“Breathe in and out. It’s okay now.”
His cupped hands catch the air. Each warm breath is a little easier. My panic is ebbing away. I am glad his hands hide my face. I am so glad Andrew is here. All I want is for him to forgive me. I duck my head and kiss his palm. But then he takes his hands away.
Emma’s eyes are wide and she clutches her water glass to her stomach. I can’t look at her, can’t let myself feel that overwhelming, helpless love again. Andrew will have to handle this. I rest my head on my knees, in the circle of my own arms.
I can hear him whisper and her overly loud whisper back. Without raising my head, I say automatically, “There isn’t a television here. There might be paper in the drawer by the phone.”
I’m doing a crappy job of being Emma’s mom right now. Moms suck it up. They solve the problem, stop the tears, find the fun. They always come second. I knew when I met Andrew that Emma would be the top priority. That was always the deal. And I loved her right away. Now I feel scooped out and broken. Emma is not safe with me. I am not her mom. I don’t know how to be. And the thought of poor motherless Emma brings tears to my eyes again.
Andrew has gotten Emma squared away with something—his phone or pen and paper—at the kitchen table. If we were at home, we could go into another room and chat. But here, in a strange place, Emma will follow us. He must know this too.
Awkwardly he lowers himself to the floor in front of me. That’s another difference between moms and dads. I have sat on the floor with Emma at library story times and preschool picnics, at playgroup outings to the fire station and at the park with Bethany and Felicia.
But we are on the floor of my parents’ kitchen and Andrew is sitting next to me.
“How is the investigation?” he asks. “Is there any word on your sister?”
“No. I think the police might believe me, that I wasn’t involved.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They went to work.” He lifts an eyebrow, and I answer, “Even with Ava missing. I know, Andrew. They’re not like other parents.”
“Isn’t there anyone here for you?” Things would be different for me as Lizzie in Sugar Land. Death or illness or loss brings cards and casseroles. There is nothing here in my parents’ house. Not even a note from a neighbor.
“Just you.” I watch Emma, the kitchen light shining against her hair. “I should have called and told you. You didn’t need to come all this way.”
Andrew gently touches my face, bringing my gaze back to him. “I did need to come. If this is real, I need to know the real you. Where you came from, who you are. I needed to meet your parents.”
“But Emma … this is so confusing for her.”
Now he looks uncertain. “I just thought … she should have a chance to meet her grandparents. And I didn’t know who … I couldn’t leave her.”
Andrew is never uncertain, never makes a move without considering all the logistics first. If this were business or home maintenance or even a weather emergency, he’d know just what to do. But this is his weakness: family. When I met him, his wife had been dead less than two years, his mother five. Andrew’s only living family is his father, and every day Alzheimer’s steals a little more from him. Now he is on the verge of losing me, a wife and mother.
“I wish I had a different family,” I tell him, humiliated at how little I can offer. “I wish I was a different person.”
Andrew’s eyes are the same shape as Emma’s, but his are a pure, rich brown, undiluted by the flecks of gold and green in hers. He takes my hand. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. You’re not who I thought you were. But how you are with me and Emma, that can’t be a lie, can it? Not every day of the past two years. It has to mean something.”
Anything I could say will sound like an excuse. “That’s who I wanted to be. The person I am with you.”
He sighs. “It doesn’t work like that, though. You have a family. You have a past. You can’t just erase them. You can’t just choose what to tell me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to spoil what we had.”
Andrew’s eyes are so sad as he says, “Lying spoils everything.”
My tears do spill over, hot on my cheeks. “I know. I won’t ever lie again. I swear.”
He kisses me on the forehead. “Deal.” That’s dependable-man-speak for “I love you.”
And I feel forgiven, a little bit.
Emma notices our embrace, and then she’s in the middle of it, and I have everything I ever wanted, everything I don’t deserve. I just want this moment to last forever.
Of course it can’t. The doorbell rings, again and again. We separate, and I open the door to a delivery man needing a signature. When I turn back, Andrew’s getting Emma’s shoes back on while she tells me all about the television and the pool and the tiny soap in the hotel room. She wants me to come back there with them. I want to with every fiber of my being, but I can’t tell from Andrew’s face if now is the right time.
I tell her I might, but I’ll have to ask my mom first.
We arrange to meet for dinner. And I will bring my parents. I use the house phone to call my mother’s cell. There are times at work when she has it turned off, but today she picks up on the first ring. At least that’s normal. Maybe she is anxious about Ava.
“Yes?”
“Mom, my husband is here. And our daughter.”
“You have a child.” This ought to be a question, but my mother doesn’t ask.
“She’s my stepdaughter.”
“Ah.” I can’t tell what she means.
“They’d like to have dinner with you and Dad.”
My mother seems nonplussed. “Dinner?”
“At a restaurant. So you could meet them.”
There’s only silence as my mother calculates the appropriate action.
“So will you and Dad meet us for dinner?”
“Yes. That would be fine.”
“You pick the place and time.”
“Well, where are they staying? The little girl and her father?”
My daughter. My husband. But I swallow down my anger and name the hotel instead.
She is silent for a moment. “We’ll do Portofino at seven. That’s close. Be ready fifteen minutes before and we’ll pick you up.”
“Have you heard anything about Ava?” I remember the picture of the smiling woman on her honeymoon. The longer she is gone, the more I start to worry. But it’s hard to maintain that worry when my parents appear so calm.
“Nothing from the police. Glenn left a message. Something about a press event tomorrow.”
Before I can ask if I’m expected to come, she hangs up.
Relief that our awkward conversation is over gives way quickly to the reality of our impending family dinner.
Andrew and Emma will be in the lion’s den tonight, all because of me.
CHAPTER
21
ZOE
THE RESTAURANT IS a mistake. I can tell the minute I walk through the door. It’s got a hushed ambience that my parents will use to discourage intimacy. Exactly the kind of place that makes me want to disturb the peace.