Julia left the kids in the basement. Evan had gone back to giving her the silent treatment, and Thomas calmed when she turned on the Xbox. As she walked up the stairs, she heard the faint sounds of their video game coming through the partially opened pocket door that led to the media room. Her eyes closed as she focused on lifting her feet, one step at a time. They felt as heavy as if they had been cast in iron.
Her mother waited at the top of the steps, her reading glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck, one she had not stopped tugging at since the report had come on the TV. The expression on her mother’s face was undecipherable. It seemed at once protective and accusatory. But Julia failed to notice. Instead, she pushed past her and paced. She went from the kitchen through the dining room. Then from the foyer through the living room and back through the kitchen. She did this three times before her mother finally spoke.
“Did you tell them?”
She shook her head. “No. How could I? Evan won’t speak to me.”
“I thought . . .”
“No,” Julia repeated.
She paced another lap. The physical effort was in vain, though. It cleared none of the cacophony of thoughts that rolled through her brain like some overplayed and torturous pop song. She needed to act. She could not sit still. But she was trapped like an animal in the zoo, needing to hunt but instead walking in circles just waiting to be fed.
“The TV’s broken,” her mother said. Julia felt like she wasn’t even talking to her, that her mom was just putting words out there into the ether. “I tried to put it on, but it’s fried for sure.”
Julia kept pacing until she reached the living room again. There, she parted the curtains. People were everywhere, so she quickly closed them again. Without saying anything, she turned and walked up the stairs. As if she somehow knew what Julia was thinking, her mother followed her into the master bedroom. Julia sat on the edge of their king-size mattress and, without asking, her mother put on the television.
The image on the screen was surreal. On the station that the television had last been set to, a live shot of the front of her house appeared. Julia sat on her bed and looked at the outside of her own bedroom window. The shade was partially open. Although it was most likely a trick of her mind, she swore she saw herself there, watching herself watch herself like she and her mother stood between fun-house mirrors.
“Change it,” she snapped.
Her mother did. They found another station. It, too, was covering her husband.
“As we wait for confirmation of recent reports that Michael Swann is the lone suspect in the attack on Penn Station, new sources have come forward with some chilling news. According to those who knew Swann, he spoke often about the polarizing elections. In fact, someone claiming to be a family friend told a reporter for one of our affiliated stations that Swann often made racially insensitive remarks . . .”
Julia’s cheeks burned. “That’s bullshit!”
Her mother switched the channel again. For her part, Julia was reeling. Knew Swann? Family friend? She wasn’t even sure an hour had passed since this new madness started. How could they be reporting things like that? It made no sense.
The next station provided factual accounts of the attack. Thousands injured. Hundreds dead. News that engineers had concluded that Madison Square Garden could not be saved. Due to structural-integrity issues, the iconic building would have to be utterly demolished. Cell service was returning in the tristate area.
Julia heard that. She grabbed her phone and tried to call Michael on the work phone again, the one that she thought he had picked up. It rang four times and went to voicemail. She listened to his voice, so calm and professional. It made her cry. Through the tears, she left a message.
“Please call me. I know this isn’t true. Just call . . . We can figure it out.”
Julia had never felt as empty as when she ended that call. The news continued to drone on. Julia heard none of it. Her mind could not leave the other report, the one about Michael. She buried her head in her hands. In that moment, she thought she might die. Julia could feel her lungs seizing up. Her body willing itself to quit on her. And maybe she wanted that. Maybe that was the only way out.
“Jules?” her mother said softly.
Through shaking hands, Julia said, “It’s a mistake. He could never do something like that.”
“I know, sweetie,” Kate said.
Instead, Julia heard, How do you know?