Sarah muddled through the day in a mist of grief and anger. The smoke from the fires had finally cleared, but she kept the kitchen window closed anyway. Better to be stuffy and airless than put up with the smell of rotting trash from the garbage bin below. Carter yelled for a snack from his bedroom. She needed to feed him, although pickings were slim, and she didn’t have the energy to come up with the colours on the plate in Canada’s Food Guide. She opened the cupboard and surveyed the shelf. Alphagetti would have to do.
A loud knock on the door startled her into dropping the can. Carter bounded out of his room.
“What was that?” he asked wildly. Visitors were unheard of.
Sarah picked up the rolling can of noodles. It must be Nick. She’d been expecting this moment with both worry and want. “Someone’s at the door. Why don’t you go answer it.”
Carter skipped over and swung the door open. “It’s Nick and Billy,” he yelled, leaving them standing in the hallway.
She felt a shiver that she instantly pushed down. She glanced at her reflection in the window, dismayed at her appearance, her ragged T-shirt and too-short shorts, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Well, move out of the way, Carter,” she said, striding towards them.
Nick stood there, not crossing her threshold, looking unsure. “Sorry, I know I should have called first. Billy and I bought a bucket of chicken and slaw. Wondered if you could help us with it.”
“I’ve brought something for Carter too.” Billy stepped in, making himself at home.
“For me? What?” Carter climbed up Billy’s skinny legs, nearly knocking him over.
“It’s a surprise,” Billy croaked, strangled sounding. “Still in the truck.” Carter had himself wrapped around Billy’s neck.
“Is it a bucket of chicken?” Carter wanted to know.
Billy bent low and Carter fell off. “Nope. But that’s also in the truck. We weren’t sure this would work.”
Sarah stared at Nick, still in the hall, ball cap in hands, eyes wary. She wanted to kiss his pressed lips and let his scent soak into her. But she could not afford sentiment or hormones or whatever it was that made the heat rush up through her belly and into her throat, so she kept her feet planted at a safe distance.
“Is this okay?” he asked cautiously.
“Of course. It’s so thoughtful.” She held out the can of Alphagetti. “And you’ve saved us from this. Come in, come in. We can have a picnic on the floor.”
“I’ll get the chicken,” Billy said on his way out.
“And my surprise,” Carter yelled, chasing after him.
Alone, they stood facing each other in crushing silence.
Nick stared at her intensely. “Have I done something wrong? Something to offend you?”
“Of course you haven’t.” She lay in bed night after night wanting him beside her. It was a cruel choice. She had a son to provide for, away from this town. She couldn’t stay. Couldn’t afford to start something with an ending so clear. She’d been withdrawn on the phone.
Nick looked at the floor. “I wondered if maybe you’ve been having doubts about me. After last week. When you were feeling so hurt?”
She felt shame wash over her. She hated that he was questioning himself, questioning the day they had together.
Nick blushed. “Maybe I could have been more supportive. I can be stupid. And insensitive.” He looked up again, pleading. “But I can do better.”
She’d done this to him, and it was terribly unfair. “If anyone should apologize it’s me. I blindsided you with all my blubbering. You were perfectly lovely and just what I needed. I’m better now.”
“So you don’t need me anymore?”
When she didn’t answer, he looked away. Beyond the open door, they could hear the boys tromping down the hallway, getting nearer. He deserved an explanation, but it would have to wait. “Let’s just have our picnic,” she said quietly.
The boys crashed through the door, Carter proudly displaying a framed painting.
“Look. It’s me.”
She examined it closely. Carter flying down a grassy hill on his bike, the wind whipping open his unzipped jacket, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed tight, cheeks apple red, a wild grin. Her boy in a perfect moment, the likeness uncanny.
“Oh, Billy. It’s beautiful. It’s a gorgeous piece of art. It must have taken you forever to paint this.”
Billy shrugged, his arms wrapped around the chicken bag.
“I go that fast on my bike all the time,” Carter said, his nose just inches from the canvas.
“Did you even say thank you, Carter? It’s such a wonderful present.”
“Thank you. Can I put it on my wall?”
If things turned out, Carter would soon have another wall, another room. “Of course you can. Why don’t we hang it beside your bed.”
He clomped off to his room, painting in tow.
“Be careful with that now,” she hollered after him.
“Do you got a hammer?” he yelled.
“Not now, Carter. Come back. We’re going to have our picnic.”
She found a plastic tablecloth in the hall closet and, with Nick’s help, spread it on the floor and divvied out forks and plates. They sat in a circle, the bucket of chicken in the middle. Carter wanted to know when Billy could babysit again and if he could eat a marshmallow in one bite or hold his head under water until he counted to twenty or if he could smash a rock in two with a hammer. Billy answered each one of the relentless questions. Sarah wondered if this was what families looked like. Children nattering. The adults on the sidelines, grateful to leave the difficult bits tucked away.
