She and Kate hadn’t made much conversation on the way home, but it was okay. Like her mom said, Kate was nice. The kind of nice where she only had to look at you and you felt warm—that kind of nice. She asked closed-ended questions (Zoe’s favorite) like “You okay?” and “Ready?” and then nodded with a smile as though they were on the same page. She was pretty too. Her hair was a dark brown long bob, her eyes were blue, and Zoe couldn’t see a single pore or blemish on her skin. Also, she was cool. She wore Converse with her uniform and her nails were painted a purplish red.
She wanted to ask Kate who she lived with—a husband, she assumed, but who else? Toddlers? A baby? She didn’t seem old enough to have kids any older than that. In a way Zoe hoped she would have a kid. Kids and old people (with the exception of Dulcie) were among the few members of society that Zoe felt comfortable conversing with. They didn’t judge or look too closely. If you talked to them and made them feel special, you were theirs for life.
“Okay,” Kate said. “Here we are.”
They’d stopped off at Zoe’s apartment to pick up a few things, and now Kate picked up her bag and carried it toward the house.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” Zoe said.
“Oh, sure. Here you go.”
Zoe meant to be helpful, but it just came out rude. Why was she so awkward? Why couldn’t she be normal, charming, conversational? For some reason she wanted Kate to like her. Unfortunately, the more Zoe wanted to impress someone, the less impressive she generally was.
Kate handed her the bag. The foyer was the size of Zoe’s apartment.
“Yeah,” Kate said, seeing Zoe’s face. “I can’t get used to it either. What’s the point of all this space for a foyer?”
Kate smiled and Zoe relaxed a little. Until a voice called out from somewhere in another room. “Kate? Is that you?”
“Yes,” she called. Then to Zoe she said, “Come on, come and meet everyone.”
Instantly Zoe’s palms became slick. “Everyone?”
“It’s just my husband, David, and my stepson, Jake. And maybe a couple of Jake’s friends.”
Kate started to walk but Zoe remained bolted to the floor. Kate paused in the doorway and looked back at her uncertainly.
“Hey!” a man said, appearing beside Kate. He kissed her cheek, then held out his hand to Zoe. He grinned. “You must be Zoe.”
Zoe took his hand, cringing about the dampness of her own.
“I’m David,” he continued. “Don’t mind us, watching the game. I don’t suppose you’re a 49ers fan?”
She shook her head.
“Damn, I could have used the support. Hey you’re not a Raiders fan, are you? If you are, you’re about to get your ass whupped.” He chuckled.
Zoe stared at him. He was the dad Zoe had seen so many times on films and on TV. The dad who wore sweatpants with reading glasses. The dad who tossed burgers at school sports day, and who, on vacation, sent the family into the hotel while he went out into the rain to get the bags.
“I don’t really follow sports,” she admitted.
“Do you eat nachos?” he said. “’Cause we’ve got plenty of those. Come on, come on.” He took her bag and draped his arm lightly on her shoulder, guiding her in the direction from which he’d come. A cheer came from a room nearby, reminding Zoe of the proximity of other people.
“Actually, I’m not hungry,” she said, planting her feet.
David shot a glance at Kate, then let his hand slide off Zoe’s shoulder. “Oh. You sure? There’s other stuff too, if you don’t like nachos.…”
“Why don’t I show you the guest room, Zoe?” Kate said. David nodded slowly and Zoe could see that he’d just recalled that Zoe’s mother was sick. He was probably attributing her strange behavior to that. It was nice, to have an excuse for once.
“Thanks though,” Zoe said to him, then followed Kate up the stairs.
It was a little surreal to find that the guest room had its own bathroom. A full bathroom, made of stone that twinkled like it was ingrained with diamonds. It had a bath and separate shower and two sinks! The bath was deep, with jets. It looked impossibly inviting.
“Feel free to have a shower, or a soak in the tub,” Kate said. “Some of my toiletries are in the cupboard under the sink. Help yourself to anything.”
