61

Twenty-Six Years Old

“Salem, this is Rachel. Rachel, Salem.”

The woman holds out her petite hand. Everything about her makes Salem feel like a huge, torpid moose. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Salem shakes her hand. She realizes it’s the first time she’s been in the same room as Bel in a year. “You too.” It’s not true, but it’s the polite thing to say. Salem and Bel circle each other like strangers, relatives who only connect on holidays.

“How’s work? You still at the community ed center?” Bel turns to Rachel. “She teaches computer to inner city kids. A computer genius with a huge heart.”

Salem smiles. Or at least she thinks she does. She’s not sure if it reaches her face. “Yep. And I got offered a research assistant job at the college.”

“Think you’ll take it?”

“I think so.” The stilted small talk squeezes Salem tighter and tighter until she’s trapped in an airless box. When Daniel died, Bel had moved in to Salem’s house and slept in her bed until she relearned to fall asleep on her own. When Salem’s mom forgot to shop for groceries or make meals, Bel made sure Gracie knew so that there was always food in Salem’s house. When Michael Dingboom asked Salem to senior prom “as a friend,” Bel had driven back all the way from Chicago to help her get ready and give her kissing pointers, just in case.

That same Bel stands across from her now, a million miles away, twitchy, her and Rachel acting like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Bel makes alone time for Salem only once during the visit. It is to take Salem aside and ask her what she thinks of Rachel.

Salem makes the mistake of telling her the truth.

They won’t speak again until Halloween morning.