibility. A getaway in the North Carolina mountains, where they can hike, hole up in a bed-and-breakfast, and spend time kid-and-husband free.
Yes.
Lee clicks the link. A Cape-style home fills the page, replete with a bustling garden, a pristine white-bricked chimney jutting from the roof like an oversized Lego, and an aquamarine plaque on the white picket fence that reads ARBOR HOUSE.
She explores some of the trails; giant monuments ratcheting into the sky; beautiful, carved bluffs; dappled leaves; and men and women posed in pictures with pink cheeks and walking sticks. Lee closes the hiking window and traces her fingers over the photo of the home. How she longs for a real getaway with her friends. She scans the rates and balks at the nightly price. Despite the money, which she doesn’t have, she has never left Mason—not for more than a few hours, tops—and there is no way she could leave for an entire weekend, much less next weekend.
Can she?
She closes the page, wistful at how easy the other girls will jump to say yes, regardless of price or logistics. When they’d first met, at a playground meet-up, she’d edged into their lives when Mason was still asymptomatic. They’d bonded over Lee’s killer haircut and her absolute desperation for mom friends.
They’d taken her in, each of them shuffling into their proper roles: Alice the workhorse, Carol the organizer, and Grace the reliable friend. Though she appreciates Alice and Carol, she and Grace recognize something in each other—maybe it’s having boys, maybe it’s being single, maybe it’s having lost someone important in their lives (Lee’s mother, brother, and father; Grace’s sister), and that sad residue it leaves just beneath the surface—but she feels safest with Grace.
She thinks again about the trip. Grace splits custody with her ex-husband, Chad, but Lee is the only one without an extra set of full-time hands—besides Noah—and it roots her to the spot. No vacations, no impulsivity, and no sudden getaways.
She will have to let the girls down at Carol’s barbecue on Sunday, and she steels herself against their insistence and inevitable justifications on why she can and should go. He’s seven years old! He has Noah! He has our husbands! He’ll be fine! Live a little!
Carol has even made the trip short—a quick two-night, three-day getaway. She rests against her pillow, imagining uninterrupted baths, sleeping in, reading by the fire, exploring a new city. These are things people do all the time, but not her.
The idea dissolves as she waits for Noah to arrive for his second shift. She has two more clients before dinner. Then she can relax, read her son a story, get fractured sleep, and begin again tomorrow.
lie
LIE
lie
LIE
lie
LIE
Big lie, little lie.
I lie.
You lie.
We all lie.
Do you know how many lies I’ve told in the last seven years?
Probably too many to count.
Lying comes as easily to me as breathing.
Everyone believes me.
I’m good.
I’m safe.
I’m trustworthy.
Most people like me.
Which is why no one suspects me of lying.
I have no reason to lie … I have no outward reason to stray from the truth, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
I lie to protect myself.
I lie to protect the people I love.
I lie because I’m biding my time.
I lie so you have no idea what’s coming next.
friday
6
grace
Grace opens the email from Carol, and hope crackles through her body. A vacation with the girls is exactly what she needs. She has been so burdened lately—with work, with Chad and his ever-changing schedule with Luca, with Luca’s recent bullying at school, with house repairs, and specifically with what she needs to tell Lee.
She can’t think of anything better than shedding the daily grind and relinquishing control for a few days. It’s what’s been missing. It’s what they all need. She rattles off something to her boss, estimating the new summer budget, and hangs up the phone, turning her attention back to the details of the trip. The bed-and-breakfast is in Black Mountain, just outside of Asheville. Carol reiterates there will be hiking, possible canoeing, bonfires, and a nearby Japanese spa.
She shoots off an overly friendly email to Chad, asking if he’s available, as the trip is next Thursday. Lately, he has backed out of several parenti
ng duties, and Luca, feeling blown off, has been taking it out on a boy at school. She double-checks the parenting calendar. It isn’t his weekend, but he owes her. He owes Luca.
She adjusts the photo of Luca on her desk and smiles. She’s disturbed by his recent behavior but finally got him to admit what it’s really all about: his father. Though he is surrounded by empowered females, she knows Chad’s semiabandonment gets to him.
