“Gracie!” The relief and pleasure in Shay’s voice sends warmth through me. “I was just sitting here with my coffee, thinking of you. I’m so glad you called.”
I close my eyes and think of Shay’s tiny dining room, the room that sticks out from the side of the house, that’s big enough only for her long farm table and chairs. When we have people over for dinner, they have to crawl over each other to get to the bathroom. Shay’s tiny house is so different from Rachel’s. Shay doesn’t have near the amount of sofas and pillows and room, but her house is always crammed full of guests and laughter and conversations. Rachel has a house that’s filled with furniture but no people.
“Wait a minute, why are you calling? Is everything okay?”
“I just wanted to wish you Happy Thanksgiving.”
“It’s six-thirty in the morning. Tell me another one.”
I flop over in bed and cradle the receiver. I keep my voice low, even though I’m pretty sure Rachel and Nate are still sleeping.
“I guess I’m homesick.”
She gives a laugh of pleasure. “Good. I mean, I hope you’re having a good time with your father. But that makes me feel good.”
“I was thinking about your house.”
“Our house.”
“Our house. I saw some pictures of it last night. When you first bought it. There was this really hideous carpet—”
“Hoo, I’ll say. That color! Like a bruised cantaloupe.”
“Nate is in the pictures. And my mom is in one of them. Do you remember who took them?”
“I don’t remember… I don’t have copies of them. I think those were taken on closing day. We went over to celebrate. The house was a mess, but we felt like we’d just bought the Taj Mahal. Well, I did. But the work ahead of us was enormous. Nate started that night. He took out that carpet and the curtains and cleaned the floors, for a surprise for me and Carrie. It smelled a little better after that. But only a little. We threw open all the windows for weeks.”
Nate took up the carpet and cleaned? He hasn’t rinsed a dish since I’ve been here.
I’m scared, I want to tell Shay. I want to come home.
But I have one more thing to do here. So instead, I say “Happy Thanksgiving” again and hang up.
Look, I’m not good with holidays anyway. I’ve had two serious crashes on Christmas since mom died, and my birthday just makes me sad. But I didn’t know how bad it could get until I was spending Thanksgiving with two strangers, one of whom could be my dad the murderer.
Rachel has gone all out. Butternut squash soup. Turkey, stuffing, creamed onions. Mashed potatoes and sweet potato casserole. Carrots. String beans. And two kinds of pie.
It’s all good, but I can’t eat. Every bite sticks in my throat. I have to pretend to eat, pretend to join in the conversation, but I can’t stop thinking of what happened to Billy Applegate and Hank Hobbs.
And Rachel. Is she in danger, too?
In the middle of the pumpkin and the apple pies, the phone rings. Rachel gets up, a smile on her face. “That’s probably my parents. I left a message before.”
We hear her say hello in the kitchen.
Nate looks at me. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“What?”
“You’re not yourself.”
“I’m in a food coma.”
“You hardly touched your food.”
“It’s just weird, being here, I guess.”
He puts his fork down. “You must miss her on holidays.”
“I miss her every day.”
“But it’s worse on holidays, isn’t it? It’s like you’re running on empty.”
Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like.
“I always hated holidays myself,” he says.
Suddenly, we hear Rachel sob.
We push our chairs back and hurry into the kitchen.
“Honey, what it is it?”
Rachel looks up him, tears streaming down her face, her hand still on the phone in its cradle. But she’s smiling. “Our baby. Sonia. Our baby is ready for us. She’s ready to come home.”
Nate rushes to gather Rachel in his arms. “That’s great, honey. That’s great.”
Does he mean it? If he doesn’t, he’s a great actor.
But isn’t that the point? That he’s a great actor? A con man?
Rachel swipes at her tears. “We have to leave for Moscow within a few days, they said. There’s so much to do, I can’t think…”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Nate says. “Our passports are ready, you have baby clothes for Sonia, you even have diapers! Don’t worry, sweetie, we’re set. I’ll buy the tickets.”
Rachel holds out her hand to me. “Gracie. Gracie, I’m so sorry to cut your visit short. It’s just that, they said we’d have very little notice—”
“I understand,” I say. “It’s okay. I can take the bus back.”
“No,” Nate says. “I’ll drive you. I can do the trip in a day, then swing back here for the flight.”
But he won’t come back, I know. He’ll take me back, but he’ll keep going. He’ll have her money, probably all the money she was going to use to pay for Sonia, the money for the tickets, everything. He’ll clean out the business account. And he’ll keep driving, maybe to Canada. I know it.
He’ll leave her, just like he left all the others.