The Mother's Promise(63)
“So,” Kate said when they found themselves, unsurprisingly, in the sunroom. “The first chemo treatment knocked your mom around a bit, did it?”
“She woke up last night so drenched in sweat I had to change her sheets.”
“Night sweats can be a side effect of chemo. Your mom is lucky she has you to look after her.”
Zoe nodded. She looked so sad sitting there it just about broke Kate’s heart.
“And how are you feeling?” Kate asked.
Zoe pulled her legs up in front of her and rested her chin on her knees. “How do you think?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Kate thought for a minute. She’d always found that talking to patients—about anything—led to better outcomes. Sometimes it would take an hour of talking about the weather before they finally came out and asked the question they’d been wanting to ask: How long have I got? So she decided on a change of topic.
“Would you mind if I ask you a question?”
Zoe looked at her. Despite herself, she seemed a little intrigued. “Okay.”
“The other day, you said, ‘Sometimes I say things because I don’t know what else to say … and it just comes out wrong.’”
“Yeah.”
The truth was, Kate had been thinking about it in the context of her father. Hadn’t he said something similar? That he didn’t know why he said things?
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Kate said, “and I wondered: How can anyone know what you mean? I mean, when even you can’t articulate it?”
Zoe shrugged as though it were a silly question. “Because of my actions. If I like a class, I always turn up for it … even though I might accidentally insult the teacher when I hand in my homework. Or if I hate a class—aka gym—I’ll avoid it at all costs. If I want to be friends with someone, I might try to sit near them, even if I don’t have the guts to talk to them. If I know someone is sad, I might try talking to them—even though I’ll probably end up blurting something out that makes it worse.”
“Actions,” Kate said, as if it were wildly complex instead of simple and obvious.
Zoe smiled with a little shrug. “They speak loudly, I hear.”
Kate thought of the things her dad had said over the years that had disappointed her. And then, of the things he did. Raising her, when he could easily have handed her off to a relative. Showing up to dinner whenever she invited him, awkward as it was. Calling her after her miscarriage to say he was sorry. Zoe was right. Actions spoke loudly.
“I probably shouldn’t have come here without telling my mom,” Zoe said finally, proving Kate’s theory that keeping communication going was always a good idea.
Kate looked at her. “Why didn’t you tell her? Do you think she’d make you go to school?”
“No,” Zoe said.
“So why not tell her?”
“She doesn’t need to worry about me on top of everything else.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Kate said. “But I’m not sure hiding things from her is the answer.”
“What is the answer?”
“Honestly,” Kate said, “I have no idea.”
They smiled at each other. Kate felt a tiny bit better.
“I really do love this room,” Zoe said after a few moments.
Kate nodded, suddenly remembering what Zoe had said last time she was in there. “It’s a good place to be by yourself, right?”
Zoe blushed and it occurred to Kate that this might be her cue to leave. Zoe probably needed some peace and quiet, some time to process everything. At the same time, Kate found herself reluctant to leave. For the first time in months, she felt comfortable right where she was.
“I know I said that,” Zoe said slowly. “But what I meant was, it’s a good place to be by myself … with you.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, does that even make any sense?”
Kate smiled. “Actually,” she said, “it makes perfect sense.”
46
Sonja stood in the doorway to the living room, watching George on the couch. She was worried. Since she’d denied his advances last night, something had changed between them. This morning he’d come downstairs fully dressed and declined her offer of breakfast, saying he’d grab something on his way out. Tonight, after a quiet dinner, he’d taken himself off to the couch to watch the news without a word. As unsettling as the sex was, being ignored was worse.
“Do you want to go to bed?” she said now, touching his hair. With her eyes, she tried to make her intent clear. It wasn’t that she desired sex, as much as she couldn’t remain on tenterhooks forever.
“You go ahead,” he said, keeping an eye on the screen. “I’ll be up in a bit.”
As she climbed into her empty bed, Sonja felt a little baffled. She wanted to set the clock back to the night before and let George do what he wanted to her. Let him squeeze her breasts. It couldn’t hurt worse than being rejected. It couldn’t hurt worse than being alone.
Sonja must have fallen asleep, because when she startled awake, the room was near black and the clock blinked 3:45 A.M. She could feel George beside her, perhaps just coming to bed.