Chapter 12: The Kitchen Counter Where I Left The Diamonds
The truck ride to Helen's apartment took twenty minutes and I didn't say a word the whole way. Daniel drove under the speed limit down County Road 9, past the dark soccer fields and the closed gas station with its buzzing sign. Lily was curled against my side in the back seat, her head on my lap, still in her light blue outfit, breathing deep and even. I kept my hand on her back. I was still in the red dress. The teardrop pendant rested heavy against my chest and every time the truck hit a bump I felt it tap against my skin. My phone vibrated in my purse. I didn't look.
Helen opened her apartment door before we even knocked. She lived on the second floor above the laundromat on Main, two small bedrooms, a kitchen that looked out onto the parking lot. She didn't ask questions. She just took one look at Lily and at me in that dress and at Daniel standing a step behind me in his gray suit, and held her arms out.
"Give her to me, honey," she said softly.
I lifted Lily — she was heavier asleep than awake — and Helen carried her down the short hall to the bedroom. I followed. Helen had already pulled the quilt back. She laid Lily down and slipped her shoes off, then tucked the quilt around her shoulders. Lily didn't wake. She sighed once and turned her cheek into the pillow. Helen brushed her hair back with her palm and stood there a second longer, watching her breathe, then she looked at me and nodded toward the kitchen.
The kitchen light was warm, a bare bulb over a small table. Daniel had stayed by the front door, his hands in his pockets.
"You can wait on the landing if you want," Helen said to him. "I'll leave it unlocked."
He looked at me. I nodded. He stepped outside and pulled the door to, not closed. I could hear him shift his weight on the concrete walkway.
Helen filled the kettle. I stood at the counter and finally reached behind my neck. My fingers were cold and fumbled with the clasp. For twenty-three years I'd worn what Richard gave me for galas, for photos, for donor dinners. He'd fastened this one for me that afternoon in front of the bedroom mirror. He'd said it made me look suitable.
The chain came undone and the weight lifted. I took the matching earrings out one by one. I set them down on Helen's laminate counter next to the dish soap. The diamonds caught the kitchen light and threw sharp little spots onto the cabinet. Without them my ears felt light and my neck felt bare and cold. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"When did it get like this?" Helen asked, not looking at the jewelry, keeping her voice low.
"After Claire," I said. My daughter's name felt thin in the air. "After Claire died he needed something he could manage. He couldn't manage that. So he managed me. Managed what I wore, where I went. Who came in the house."
Helen leaned against the sink. "The foundation."
I nodded. The kettle started to hiss. "It's all in both our names. The donors write checks to the Ellis Family Foundation. The accountants said it would look better if the wife chaired it. He needs my signature. He needs me in the red dress smiling for the photos. That's why he picked these." I touched the edge of the necklace where it lay. It wasn't warm anymore. "I thought they were a gift. I thought if I wore what he wanted, he'd calm down. But they were just a leash. A pretty one."
Helen reached over and squeezed my hand. Her hand was warm from the kettle. She didn't tell me I should have left sooner. She never did that.
From my purse on the table my phone started vibrating again. Then again. I pulled it out. The screen lit up. Richard. Then again. Richard. By the third call I could see the number of missed calls stacked at the top. Six already. It kept going while we stood there. I turned it face down so I couldn't see Lily's name as the contact photo.
"I got you a cardigan," Helen said. She went to her bedroom and came back with a soft gray cardigan, the kind she wore to the school where she worked. "And sweatpants. Go change. I'll sit with her."
In the bathroom I stepped out of the red dress. The ruched fabric had held its shape all night, through the ballroom, through the hallway, through the truck ride. I folded it and set it on the closed toilet lid, not on the floor. I pulled on Helen's sweatpants and the cardigan. It smelled like her laundry detergent. In the mirror my neck was bare, my ears empty. I looked older and also more like myself. I ran water and washed my face hard until the makeup was gone.
May you like
When I came out, Helen was at the table. The diamonds were still on the counter where I'd left them. The phone vibrated again against the wood. Lily was asleep in the next room, breathing through the thin wall. Outside the door, I could hear Daniel's soft footsteps as he waited.
I didn't pick up.