She glanced from father to son. The pair, so at odds at first, had become more alike with each passing week. Nick rolled his tongue over his teeth when he was skeptical, and now Billy did that too. They both cracked their knuckles for no reason and clasped their hands behind their necks when they were lost for words.
Once the chicken was gone, Carter became preoccupied with chasing a fly with the swatter. She and Nick dumped the dinner remains into the paper bag.
“Well, are you going to tell her?” Billy said.
“Tell me what?” She kept her eye on Carter, who was whacking at the window. “Be careful or you’ll break the glass.”
One final thump and Carter yelled, “I got it. I got it. I really did. I got it.”
“He’s never been successful before,” she said.
“He’s a stealthy hunter,” Nick said, cracking a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Carter started towards them, a mushed black speck between his fingers.
“Don’t you bring that here. Go throw it in the garbage and wash your hands. With soap.” Once he was up on his sink stool, banging on the soap pump, she turned to Nick. “Billy said, Are you going to tell her. Tell me what?” She hoped it would have nothing to do with her. Nothing that she would have to turn down.
Nick looked at her closely. “There’s been a . . .”
Carter bounced back, hands dripping. He slipped on the tablecloth and crashed into Nick, who grabbed him up in a bear hug. Carter screeched, wrestling madly to get out of his grip.
“Maybe . . .” Nick yelled over the mayhem. “Maybe you and I could go for a little walk?”
Carter stopped fighting. “Can I come too?”
Nick tussled Carter’s hair and looked at Billy earnestly.
Billy piped up. “Nah, let’s stay here. We can draw superheroes.”
Carter sprang from Nick’s arms and into Billy’s, knocking him over. “I’m going to be Spiderman.”
“Would that be okay?” Nick asked her. “Just for a bit. You and me.”
She looked a mess, not fit to be out, but it would be heaven to escape from Carter for a few minutes. She turned to Billy, who was on his back, Carter sprawled across his face. “Are you sure, Billy?”
“Yeah, sure,” he groaned. “I’m being suffocated, but you go ahead.”
So they left the boys in a puddle on the floor and headed down the stairs into the muggy evening air.
“There’s not really any nice places around here,” she said, appalled to find pieces of chicken coating stuck to her grubby T-shirt. She was a perfect fit with the shabby surroundings.
“I’m in it for the company, not the view,” Nick said. “I’ve always wanted to prowl the streets with you.”
“And I’ve wanted to thank you for your phone calls. I know I’ve been hard to talk to. I haven’t been my best lately.”
He shrugged. “No worries. Just checking in.”
She nodded, feeling foolish. Maybe she couldn’t see straight, imagining what might be, rather than what was. Maybe his courtesy calls had been merely a way to pass the time. God knows, single parents needed the distraction.
Her breasts felt sticky-wet under her bra in the leftover heat of the day, the sun sliding west, her thoughts so tangled that she had to concentrate on staying upright. Nick seemed content to have her beside him, slowing his stride to match hers. They walked along the chipped sidewalk, past the sagging apartment complex, past the long row of matchbox duplexes. Clanging kitchen noises and sharp supper smells reached out into the dead air from behind open windows. They passed an overturned garbage can and half-dead apple tree and turned onto a street she had never been down. The houses here were better taken care of. Real curtains. Boxes of marigolds. Bird feeders shaped like barns.
They didn’t touch, but she could feel the heat of his body beside hers, the solid sound of breath and breathing.
“Billy’s a great kid,” she said.
“I know. So’s Carter.”
“We’re lucky.”
“We are.”
They continued meandering until she felt more at ease, more in step with the man beside her. She’d nearly forgotten there was a reason for their being childless like this. Nick had something to tell her, and while she’d already guessed, she needed to hear him say it. “So, are you going to keep me in suspense any longer?”
He stopped and turned with a look of concern. “It’s about Prairie View. About Rachel.” He took a deep breath. “She’s been the one stealing things from the residents.”
So the word was out. “I know,” she said.
“You know?” He stared at her intently.
She nodded. “Rachel told me. She promised to give everything back before she left town. I guess she followed through, then?”
“She made it to the parking lot. I carried in the loot for her without knowing what I had.”
“Does Billy know?”
“He found out before either of us. He’d gone to her house to give her flowers. He got inside and saw the box full of stuff. Violet’s doll and the rest. It really did a number on him.”
“Oh God, the poor kid.”
“She took us for fools,” he said with disgust. “That woman’s evil.”
