Little Comfort

by Edwin Hill

  She managed to get herself to Wellesley on a scholarship. She remembered climbing onto a bus with a duffel bag, riding into Boston, and realizing in the time between what was and what would be, that she was completely alone in the world. It made her giddy. On campus, the other first-year students’ fathers helped them unload their SUVs. Later that day, the new students sat in a circle with the residence advisor and shared where they were from and what they planned to major in. As her turn approached, Hester saw that she had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become whoever and whatever she wanted to be. Unlike the women whose parents called on the dorm phone and visited during parents’ weekend and paid their tuition, Hester owed nothing to anyone. No one needed to know her past or her truth. “I’m an army brat,” she told the circle. “I grew up all over. My parents are in Greece.” It felt immediately like the truth. “I doubt we’ll see them this year.”

  “Will you visit?” the RA asked.

  “Hope so!” Hester said, crossing her fingers for everyone to see.

  She’d held onto that truth with everyone but Daphne, reinventing herself like Sam and Gabe had. And like them, she understood how important it could be to guard a secret.

  *

  “Who was that?” Prachi asked.

  Prachi wore a Prada suit and Louboutins to the park and somehow managed to escape any of the mud and gunk that covered Hester’s boots.

  “A guy I know,” Hester said.

  “Darling, if he’s someone you know, you should watch yourself. I saw him staring at you for nearly five minutes before I pointed him out. That man has a crush on you a mile wide.”

  “Yeah, right. We met yesterday.”

  “It hardly takes more than that for a man to start thinking with his penis. And what was that with your hair? It looked like he was stroking it.”

  “It was nothing,” Hester said. She suspected what Prachi had seen in Gabe had been more confusion than desire, though what did she know? Maybe he liked that she was tiny. She’d dealt with plenty of men with size fetishes.

  “Well, don’t let Morgan see him looking at you,” Prachi said. “Or touching your hair. Jane and I would be in therapy for months if a man looked at me like that.”

  “You and Jane have been in therapy practically since the first day you met, so that doesn’t say much,” Hester said. What she didn’t say was that she had plenty of faith in Morgan, as she believed he had in her. It would take much more than an admiring eye to get either of them to question their commitment.

  “Oh, shut up,” Prachi said as she called to O’Keefe. The greyhound bounded over, with Waffles right on her heels. “In the meantime, darling, you and Morgan should let us see your perfect relationship in action. Come to the Independent with Jane and me tonight for dinner. It’s been ages since we went out. Bring Kate. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

  Hester attached the leash to the dog’s collar. Waffles put her muddy front paws right on Hester’s coat and lapped her face, and suddenly she wanted company that night more than anything. “Come to our house instead,” she said. “I’m not quite ready to be the mom who brings her kid to a pub. I’ll get there. But not yet.”

  “We’d love to,” Prachi said.

  “And don’t mention the hair thing.”

  “See, I told you so.”

  Hester didn’t really care that Gabe had touched her hair, but she didn’t want to tell Morgan about Gabe, or what she’d learned, or about getting shot at. Not yet, at least. What she’d said to Gabe was true. The gunshot had freaked her out, but she could deal with that in her own way. If she told Morgan (or Prachi, for that matter) what had happened earlier, she’d lose control. They’d have to discuss it, and Morgan would want to take charge in some way he couldn’t, and she knew in the end she’d have to listen to reason, which was the last thing she wanted.

  In New Hampshire, she’d gone straight to the police station after leaving Lila’s, where the deputy on duty had taken her statement about the shooting and then asked her if she knew it was deer season.

  Hester put the casing on the counter between them. “Does that mean it’s okay to shoot at people?”

  “Looks like a .22 to me,” the deputy said. “That’s what most people hunt with.”

  Hester nearly mentioned Bobby Englewood and Cheryl Jenkins, but held back. This town was small, and she didn’t want word to get to them yet. She also didn’t have any evidence to support her suspicions. Besides, if she did tell the police why she’d come, she risked exposing Gabe and Sam.

