The Mother's Promise(41)

“Hey!” a man said, appearing beside Kate. He kissed her cheek, then held out his hand to Zoe. He grinned. “You must be Zoe.”

Zoe took his hand, cringing about the dampness of her own.

“I’m David,” he continued. “Don’t mind us, watching the game. I don’t suppose you’re a 49ers fan?”

She shook her head.

“Damn, I could have used the support. Hey you’re not a Raiders fan, are you? If you are, you’re about to get your ass whupped.” He chuckled.

Zoe stared at him. He was the dad Zoe had seen so many times on films and on TV. The dad who wore sweatpants with reading glasses. The dad who tossed burgers at school sports day, and who, on vacation, sent the family into the hotel while he went out into the rain to get the bags.

“I don’t really follow sports,” she admitted.

“Do you eat nachos?” he said. “’Cause we’ve got plenty of those. Come on, come on.” He took her bag and draped his arm lightly on her shoulder, guiding her in the direction from which he’d come. A cheer came from a room nearby, reminding Zoe of the proximity of other people.

“Actually, I’m not hungry,” she said, planting her feet.

David shot a glance at Kate, then let his hand slide off Zoe’s shoulder. “Oh. You sure? There’s other stuff too, if you don’t like nachos.…”

“Why don’t I show you the guest room, Zoe?” Kate said. David nodded slowly and Zoe could see that he’d just recalled that Zoe’s mother was sick. He was probably attributing her strange behavior to that. It was nice, to have an excuse for once.

“Thanks though,” Zoe said to him, then followed Kate up the stairs.

It was a little surreal to find that the guest room had its own bathroom. A full bathroom, made of stone that twinkled like it was ingrained with diamonds. It had a bath and separate shower and two sinks! The bath was deep, with jets. It looked impossibly inviting.

“Feel free to have a shower, or a soak in the tub,” Kate said. “Some of my toiletries are in the cupboard under the sink. Help yourself to anything.”

Once Kate left, Zoe sank onto the bed. She had longed to be alone for the past twenty-four hours, but now that she was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it anymore. As she sat all alone, the pain of her mother’s illness finally pierced her. Was this her future? Living in strangers’ homes—kind strangers who quickly realized the truth about her, and were disappointed?

Zoe thought about her mom for a moment, lying in her hospital bed. She’d be freaking out. Zoe fished her phone out of her bag and sent her a quick cheerful text. Even if she had lied to her about her cancer, Zoe didn’t want her worrying while she was in the hospital. When she was finished Zoe went to the bathroom cupboard. There was a wicker basket inside with shampoo, conditioner, body wash, some nail-polish remover, and expensive-looking moisturizer. Zoe dug into it. A few bobby pins were scattered across the bottom of the basket, and a new disposable razor.

She sat on the edge of the tub. Her mother wasn’t fooling anyone with her talk about everything going back to normal. Zoe knew ovarian cancer wasn’t one of the “good” cancers. One of the side effects of being a worrier was that she spent a lot of time researching things. Her grandmother had died of ovarian cancer just before Zoe was born. It was the silent killer, she recalled now. The one that didn’t show symptoms until it was too late. And if there was one thing Zoe knew, it was that she wouldn’t survive in this world without her mother.

Zoe took off her clothes and slid into the empty bath, turned the taps on. Then she reached for the razor. She stared at it, turning it over, observing the glint of the light on the blade. If she were a different kind of person, she’d take the blade, press it against her wrist. But she wasn’t a different kind of person. Was she?

*

When Zoe was nine, her mom took her to the zoo. Zoe, of course, hadn’t wanted to go. “Zoos are crowded,” she said. “I might get lost.”

“I won’t let go of your hand,” her mom said.

“But I don’t like zoos.”

“You love animals.”

“I love seeing them on TV.”

The funny thing was, Zoe wasn’t agoraphobic. She liked the outdoors. Sometimes early in the morning or late at night she would ask her mom if they could “go get some fresh air.” No, it wasn’t the outdoors she was afraid of, or the animals. It was the people.

They got to the zoo an hour before it opened so they could get in first (Zoe couldn’t handle standing in lines) and spent a few minutes in the gift shop trying on giant animal heads. Zoe actually cracked a smile when Alice put on the lion’s head. “You are so silly, Mom,” she’d said, giggling. Her mom was so pleased that she went to buy it, but when she checked the price tag—sixty bucks for a novelty lion’s head!—she changed her mind.

Half an hour later, when a line formed behind them, Zoe had forgotten the lion’s head and was starting to freak out. Some girls her age approached with their mothers. Zoe felt their eyes on her, staring. Judging. After a while it became unbearable.

“Mom, everyone is looking at me.”

Her mom glanced around. “No they’re not, hon.”

“They are. I want to go home.”

“We can’t go home,” her mom said. “I’ve already bought the tickets.”