by Kylie Walker
“Oh, nothing like that,” I answered, wondering if she could see right through me. Was she asking this because she knew that Tyler and I weren’t actually together? I shifted, sipping the chardonnay. “This is a good glass of wine.”
“Because I don’t think Tyler’s life has much room for a woman,” Marnie continued. “That’s what he’s always telling me, anyway, that he’s put his entire life on hold for Rachel’s sake. Now, you come along like magic, almost. You can’t even say exactly where you met one another. Huh.”
I felt my throat begin to quiver. Hunting for words, I heard Rachel pattering around upstairs. She was a reminder that I needed to behave, to take the high road. Even if Tyler didn’t want me in his life romantically, I was too involved now to play dirty. Raising my chin high, I changed the subject.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to head to the casino tomorrow night, as well?”
Marnie’s eyes flickered.
Greg chortled in the next room, then rose up, swiping his hand over his belly, which was coated in salt and chip crumbs. Gazing at me with sleepy eyes, he spoke. “That would actually be great. If you can pick up Rachel, I mean. We’ve got a big group heading to the casino tomorrow. Remember, Marn?”
Marnie’s hands formed into fists on either side of her waist. After a long, haggard breath, she nodded toward me. I’d won this time.
“Sure. Pick her up tomorrow from school.” Taking a small step forward, she thrust her finger toward my face. “But don’t think for a minute that you’ll see any of that money. She’s my daughter. I birthed her, didn’t I? And I put a roof over her head while her father’s off gallivanting through San Francisco.”
“I think I’ll head out now,” I said then, tracing my fingers through my hair. “Thanks so much for the wine.” My words were false, high-pitched. I darted from the room, catching a final glimpse of Rachel, poised at the top of the steps. She looked like the dogs you leave behind at the shelter. Guilt surge through my stomach. I wanted to take her with me, to tell her she didn’t have to stay in this horrible place with her wretched mother.
“I’ll be back for you tomorrow,” I whispered, sensing every moment she was in that house was horror. To the side, Greg belched as he switched the channel from one game show to another. Three half-smoked cigarettes were poised on the ashtray, swirling smoke through the air. The fireplace held no photographs, beyond the one of Marnie and Greg at their wedding. So unlike Tyler’s house, which had photos everywhere of Rachel at all different ages.
Needless to say, I spent the next several days with Rachel. I was in deep, cooking her favorite foods and giggling with her during her favorite television shows. I hadn’t heard from Tyler since he’d left. I sensed we were at a standstill, romantically, that his life was out-of-control and manic, and he was just trying to stay afloat. I looked at the phone several times, preparing text message after text message.
“Hey. Listen. I know you’re not ready for anything.”
“It was probably a mistake, what we did. But I don’t care.”
“Do you think we can talk about this when you get back? What could we be to one another? I don’t think we should throw this away.”
But I couldn’t send them. Not one.
On Friday, Rachel announced that her father was coming back from San Francisco that night. Racing around the house, she leaped on top of the couch, leaping around, with Randy nipping at her heels. Her blonde hair, streaming behind her which looked unkempt and crazed, and I forced her to sit and let me run a brush through it. As I brought the brush across her skull, I could feel the heat of her excitement through her back.
“What if we made him dinner?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Rachel said.
“What does he like best?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs. With garlic bread!” she affirmed.
“Is that so?” I laughed. I couldn’t imagine that this stoic, masculine creature, who’d thrust me into the deepest pleasure of my life, pined after spaghetti and meatballs. But I shrugged, wanting to follow Rachel’s lead.
“Especially when I make it,” Rachel continued. “He showed me how to cook the noodles and how to make the bread, with just toast!”
“Wow. And here, I’ve been making your meals all this time?” I said.
We got busy in the kitchen, with Rachel aligning several pieces of bread on top of the clean counter. Toying with the speaker system, I played an old record Emery, and I had nearly burnt out during our first years of college. Rachel swayed along to it, nabbing the butter from the refrigerator, her eyes growing concentrated and hard like when she did her science experiments.