  “My best advice is to wait till next week to go walking in those woods,” the deputy said.

  “I heard you dug up a body.”

  The deputy glanced over his shoulder to see if there was anyone else around. “And you think there’s a connection?”

  “Whose body is it?” Hester asked. “How long has it been there?”

  “I could put you in touch with the state police if you like. They’ll want you to stick around to make a statement.”

  “That’s fine,” Hester had said, and as she’d left the station, she’d sworn she’d heard the deputy mumble “flatlander” under his breath.

  *

  At the house, Hester opened the door to Morgan’s apartment and let Waffles off the leash. She plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree and then lit a fire in the fireplace. Waffles curled up on her bed by the hearth. Hester turned on NPR, and then turned it off, preferring to enjoy the momentary silence while she pulled together chicken and kale enchiladas for dinner. She popped open a beer. By the time she heard the door downstairs open and the patter of Kate’s boots on the stairs, the house was warm from the fire and smelled of garlic and tomatoes and chili peppers. The door to the hallway opened, and Kate burst into the apartment, a drawing on construction paper clutched in one hand. Hester lifted the girl into the air and spun her around, and then guessed correctly that the drawing was of Santa Claus and a pile of presents.

  “Kittens!” Kate said.

  “Is that what Santa’s bringing this year?” Hester asked.

  “Kittens, kittens, kittens!” Kate shouted, and Hester smiled and gave the little girl a raspberry. This was the longest they’d been apart in three months, and Hester had looked forward to this moment all day, which came as a surprise. She’d been fighting since Daphne had left—to stay removed, to keep her distance, to avoid wanting this—but she knew the instant she gave in to these feelings of joy skipping over her heart that she’d finally and definitively set herself up for despair.

  “Sorry, Mrs.,” Morgan said from the doorway. He held a box in one arm that pulsed, and the moment he put it on the floor, kittens spilled from the top of it.

  “How many?” Hester asked.

  “Six,” Morgan said.

  One of the kittens had already launched itself into the tree, ornaments showering to the floor, but Hester hardly cared. She gave thanks that the most annoying and inconsiderate thing Morgan ever did was save unwanted animals without asking. She gave him a kiss. “How long?” she asked.

  “Till next week,” he said, as the drapes on one of his windows cascaded to the floor and two kittens leaped from the pile of fabric.

  “You’re on litter duty,” Hester said.

  “I figured as much. What smells so good?”

  “Enchiladas. Go get ready. We’re having company tonight.”

  When he asked how her day had gone, she really did consider telling him everything, but in the end the moment seemed too precious to spoil. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Prachi and Jane showed up right on time (a rarity). Hester and Prachi shooed away kittens while they set the long farmer’s table with placemats and mismatched Fiestaware while Morgan mixed drinks and Jane wrestled with Kate and Waffles. Jane, who taught yoga for a living, had a blond ponytail and a long, solid body.

  At dinner, there was plenty of food. Kate gobbled up her enchiladas, even the kale, without a note of complaint, and when they’d finished everything, Prachi
scraped the crisped cheesy remnants out of the casserole dish and ate them right off the serving spoon. Jane checked her phone. “It’s below zero out,” she said. “It’s been ten years since I moved here from Santa Barbara, and I’m still not used to the cold. I’m not looking forward to the walk home!”

  “Then don’t leave,” Hester said, giving her friend a gentle hug.

  Sitting there in the snug warmth, Hester could almost feel the cold surrounding the house. She smiled. Tonight, here, at this dining room table, nothing was wrong. She was well fed and loved, and her trip to New Hampshire felt like a long-ago dream. She wished the evening, every second of it, could go on forever.

  *

  The shriek pierced the night.