Her ex’s schedule as a touring musician is erratic. But like most little boys, in Luca’s eyes, Chad has swiftly become the infallible caretaker. No matter how many times Luca is crushed by his father’s absences, he still has hope that this time will be different.
She takes another call, already distracted by the promise of Black Mountain. She can’t wait to get some fresh air, jump-start the season, and spend time with her friends. She wonders if Lee will even go … she can already guess what her objections will be. No matter what she says or how Grace reassures her, Lee will still put up a fight. This might be the perfect opportunity for Mason—to give him a little room, to let him breathe without her there every single minute of the day.
She waves good-bye to her coworkers as the day winds down. Chad is picking Luca up today, which means she has all night and the entire weekend to herself. While it kills her to see Luca go, as she always wonders what Chad’s feeding him, if he’s reminding her son to floss, if he’s helping Luca read or do his homework, she relishes the alone time.
She steps onto Church Street and tips her face to the sky. It is unusually chilly for spring. She sets her thermos of coffee on the ground, buttons her jacket, and walks to the parking garage.
The trip would be a perfect time to tell Lee. She is a firm believer in practicing hypothetical situations and envisioning several possible outcomes before they happen so she’s prepared when shit goes south. If Lee getting upset is a given, then she can figure out how to respond. She briefly practices telling her and clocks how suddenly her face will change. How her affection might tip to frost. All the accusations she’ll fling. The objections. The blame.
She won’t think about that now. Instead, she focuses on the solo weekend ahead. There will be time for the truth.
She just has to get Lee to Black Mountain.
7
lee
It has been a long day. Lee’s feet ache. Her shoulders bunch in repetitive knots. She’s not heard a peep from Noah or Mason, as they are hard at work. She rummages in the fridge, searching for ideas for dinner. So many nights, she wants to go out, but Mason doesn’t enjoy the loud restaurant noises and inconsistency in routine.
She revels in the brief quiet as she creates mock meals in her head. Chicken and rice. Chicken and broccoli. Bison burgers and sweet potato fries. They seem to go through the same roster of meals every week. Tonight, she wants something different.
She peeks around the corner, and her heart flips. She is in constant awe of how Noah keeps her son so even-tempered, like they are cut from the same cloth. Lee seems to agitate him over the smallest things. “You boys hungry?”
Mason continues scribbling answers in his workbook and ignores the question.
Lee surveys the wilting contents of the fridge again. They’ve been on a Paleo kick for a while, but she can’t afford all the organic meat. She hesitates, closes the fridge, and leans against the door frame to the dining room. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Noah glances up from checking Mason’s work and locks eyes. Her heart skips an actual beat, and she reminds herself to breathe. She senses hesitation, but then he smiles.
“Sure.” He looks at his watch. “I had a thing I was supposed to do, but I can skip it.”
“Are you sure?” A surge of relief and a possessiveness she can’t quite explain overtake her. She has no idea if he’s dating or what he does when he’s not with them, but she desperately wants to be a part of his outside life.
“In fact, why don’t you let me pick up dinner?” Noah asks. He stacks his workbooks and crafts and slides them back into his satchel. “Nectar sound good? I can get him a burrito bowl and grab us some tacos?”
“Are you sure? That place is pricey.” She rummages in her purse for some cash but finds only coins. “Here, take my card.” She fishes her First Tennessee debit card from her wallet and hands it over.
Noah stands. “Lee, stop. I’ve got it. It’s my treat.”
She thinks about protesting but stuffs the card back into her purse. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Hey, Mason. Do you want chicken on your burrito bowl?”
“Is it organic?” Mason’s pencil hovers in the air.
Noah ponders the question. “I’m not sure.”
“If it’s not organic, it will be full of antibiotics and hormones, which can affect my mood, hormones, and overall growth. I need to know the answer to that question before I can answer your question.”
Noah hides a smirk. “How about I ask them when I get there?”
“That’ll do.” He taps a rhythm on the table with his pencil.