“Do you think you and my dad are going to get married?” she asked. Her voice piped through my anxious mind, which, to be honest, wasn’t as far off from that topic as I would have liked.
“Married?” I laughed, feeling my cheeks grow red. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Come on,” Rachel said. “I see the way he looks at you. And you guys went on that date the other night. I thought—“
A second later we both heard the crash. It was a cacophony of sounds, like the trashcans out front had suddenly blasted against the pavement. Taking quick strides across the floor, I moved toward the window and gazed outside. There, in the center of my driveway, was that familiar Prius, which Chris had purchased the previous year, after graduation. How often had I sat in the passenger seat, my feet up on the dashboard, gazing into his eyes? How many times had I loaded and unloaded groceries into the back? How often had this car been a piece of my past life? Fuck!
Chris bobbed out from the front seat, then. He clunked left, then right as he began to walk toward my house. Randy barked against the window, causing steam to form.
Watching from behind, Rachel asked, “Who is that? Is he a friend of yours?”
“Um. Yes. Stay here, Rachel. Will you start the toast?” I said it off-handedly, before thrusting myself into the yard and heading toward Chris, feeling out of my mind.
His cheeks were blotchy and red, and his lips spouting a million things I couldn’t understand. I knew he was drunk after just seconds. He waved his hand toward me, leaning heavily against my garage door. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling my heart race. Jesus. Why did I stay with him for so long?
“Wow,” he said. “This place. You. I can’t believe it. You’ve built a new life for yourself.”
“Did you drive drunk all the way from Asheville?” I asked, my nostrils flaring.
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Just from the bar outside your neighborhood. I had to build up the courage to talk to you.”
“I think we talked enough. The last time you came to our apartment drunk.” The ‘our’ had slipped out, linking us in a way that didn’t feel entirely appropriate to me anymore.
“I just needed to see you. To tell you we can start over. Babe, we can begin another life, together. Just you and me.”
“Ha. And exactly when did you come to that conclusion?” I asked, feeling my anger rise. Despite my harsh words, this man had been the love of my life. And, unlike Tyler, he wanted to build a life with me.
It felt nice, being wanted even if it came from such an unnatural source. Such a weak, little man, who’d tried to explode my life from the inside, out.
“Listen, Chris. You need to go inside and sleep this off. Then you need to leave.” I said. I turned toward my door and led him there, opening it and guiding him toward my bedroom. I’d hardly slept in the room since I moved in, and the sheets were crisp, stretched tight against the mattress. He collapsed on top of it.
“God, I remembered just what you smelled like,” he whispered into it. “I miss it so much. I thought, for so long, that I’d never smell it again.” He patted the space beside him on my bed—the bed we’d once shared—trying to lure me to him.
But I took a step back. “Just get some sleep, Chris. Promise me you will? Maybe—maybe we can talk about
this later.”
I watched as his eyes slowly closed, allowing him to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. I left the room and stood outside, huffing, unable to comprehend what was happening. He wanted to build a life with me. I could ask him to get sober.
But inside, my heart ached, and I knew that I’d already given my heart, fully, to someone else.
I still couldn’t go back to Chris. It was the safest option in the world—because I knew it so intimately. But I’d learned, over the previous months, that taking the safe bet was never the best option.
Chapter 17
Quinn
I was still inside my house when I heard the smoke alarm go off. It was a horrible screech, mechanical, harrowing, and it forced me out the door faster than I knew I could run.
Tyler’s house seemed perfectly normal, at least from my porch but as I drew closer, I smelled the smoke. During these minutes, I couldn’t comprehend anything but my own panic. I raced into the foyer, finding Rachel and Randy poised, staring into the kitchen, where a flickering fire had begun to consume the countertop. Big, dripping tears descended down Rachel’s cheeks. When she saw me, she started apologizing frantically, until her words rolled into a series of coughs, which chilled me to the bone.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “The toaster. It just caught on fire.”