Sarah couldn’t bear to think it was that simple. Rachel, evil. The woman she knew had been more than that. Over the past twenty-four hours, Sarah had conjured an agonizing number of Rachels to explain the inexplicable. Trapped, haunted, ill-treated and unloved. She had to believe there was a future for her, some potential for redemption.
“Rachel has demons,” she said. “She doesn’t know why she does these horrible things.”
Nick’s face twisted. “Even if she can give a full accounting of the why and how, she’s not the one who has suffered it most.” He held onto her arm, as if afraid she’d fall over. “This proves your innocence.”
“I didn’t need proof. I’m innocent.”
He nodded. “Of course you are. But now everyone else will know too. You can get your job back.”
But there was no going back. If it were the last job on Earth, she would not go back. She could not erase the betrayal, its bitter taste in the back of her throat.
Nick studied his feet, kicking at pebbles, still grasping her arm. “You should demand a raise. And Dorothy better get down on her knees.”
His mind was playing out her future. She’d allowed a man to sidetrack her life once already, and with more to lose now, she could not let it happen again. She didn’t trust herself, the things he could talk her into or out of.
“I’m not going back, Nick,” she said, more resolutely than she felt.
He dropped his arm. “Okay,” he said, leaving her uncomfortably hot under his long gaze. Finally, he pressed, “I get that you’re done with Prairie View. That makes sense, they’ve treated you horribly. But you can find another job.”
“There are no other jobs for me in Rigsbee.”
“There has to be. Anyone with a right mind would be lucky to have you. If it’s money, I can help.”
She struggled to find the right words. “I don’t want your money, Nick. I want to be a nurse. I want to be the kind of mom who can give Carter the future he deserves. I can’t do that here.”
He stared at the ground, saying nothing.
“I could so easily be talked into it, you watching out for me, paying my bills, taking care of every little thing. But I need to do this on my own. For me and Carter. I need to try at least.”
He clasped his hands behind his neck.
“Are you okay?” she said.
He sighed, a deep final breath. “You’re going to miss Rigsbee’s Pumpkin Smash Festival. You can’t get that just anywhere.”
She desperately wanted to hold him but kept her voice light. “Don’t lose my number. You can tell me all about it.”
“You’re still coming for dinner on Sunday?” he asked, almost sheepishly, as if he didn’t deserve to know.
“To meet your parents. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He nodded before moving away, keeping a distance between them. “We should get back,” he said.
They walked slowly, pausing to look up as a large flock of black birds littered the sky, sweeping and looping in a single pattern as if they shared the same heart. She wondered how it would feel to be so assured of a direction, to glide so effortlessly.
When they entered the apartment, the boys were hidden under the table, a makeshift fort with draped blankets, Billy’s large feet hanging out.
“You can’t come inside,” Carter yelled, as if her first instinct would be to crawl in. The stereo from upstairs was cranked to full volume, the drum beat pounding through the ceiling, rattling the glasses on the counter.
“Do we got a flashlight?” Carter yelled.
“Do we have a flashlight,” she corrected. “And no we do not. It’s bath time anyway. Come on out now.”
Nick was eying the ceiling, his expression grim.
Billy crawled out backwards, hair sticking up, forehead glistening. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s a sweat lodge in there. Is it always this loud?”
“Not in the mornings,” she said. “Earplugs help.”
Carter followed reluctantly, dragging his bulldozer. “Can we keep the fort until tomorrow?”
“No way, mister. Now off you go. Get undressed, and I’ll get the bath ready.”
He grumbled down the hallway, swinging the bulldozer wildly.
“We should go.” Nick placed his hand on her shoulder, his light-as-air touch causing a torment to run through her.
“Thanks so much,” she said too formally. “For dinner. For the walk. For the excellent company.” Then she turned to Billy, kissing him on the cheek. “The painting is beautiful. We’ll cherish it always.”
Both father and son blushed as they fumbled their goodbyes.
She watched absently over Carter in the tub as he sorted his marbles and dove for the starfish and talked to his captainless yellow boat. She felt sick with loneliness, the ache of something lost. When they heard the commotion upstairs, they both looked up, eyes big. A banging on a door, the stomping of boots, raised voices. She left Carter, wandered into the kitchen, and looked out the window to the parking lot below. Billy was alone in the truck, slumped in the passenger seat, his arm dangling out the window.
It took her a full minute to bring the pieces into focus. The relentless pounding had stopped, stereo strangled mid-scream, her home as still and serene as a sleepy country night.
She waited to make sure he was alright, needing to see proof. She watched as he strode back to the truck, his steps long and sure. Watched as he slipped into his seat, leaned over, said something to his son. Watched at the window until long after he pulled away and out of her sight.