Noah grabs his keys, puffs his chest, and gives his best Schwarzenegger impression. “I’ll be back.”
Mason eyes him. A smile cranks his mouth up to the right. “That was a terrible Arnold impression. You should really work on that.”
A spike of pride warms Lee’s heart at their friendly exchange. “How do you even know who that is?”
Noah looks sheepish. “Ah, we may or may not have watched The Terminator.”
Lee laughs. “For research, I’m sure.”
“Totally for research.” He waves and disappears out the door before she can even tell him what kind of tacos she wants. She doesn’t care what he brings her as long as she doesn’t have to cook. She collapses back against the counter and studies Mason.
“Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please.” He continues tapping his pencil in the steady rhythm that helps him concentrate.
Her cell rings, and she reaches for it. She’s changed her ringtone to Prelude and Fugue no. 1, Mason’s favorite composition. Blocked call. Her heart pumps faster, as it always does, if an unknown number ever flashes on the screen. She declines the call and pours Mason a glass of water.
She gazes out the kitchen window and catches the last remnants of the sun as it descends below the horizon in a delicious swirl of pink. Spring has brought a gorgeous bounty of various breeds in her garden, and she and Mason have spent a good amount of time discussing each of them. Maybe she’ll bring some snapdragons to Carol once they’ve bloomed, despite the fact that Carol’s garden makes hers look like an amateur’s paradise.
Lee has invited Noah to come along to the barbecue on Sunday. Though they’ve all spent time together—briefly interacting at parks, playgrounds, and birthday parties, or passing through the house—she wants her friends to like him as much as she does. He’s become vital to the makeup of her insular little family.
She hands the glass to Mason and analyzes the differences between her and her friends. She can never quite relax like they can, letting their kids play in Carol’s massive backyard. She has to keep an eye on Mason, because he could riffle through all of their belongings, repeat a random fact that is much too old for their seven-year-old ears, or start digging a tunnel in the middle of her yard in search of moles … The options are endless, and she always guts herself with worry while her friends drink, laugh, and tell stories, so certain of their kids’ behavior and boundaries that they can detach while their children play.
Lee realizes she’s never had that parental freedom, except for the last six months. Noah has brought a peace to their lives that she hoards like a stacked poker hand. She can’t be identical to her friends, but with Noah’s help, she’s starting to relax about things that once kept her up at night.
Noah rustles through the door half an hour later with stiff paper bags. Mason presses his stopwatch. “You took exactly thirty-one minutes and thirteen seconds.”
“Is that all?” Noah winks at Lee a
s he sets the bags on the counter.
Lee notices—for what seems like the hundredth time—his sturdy chest and muscular arms. She wonders what it would be like to wake up with him wrapped around her like a blanket. “Can’t you smell the salt?” Lee dumps the contents of the containers onto separate plates. Her mouth waters at the chips and guacamole she is dying to devour.
“You can’t smell salt, Mother. That’s impossible,” Mason says.
“Oh, just eat your organic chicken,” she jokes. “You know what I mean.”
She grabs the forks and a couple of spoons and moves to the refrigerator. “I’m afraid I’ve only got water.”
“Water’s perfect,” Noah says.
Lee finishes dishing Mason’s bowl onto separate plates: chicken, rice, cheese, veggies, and corn, his food never allowed to come in contact. Mason watches the exchange of easy conversation between her and Noah as they eat, and it dawns on Lee that Mason has never seen her interact much with men. As if reading her thoughts, Mason speaks up.
“I like this.”
“Like what?” Lee asks between bites.
“This. I like this. I like the three of us eating together.”
Lee beams at Noah. “I do too. We should do this more often, right?”
“It feels like a family. Are we family?” Mason looks between them.
Noah ponders the question and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Well, we’re kind of like family, but we aren’t related by blood.”
“That’s right,” Lee adds. “Friends can sometimes be just like family.”
“But you should only trust your family,” Mason says. “Because family is good.”
Noah places his napkin by his plate. “It’s not that simple. People aren’t only good or only bad.”
“And you can trust people other than family,” Lee explains.
“So people—all people—can be good and bad,” Mason affirms.