“Go outside!” I ordered, pointing toward the front yard. “Take Randy with you!”
“My science experiments!” she screamed back, falling into another cough. She was a reminder that when we were in over our heads, we always think of the worst, most unimportant things and cling to them. She wouldn’t survive without those science experiments, her brain told her. No way.
But I didn’t answer her, allowing my order to stand. I raced toward the kitchen, grabbing the fire extinguisher on the far side of the room. I began to spray the foam on it, hearing sirens in the distance. Fire trucks. Just in case the fire engulfed the entire house, they would have my back. I heard Rachel weeping loudly from the front yard.
The foam barreled over the countertop, gradually stamping out the flames. I felt my hair licking at the back of my neck with the heat. Beads of sweat formed, drawing across my forehead and cheeks, and making me feel ragged and animalistic. As I brought the foam over the toaster, the countertop, and the stove, I heard myself growl slightly—kicking up the smoke in my lungs.
Moments later, two firemen bolted in through the back door. One of them grabbed me, carrying me from the blackened kitchen, while the other took care of what was left. The man draped me into the grass, where I coughed evenly for a full two minutes, sensing neighbor eyes on me. As I came-to, I realized that Rachel and Randy were beside me. Rachel looked white-faced, soft and meek. Randy licked at her face, drawing it upward, through her hair. I brought her into a tight hug, watching as the firemen stomped from the house. They called to me, saying something that sounded like, “All clear!”
But I couldn’t be sure.
I felt someone’s hand on my back a moment later. In my chaotic mind, I thought, surely, it was Tyler. I blinked up at him, bringing a smile to my face.
“Hey. What happened? I heard the trucks.”
It was Chris. Tears sprung up in my eyes, as I realized just how much I wanted Tyler to be there, to draw his arms around Rachel and I and make us feel safe. I nodded to Chris, swiping my hand over Rachel’s hair. “We’re fine,” I replied, over and over again. “We’re going to be all right.”
Chris swayed on his drunken feet, blinking toward the house. A black fog began to emanate from the kitchen windows. One of the firemen approached me, gesturing toward Rachel. His equipment looked too heavy on top of his shoulders as if he would collapse on the ground at any moment.
“You should take her to the hospital,” he said. “She’s pretty white. No telling how much smoke she inhaled. And with kids, it hits them faster. Delicate lungs and the shock—“
I nodded. Working on autopilot, I lifted myself onto shaking legs and then helped Rachel to her feet. Pointing coldly toward my door, I said, “Chris. Make yourself useful. Take the dog inside. And then go the hell to sleep.”
Chris cowered, looking like he was ready to protest. But he sensed my anger and the urgency of the situation. Drawing his hand around Randy’s collar, he led the dog back into the shadow of my doorway. And then, he clicked the door closed, leaving us in peace.
“Who was that?” Rachel asked, her voice just a string.
“Just someone who shouldn’t be here,” I said, drawing her into my arms. “I’m going to drive you to the hospital, all right?”
“Did anything in my room get burnt?” she whispered into my shoulder. “I had all those plants I was researching for next week’s project. You don’t think the heat—will ruin—the experiment?”
“Don’t be silly. They’ll be fine,” I said.
Easing her onto the front passenger seat, I buckled her in and then raced into the driver’s, coughing as I put the key in the ignition. As I backed out, I watched the kitchen light in my house click on, revealing Chris at the sink, filling Randy’s dog bowl with water.
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said again, blubbering slightly. “You aren’t going to tell my dad, are you? That I set fire to our house?”
