This Secret Thing, стр. 73
“I guess they’re not back yet,” she said to Casey as they trooped through the house toward the kitchen in the back.
“Back from where?” Casey asked, sounding bored. She was asking only to make conversation. Bess was still shocked she’d agreed to come along and help transport the meal.
“They went to visit Norah,” she said. She tried to make her voice light as she said it. What was it the kids said in their texts? NBD: no big deal. She wanted to make it sound like Polly and Violet’s errand was just that, an errand.
But Casey wasn’t falling for it. “In jail?”
Bess nodded and began unloading the food. She’d brought too much; she always did. She smiled at Casey as she set the salad down on the kitchen island. “Thank you,” she said. She truly was thankful for the help, but more than that, she was thankful her daughter had agreed to spend one-on-one time with her. Casey had been even more wary of Bess since the whole scene with Eli. Bess wanted her to know she was forgiven, but she didn’t want to bring it up and embarrass Casey anew. But maybe now, here, she could try to smooth the waters.
She opened her mouth to speak, trusting the right words would come out. She would tread lightly, she would speak gently, she would begin making inroads to her daughter’s heart. “I . . . ,” she got out.
She watched Casey’s face change, a panicked look registering as she glanced around the empty house. Clearly Casey had counted on Polly and Violet being there to act as buffers. She’d not counted on being trapped in an empty house with her mother while they waited for them to get home.
Still, this was Bess’s moment and she was going to take it. “I . . . ,” she started again.
She watched as Casey’s face changed again, but this time it filled with relief, her eyes training on something just over Bess’s shoulder. She glanced behind her to see Violet letting herself in the back door. Bess exhaled, not with disappointment, but relief. She was off the hook for a little while longer. But soon, she told herself. Soon she would confront her daughter. She’d find out what had happened to bring her home. She’d make Casey tell her. Somehow, she would.
Polly bustled in after Violet, looking beleaguered. It had to be hard, seeing your daughter incarcerated, no matter how long you’d been estranged from her. Bess reached into the bag on the counter and extracted the wine, holding it up to Polly with her eyebrows arched in question.
“Bless you,” Polly said. She held up her index finger. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the back bedroom suite. Bess turned to the girls, who were surveying each other warily. For a day or so, Bess had thought that the two of them were becoming friends, which she’d found sweet. But now something seemed strained, like a thread pulled taut in the air between them, dangerously close to breaking. Again, Bess wondered what she didn’t know about her older child. Again, she found herself wishing she could break through the barrier Casey had erected to keep her from gaining access.
Instead she just asked if the two of them would like to help her assemble dinner. When in doubt, cook. That was her philosophy.
“I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m not very hungry,” Violet said.
Bess looked at this girl she’d watched grow from preschooler to teenager, seeing all the iterations of her at once, like she was partly hers, like she had claim, too. Which, in a perfect world, would be true. That’s what she and Norah had said; that’s what they had promised: to be there for each other all the time, through all the years. Back then they’d never imagined it working out any other way. But it had.
“Sure,” was all Bess said in response. “Of course.”
After Violet left, she and Casey blinked at each other, like What now?
The answer came in the form of Polly breezing back in, looking less worse for wear. She’d even managed to put on a smile, albeit a weak one. When Bess handed her a glass of wine, the smile widened, the dog at her heels. Bess had forgotten all about him. He sniffed Bess, and she scratched his head. “Hey, boy,” she said to him. She hoped she’d remembered correctly that he was a boy. Polly opened the back door to let him out.
Casey saw the moment as her opportunity to take her leave. “I’m just gonna go check on Violet,” she said as she backed out of the kitchen.
“Don’t get your feelings hurt,” Polly called after her, “if she doesn’t talk much. Didn’t say a word on the ride home.”
Casey disappeared up the stairs, and Bess poured herself a glass of wine. “I’m sure that was hard on her,” she said.
Polly let the dog in and went straight to her glass, taking a large gulp. “I’ll say.”
“Hard on you, too,” Bess said, taking her own, more judicious sip.
Polly shrugged. “Norah’s just so damn stubborn. Wouldn’t cave about that damn list even to her own daughter. She says it’s for the best—and maybe it is; who knows what she’s gotten herself mixed up in—but to sit there in front of her daughter and tell her she won’t do what needs to be done so she can come home. I mean, even if just to her face, just to comfort her somewhat. It just . . .” Polly shrugged and sank into one of the bar stools lined up along the island.
“I remember how stubborn she is.” Bess laughed, trying to lighten the mood, to distract her.
Polly looked at her quizzically, like she was just remembering that they’d once been good friends. “How long has it been since you . . .”