  Hester barely knew where it had come from, whether it was real or imagined, but she was on her feet, out of bed, running across the hall and into Kate’s bedroom with Waffles at her heels. Her heart pounded. She fumbled for the light, and when she couldn’t find it, she plunged forward, tripping over landmines of toys and dolls. She stubbed her toe on the edge of Kate’s bed as the little girl let out another cry. Hester found the bedside lamp and flicked it on to find Kate sleeping peacefully, a thumb in her mouth.

  It was after midnight, and now Hester was wide awake while Morgan hadn’t even stirred. Two of the kittens had found their way into the room and had curled into each other on one of Kate’s pillows. It seemed that the only souls on earth awake at this time were Hester and Waffles. Hester slid into bed beside Kate and patted the blankets so that the dog jumped up too, jostling the mattress enough to pull Kate out of a deep sleep. If Hester couldn’t sleep, why should she?

  “You scared me, kid,” Hester whispered. “Why were you screaming like that?”

  “Kate dream.”

  “Aunt Hester was dreaming too, but now she’s wide awake. What were you dreaming about?”

  “The man,” Kate mumbled.

  “What man?”

  “The man in the window.”

  Hester glanced to where the glow from the streetlamps shone through the frosty panes. She thought of Salem’s Lot and couldn’t help but imagine a vampire hovering outside the second-story window, ready to fly in and snatch the girl away. The idea terrified her enough to swing out of bed and cross the icy floor. No one was out there, either on the street or suspended in midair. Still, she checked the locks before getting into bed again.

  “Do you want me to read a story?” Hester asked.

  Kate nodded, even though her eyes had already begun to close. Hester took the copy of Olivia from the bedside table and made it through two pages before Kate had fallen fast asleep.

  “Thanks, kiddo,” Hester said, ruffling the girl’s curly hair.

  Hester was too wired to fall asleep, so she headed downstairs with Waffles at her heels, where she poured two fingers of scotch and found an old episode of The Vampire Diaries to veg out to while curled up on the sofa. But even as the familiar story unfolded, she found herself drifting to thoughts about her conversations that day, to meeting Cheryl Jenkins and Bobby Englewood, to the sound of gunshots in the woods. Today, everything that had happened made her think about Kate and Daphne. It worried her in a way she’d never worried before, not about Gabe or Sam or Lila, but about her own odd family, about Kate and the terrible predicament of being caught between belonging. Kate would always be welcome here, in this house, with her, but when would she truly belong somewhere? When would the temporary become real?

  Hester opened her tablet and found the website for the Lakes Region Dispatch, a local paper that usually covered town meetings and petty thefts, but now had running updates on the body in the woods. The state police were treating the case as a homicide, and confirmed that the injuries sustained were consistent with those of an axe wound, but they were still trying to determine a timeline for the death. “That’s all we have now,” a detective was quoted as saying.

  Hester closed the newspaper and noticed a new e-mail in her in box, and was surprised to see that it was from Daphne, as though, wherever she was, she knew Hester was thinking about her. It was the first Hester had heard from Daphne in three months, and it took a moment to steel herself to read the note. She wondered where her friend was right now, and what had caused her to think of Kate on this of all days. She opened the e-mail. Daphne wrote that she was okay, that she needed some time to sort things out. She didn’t mention where she’d gone or how long she planned to stay there. I had to go, she wrote in her last lines. It wasn’t an option anymore, and I can’t explain it any better than that. I hope you understand.

  Hester read the e-mail again. I do understand, she wrote back, her cursor hovering over the send button. She did try to understand. Daphne had spent years trying to hold herself in, to be normal, to conform, and Hester knew how much effort it had taken. She’d seen her own mother fail at it so spectacularly. Daphne wanted to be alone. And Hester would give her that at the very least. She lay down on the sofa and turned off the TV. In the silence, she listened to the house. To her house. To her life. She listened to the wind outside, to the creaks, to Morgan’s snoring. She imagined Kate, upstairs, fast asleep. What Hester had learned today on her trip to New Hampshire, what she hadn’t really ever known, was how important it was to be wanted, in a way that Sam and Gabe had never been wanted. In a way she herself hadn’t been wanted until Daphne had changed that. She wanted Kate to be loved completely. She wanted to love her without condition, and what she couldn’t tell Morgan—what she could barely admit to herself—was that in her heart she hoped that Daphne would stay away for good. She hoped that she could shape a world for Kate unlike her own lonely childhood, one where love was at the very core.