“Rachel, it wasn’t your fault, baby,” I found myself saying, over and over. I reached across the center and clung to her hand, squeezing it tight. She needed to know someone was there for her and that a silly toaster fire wouldn’t ruin her life. “The doctor’s just going to check out your lungs and make sure you’re all right to go home again. And when we get there? I’ll call your dad as soon as I can. I know he can’t wait to see you.”
The reality didn’t wash over me until long after I’d sent Rachel away with one of the emergency doctors. I sat in one of those plastic chairs, calling Tyler’s phone—which was still off, as he hadn’t yet landed. I’d been the sole protector of his daughter, and I’d landed her in the hospital. If he wasn’t sure about me, to begin with—if I was worth altering his entire life—then this would surely make up his mind.
I knew, at that moment, poised on the plastic chair and sipping a burnt cup of coffee, that it was over between us. Just like that, reality had slashed any strings we’d ever had. And I would have to face the consequences, alone.
Chapter 18
Tyler
The plane swept along the runway, landing me back out east. In the days that had followed their dramatic offer—to join the partners in San Francisco full time—I’d been consumed with a mixture of worry and endless work. I’d been texting with Rachel, of course—often video chatting in the mornings, before her class and after Quinn dropped her off. She gabbed endlessly about how much she loved Quinn, about the activities they’d done together and the fact that she was edging toward working on a bug presentation for her big science project, due in a few weeks’ time.
But I hadn’t spoken with Quinn.
It was a tricky line. If I was going to move across the continent, I didn’t want to get her involved. It was going to be messy, encouraging Marnie that this was the proper path for all of us.
The moment I took my phone off Airplane mode, the messages came barreling through. Texts. Voicemails. Poised at the edge of my business class seat, my eyes searched the stewardess’s as if she could tell me what to do.
Hey. Tyler. If you could call me as soon as you get this.
Just wanted to check in. Sorry I keep calling. I know you’re in the air.
I raced ahead of the other business passengers, stabbing my roll suitcase in front of them like the assholes I normally complained about, and then raced down the aisle, into the hum of the airport. I felt agitated like all the lights were too bright and the people around me spoke too loudly. Bolting to the side of the hall, I lifted my phone to my ear and dialed Quinn back. She answered in the middle of the second ring.
“Tyler,” she said, her voice sharp.
“Quinn? What’s
going on? I didn’t have a chance to listen to the messages.”
“Tyler, I’m so sorry. We’re at the hospital. She’s getting tested. I’m—I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.”
My heart dropped into the acid of my stomach, giving me immediate heartburn. I stretched my hand over my chest, rubbing it, feeling the bones beneath the muscle.
“What happened?”
“A small fire. She inhaled some smoke, so I panicked and took her here. They just took her back, saying they want to run some tests. I don’t think she’ll be long. I hope.” She trailed off for a long time, gasping as quietly as she could. “But Tyler, she wants to see you. When she’s out, you should be here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
I couldn’t keep track of my thoughts after I hung up. I felt the stomp of my feet across the floor, the heaviness of my bag across my chest. I’d parked the truck in the first lot, and once I spotted it in the distance I bolted toward it, my shoulders twitching left and right as I ran. In the years since she’d been born Rachel had had the flu a few times. That stomach flu, a few weeks before. A cold that had nearly destroyed me with fear when she’d been three. And a case of the chicken pox when she was eight. But she’d never been in an accident before. Not even at her mother’s house—despite Marnie’s negligence.
And now, in the company of Quinn, she was at the hospital.
Every red light felt like three hours. No car could drive fast enough for me. I rushed around them, passing along the center line, and wound my way toward the Raleigh hospital. As an after-thought, knowing she needed to be informed, I dialed Marnie’s number and waited, waited, until she answered on the fourth ring.
“Yes?” she demanded. I could hear the clatter of a bar around her.
“Marnie,” I said, my voice sounding strange in my throat. How do parents exchange this information? How do they use English to say such horrible things? “I wanted to let you know that Rachel is at the hospital getting checked out. She’s in the emergency room. If you want to—“