Once Kate left, Zoe sank onto the bed. She had longed to be alone for the past twenty-four hours, but now that she was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it anymore. As she sat all alone, the pain of her mother’s illness finally pierced her. Was this her future? Living in strangers’ homes—kind strangers who quickly realized the truth about her, and were disappointed?
Zoe thought about her mom for a moment, lying in her hospital bed. She’d be freaking out. Zoe fished her phone out of her bag and sent her a quick cheerful text. Even if she had lied to her about her cancer, Zoe didn’t want her worrying while she was in the hospital. When she was finished Zoe went to the bathroom cupboard. There was a wicker basket inside with shampoo, conditioner, body wash, some nail-polish remover, and expensive-looking moisturizer. Zoe dug into it. A few bobby pins were scattered across the bottom of the basket, and a new disposable razor.
She sat on the edge of the tub. Her mother wasn’t fooling anyone with her talk about everything going back to normal. Zoe knew ovarian cancer wasn’t one of the “good” cancers. One of the side effects of being a worrier was that she spent a lot of time researching things. Her grandmother had died of ovarian cancer just before Zoe was born. It was the silent killer, she recalled now. The one that didn’t show symptoms until it was too late. And if there was one thing Zoe knew, it was that she wouldn’t survive in this world without her mother.
Zoe took off her clothes and slid into the empty bath, turned the taps on. Then she reached for the razor. She stared at it, turning it over, observing the glint of the light on the blade. If she were a different kind of person, she’d take the blade, press it against her wrist. But she wasn’t a different kind of person. Was she?
* * *
When Zoe was nine, her mom took her to the zoo. Zoe, of course, hadn’t wanted to go. “Zoos are crowded,” she said. “I might get lost.”
“I won’t let go of your hand,” her mom said.
“But I don’t like zoos.”
“You love animals.”
“I love seeing them on TV.”
The funny thing was, Zoe wasn’t agoraphobic. She liked the outdoors. Sometimes early in the morning or late at night she would ask her mom if they could “go get some fresh air.” No, it wasn’t the outdoors she was afraid of, or the animals. It was the people.
They got to the zoo an hour before it opened so they could get in first (Zoe couldn’t handle standing in lines) and spent a few minutes in the gift shop trying on giant animal heads. Zoe actually cracked a smile when Alice put on the lion’s head. “You are so silly, Mom,” she’d said, giggling. Her mom was so pleased that she went to buy it, but when she checked the price tag—sixty bucks for a novelty lion’s head!—she changed her mind.
Half an hour later, when a line formed behind them, Zoe had forgotten the lion’s head and was starting to freak out. Some girls her age approached with their mothers. Zoe felt their eyes on her, staring. Judging. After a while it became unbearable.
“Mom, everyone is looking at me.”
Her mom glanced around. “No they’re not, hon.”
“They are. I want to go home.”
“We can’t go home,” her mom said. “I’ve already bought the tickets.”
“Mom, please.”
Zoe’s face was hot, and sweat poured from her underarms. Her mom looked bewildered. Zoe hated herself for asking—she knew the tickets had cost a lot of money—but she had to get out of there.
“Fine,” her mom said finally, stalking out of the line. Zoe was right on her heels. But she was walking in the wrong direction.
“Are we going home?” Zoe called after her uncertainly.
“Nope.”
&n
bsp; “Mom!”
Her mom marched into the gift shop and grabbed the lion’s head off the stand. She winced as she handed over her credit card and, a minute or two later, she slipped it over her head and returned to the line.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Zoe asked, astonished.
“No one is looking at you now,” she said, winking at Zoe through the eye slits. “They’re looking at me.”
29
That evening, as she lay in her hospital bed, Alice was worried. Had she done the right thing, letting Zoe go back to Kate’s? After all, she didn’t know the faintest thing about Kate, other than that she was a nurse with a soothing bedside manner. Her husband could be a pedophile, an abuser! Sure, Kate said she had been background-checked. (Briefly Alice wondered why she had been, but manners had stopped her from asking. Manners! Who cared about manners—this was her daughter!) Then again, there were plenty of criminals with clean records. Weren’t there?