  She deleted her response and typed in a new one. I do understand. You know that I do. You know how much I love you. And do what you need to do, but don’t come back. Not unless you plan to stay. I mean it, Daphne. Kate’s doing well. She’s finally adjusted to you being gone. Don’t fuck this up too.

  She read through the e-mail one more time and hit send. Even though she knew Morgan wouldn’t agree with her, even though she knew this message would come with a cost, she’d suffer those consequences when they came.

  Up in Kate’s room, she slid into bed beside the little girl. “There’s no man in the window,” she whispered.

  Kate rubbed her nose, somewhere in between awake and that deep childhood sleep that could only come without worry.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 13

  Today was all about lists. To-dos, checklists, deadlines. Felicia Nakazawa had to make sure everything, every single last thing, went flawlessly, because today was the Crocus Party. First she had to get out of bed. Then she had to get on the elliptical machine for at least twenty minutes. Then she had to call the caterers and make sure they’d reworked that crabby recipe so that it didn’t taste like cat food.

  She looked at the clock. It was 3:43 in the morning. How about sleeping in? Could she add that to her to-do list? How about having enough time in the day to binge-watch some mindless TV show? How about waking up with someone other than another pillow to spoon? How about waking up next to Aaron, even if he was probably either A) in some one-night-stand’s bed, or B) with Wendy. Felicia, no matter what Aaron and Wendy claimed, guessed it was probably B. She’d seen the way Wendy looked at Aaron, the way they laughed with each other, the way they secretly conferred whenever she tried to dig into their plans. Wendy did that. She lied about the boys she dated, and they were all boys. Felicia had found Aaron. She’d found Hero too. She’d even slept with Hero—Jesus, they’d gone to Ikea together!—before Wendy swept in and started calling him brilliant. An artist. A filmmaker. Once that started, Hero couldn’t even see Felicia anymore. He talked to her like the help. And frankly, Hero was a videographer at best, and even that was a stretch. Felicia hoped he was back to weddings and bar mitzvahs.

  And why had Aaron taken them to Club Café? Why hadn’t he corrected her when she’d said he was a spoiled gay boy? And why co
uldn’t she find him on Instagram?

  It was fine.

  Not worth dwelling on. None of it.

  Back to the list.

  Call the caterer; confirm the photographer; make sure the ice sculptures were delivered to the courtyard; confirm that Pearly and Elise had a helicopter available to take them to Lima; set up silent auction; check in with Dymond at the VA. There needed to be plenty of men and women in uniform tonight or else Wendy would lose her shit. That fucking bitch Twig hadn’t done a thing, and she was supposed to be the co-chair for the benefit. Maybe Aaron could help again. He’d been useful the other day when they’d driven to the hospital.

  Felicia grabbed her phone and texted him, forgetting how early it was. Where are you? she wrote.

  He didn’t write back.

  Was he porking Wendy right now? Had he seen Felicia’s text pop up and ignored it?

  Felicia was suddenly on the balcony outside her apartment, snow falling around her, wearing nothing but her underwear. She climbed the icy bannister with the dark street four stories below. She saw an empty shot glass on the edge of the roof, next to a tree ornament and that little plastic bag of cocaine she’d lost, and she stretched across the gaping space for them. Her fingertips barely grazed the shot glass when she slipped. Right off the banister, into the night air, her heart surging to her throat, head over feet, plummeting toward the asphalt.