20.

Driving home, the sun sparkling on the Hudson River, she considers the dumb questions she’s been asked. Have you cleaned house before? Can you work with children around? Are you allergic to any detergent? What about dust? Will you work weekends? On and on, to which she replied yes, yes, no, no, I will. Never mind that the outer corridor of the agency was filled with women waiting to apply for the same work. And who’s to say they didn’t need a job as much or more than she did? Not that she’d give up a job to any of them. Running on empty makes her selfish in ways she never would’ve imagined.

Pulling up in front of her house, she takes out her cell phone and tries Dory for the third time. She answers.

“I’ve been calling you all day!”

“I forgot to turn it on.” Dory sounds impatient, which makes her wonder. Have they changed their minds?

“We’ve decided to accept your generous offer to move in.” She waits for some reaction but hears only breathing. “Do you still want us there?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t sound like your usual enthusiastic self.”

“Lena, I’m at work. I got in late. Old people are wandering around, trying to get my attention or take away the phone to talk to you.”

“Okay, I get it. Zack wants to go ahead with the perimeter crap. So I have to let him do his thing and when it fails, which it will, we move in with you guys.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I won’t keep you. Just want to say that I lost it, slapped Rosie’s face last night for sassing me. I’ll hang up now.”

“You slapped Rosie?”

“I already feel terrible, don’t make it worse.”

“She probably deserved it.”

“That feels worse.”

“A drink after I finish work?”

“No. I’ve got to get Casey out of his room. I can’t confiscate his computer. He’ll hate me too much. I need one of my children to love me.”

“Take him to buy something. It’ll get him out, perk him up.”

“Want to hear something funny?” she asks, seeing Zack through the window, pacing the living room.

“Only if it’s less than three words.”

“Arthur.”

“Arthur?”

“I was fishing in my purse for coins and found Arthur’s card. The detective we met months ago? He wrote his number on the other side. It gave me a weird jolt seeing it. I thought I’d call to ask if they hire civilian personnel at the precinct.”

“Do not, I caution you, call the man with the white scarf.”

“So you do remember?”

“Like an elephant.” Dory clicks off.

She sits there a moment, revisiting Arthur. Could it really hurt to ask him a simple question about a job? He did flirt with her, the white scarf around her neck and all. Okay, that was dangerous, but she was drunk then. Now she’s cold sober. Maybe she could do clerical work or work in the cafeteria? That precinct has no cafeteria, she’ll bet on that piece of her memory. She’s too old to join the civil service, isn’t she? That’s another question she might ask.

With the phone at his ear, Zack’s asking someone called Jimmy to join the perimeter posse. Well, that’s it, then. The hardhats are coming. Not waiting to hear more, she goes upstairs, but Casey’s not in his room. Well, good, maybe he’s out biking.

She knocks at Rosie’s door. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“No, you need me to forgive you.”

“Yes, I do. I lost it, I’m sorry.” She’s speaking to the closed door, which feels ridiculous.

No response.

“We can have the conversation through the door, if you want.”

Her daughter opens the door, her hair pulled back with a ribbon. She looks a bit ill. She did get in late. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I forgive you. Okay? Now, please go. I’m trying to take a nap.”

Then why is she dressed in jeans and T-shirt? “Rosie, you know I’ve never raised a hand …”

“I said I forgive you,” and just as Rosie’s about to close the door, she steps inside, noting that the bed’s unmade and strewn with clothes.

“Where were you last night?”

“Out with Mirabelle.”

“Where to?”

“Movie and late-night snack.”

Her answers are too quick, but the last thing they need is another argument. “Listen, Dad’s trying to round up his friends to stop the foreclosure. He’s on the phone now.”

“Am I supposed to do something?”

“Ask him how you can help. You wanted the perimeter to happen.”

“Mom at my age, life changes at a startling pace. I already told you I’d rather move in with a friend. You guys should just go ahead to Dory’s.”

“Whoa, you cannot, I repeat, cannot live at Mirabelle’s. If need be I’ll phone her parents to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“You would do that?”

Why is her daughter surprised? “I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever.”

“What do you mean safe? What’s unsafe?”

“To be without your family.”

“Oh, god, never mind. Please go. I have a stomachache. I need a nap before tonight.”

“You’re going out again?”

“This is my vacation, remember?”

Before she can ask where to and with whom, Rosie says, “To a summer beach party, lots of kids. Can I take my nap now?”

She’s on the phone with Dory when she hears Rosie come down the stairs. “How’s the stomach?” she calls from the kitchen. Rosie mumbles something she can’t make out, then the screen door bangs shut. “I’ll call you later,” she says, then glances out the window at the summer dusk. The sky’s still streaked with fading pink and silver from the sunset. She made the right decision not to curtain this window. Sometimes, early in the morning, while everyone’s still asleep, she sneaks into the kitchen to watch winter’s night sky lightening or summer’s brightening. The silence, indoors and out, shifts her mood and often for the better. Someone once told her there was grace in getting away from oneself.

Her eyes flit to the scattering of foreclosure documents on the table, the ones she can never quite read to the end without zoning out. The print is small, the language inaccessible, and besides she can’t bear to know much more than she already does about the odious process. One lackey after another, signing off on the foreclosure, and not one of them taking any responsibility for the outcome. They’re like drone pilots she reads about in the paper who sit in some air-conditioned facility thousands of miles from the lands they’re bombing. They don’t have to view the damage or even hear the noise of it. Isn’t that just like the banks? Maybe Zack’s right. Why make it easy? Why accept their crap? Why not at least fight back? The anger inside her offers no answers, only the start of a headache, which sends her upstairs for an aspirin.

Rosie’s door is ajar. She sees the note at once, taped to Rosie’s pillow. Her limbs go soft. She sits on Rosie’s bed. She knows before knowing. It’s not just the slap. It’s everything the girl expects and is entitled to that she can’t count on anymore. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and … she reaches over, pulling the note free.

Mom, Dad, Casey,

I’m not running away. I’m simply going to live with a friend, someone you don’t know, who is pretty wonderful and has made lots of room for me. I’m going to be fine. I will stay in touch. I do have my phone. You can call me. But I can’t leave you the address because, Mom, you would be here in a nanosecond giving me grief, trying to get me home, and I truly don’t want to deal with that. I’m not a baby. I will be in a safe situation. Just trust me, I beg you. Leaving home isn’t impulsive even if it seems that way to you. I think it’s for the best. Dad, I hope your perimeter works, but it probably won’t. So the move to Dory’s seems set. Casey, the room at Dory’s is yours.

Rosie.

Fear and sadness collide inside her, along with a sliver of envy. Her daughter’s getting away.