She took a deep breath. Get it together, Alice.
Alice was not a conspiracy theorist. Growing up, she had been schooled in the idea that people were, by and large, good. If something went missing, it probably hadn’t been stolen, you’d most likely lost it. The government was not in cahoots with pharmaceutical companies to make you ill so they could make money. The world these days was much the same as it had always been—with good people and bad people. She had always felt strongly about this. She still did. But fifteen years ago, she’d been exposed to the bad. Worse, she’d invited in the bad. She thought now of that strange, horrible night. The glass of red wine she’d gulped down. “I insist,” she’d said.
She dragged her phone from her bedside table and saw that Zoe had already sent her a text.
Hey Mom everything is fine. I have a room with its own bathroom! Hope you’re okay. Zoe.
Alice put down her phone. Everything is fine. Why did Alice not believe that? After all, things always seemed like they were fine—until they weren’t.
30
“Are you sure Zoe’s all right?” David asked, climbing into bed beside Kate. He had a book in his right hand and his reading glasses perched on his nose.
“Actually I’m not,” Kate said. Zoe had spent the entire evening in her room and hadn’t even answered the door when Kate knocked to tell her dinner was ready. When Kate had let herself in, she’d found the door to the bathroom door closed, so she’d left her plate on the bed.
“Poor kid,” David said. “What will happen to her if … her mother doesn’t make it?”
“I have no idea. Usually there are oodles of family members around. I guess if no other family members come out of the woodwork, and if she’s under eighteen, she’ll go to a foster family.”
“And if she’s over eighteen?”
“Then she’s on her own.”
“Jesus.” David closed his eyes. “Can you imagine Jake or Scarlett on their own?”
Kate put a hand on his. “It would never happen to them. There are too many people who would want them. You and me, Hilary and Danny, uncles, aunts, cousins…” As she said it, Zoe’s fate seemed especially unfair. How did Scarlett and Jake have so many people and she had none? “Maybe I should check on her again?” she said.
David touched her shoulder. “Wait.”
She paused.
“Can we talk a minute?” he said. “I feel like things aren’t right between us.”
Kate hesitated for a moment before returning her legs to the bed.
“Can I just say I’m sorry?” he said, removing his reading glasses. “I know how hard all of this has been on you. I want to help you, but I feel like we’re just … out of touch with each other. I want to give you everything you want, Kate. It kills me that I can’t give you this.”
She drew herself over to him, taking his hands. She had a feeling that this was the opening she’d been waiting for. “You can, David. If we don’t give up, we can still have it. I know it hasn’t been easy, but don’t you always say ‘nothing worth having is easy to get’?”
He let out a long, slow breath. All at once Kate got the feeling this wasn’t the direction he wanted the conversation to go.
David rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers, his eyes settling in the middle distance. “Think of it this way. What if you wanted to run a marathon even though every time you ran it caused you enormous pain? What if each time you set out on a run you ended up hospitalized and immobile for weeks? Would you expect me to support you then?”
“No,” Kate said. “But the situations are different.”
“How?”
“Because you’ve already run two marathons!” she cried. “And, since I’m the one who is willing to put in the training, you owe it to me to at least let me try for one.”
David stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t fair.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to argue, Kate.”
Kate looked at him. His face was full of compassion, full of determination to work this out. But there was something else in his face too. Resolve. He’d made his decision.
“Neither do I,” she said, even though it was the opposite of the truth.
* * *
Kate knocked gently on Zoe’s door. “Zoe? Are you awake?”
There was no movement inside. She was probably asleep. The kid had had a rough day. Kate turned back toward her room, then hesitated. She was responsible for the girl, at least for tonight. She should probably at least sight her before going to bed. She knocked again, a bit louder. “Zoe?”
Still nothing. Kate felt a flap of panic.
“Zoe?” This time she yelled it, flinging open the door. The room was empty, the bed made. The lasagna Kate had left her was on the desk, untouched. In a millisecond she went from concerned to hysterical. What if something had happened to her? What if … she’d done something to herself? Most of all … What had she been thinking, inviting her here?
“Zoe?” she cried. The bathroom door was closed, a thin line of light beaming out from the crack at the bottom. Just as it had been two hours earlier when she’d dropped off the lasagna. Kate lurched toward the bathroom door, but a moment before she got there, it opened.
“Hi.”
Zoe stood there. Her hair was wet and she wore a pair of dark sweatpants, a T-shirt, and socks.
“Oh,” Kate said. “Hi. I was just … checking you were okay.”
“Sorry. I was having a bath.” She looked at the floor, but Kate could see that her face was red and tearstained. Kate herself had had many a long cry in the bath.
“You’re not hungry?” Kate said, gesturing to the lasagna.
“No.” She blushed. Poor sweet thing was shy just having a conversation.
“I can make you something else?”
“It’s okay,” Zoe said. “Thanks though.”
“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” Kate said. “Even if you just want to talk.”
“I will.”
Kate started to turn, but Zoe reached out and touched her arm. “Thank you … for … you know, letting me stay at your house.”
“Oh.” Now it was Kate’s turn to feel shy. “Well, we’re happy to have you.”
Zoe hesitated. “Is my mom going to die?”
In her job, Kate was a believer in absolute truth. But this situation was different. It wasn’t her truth to tell. She opened her mouth, unsure of the words that were going to come out.
“I thought so,” Zoe said before Kate could answer, and she walked back into the bathroom and closed the door.
31
Zoe stood at the unfamiliar gate with her finger poised. She knew she should just press the buzzer. If she turned back now, there was every possibility that she’d be caught. A car could drive up or someone could come out to check the mail, and find her hovering there. Explaining that would be worse than just ringing the damn bell.
That morning, for the second day in a row, Zoe had woken in a strange house. She’d bar
ely slept a wink the night before. Right before she’d nodded off she’d received a text message from her mom saying she needed to stay in the hospital for a few more days. This worried Zoe, not only because it meant she couldn’t go home, but also, what did it mean for her mom? Were things worse than she was letting on? This morning she’d remained holed up in her room until the last possible minute before she had to leave for school, eager to avoid any sort of family breakfast routine. Kate had knocked, but she seemed to accept that Zoe was not hungry and didn’t force her to come down.
School had been as awful as she expected. It had been easy to avoid Emily—as she seemed to be doing her best to ignore Zoe. In fact, no one paid Zoe any attention. It was a relief, of course, but as always, somewhere deep down inside, it hurt. She didn’t register on anyone’s radar. What did that say about her?
Now, sweat bloomed under her arms. Idly she wondered what on earth she was doing here. She’d had every intention of canceling—making up an illness or injury—but as the school day went on, she realized her alternatives were as bad as going to Harry’s. She could go there … or go to Kate’s. She lifted her finger one more time and, before she could think better of it, pressed the button. A moment later the gate buzzed.
Harry’s house was nearly as big as Kate’s—with a sweeping path winding up to the front door. By the time Zoe made it to the double doors, a tiny girl with coils of blond hair stood in the open doorway. A grand staircase rose up behind her.
“Huwo.”
The girl was maybe two or three, dressed in a ratty Tinker Bell costume and carrying a wooden spoon wrapped in a tea towel. She frowned as if Zoe’s presence was highly inconvenient. “Tum in.” She sighed. “You’re about to miss da so.”
“Um, what?” Zoe said.
“You’re about to miss the show,” Harry translated, jogging down the stairs in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and bare feet. His T-shirt showed off his torso—which was narrow but toned. Zoe felt a frisson of something deep down. Wow.
“The show?” Zoe said.
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