The Mother's Promise(64)

“George?” she said. “Is that you?”

She rolled over and blinked up at him, smelling whiskey. In the dim light she saw him smile. Then he wrapped his hands around her throat.

Sonja tried to rear back, but she was pressed against the mattress and there was nowhere to go. She could feel his thumbs pressing against her Adam’s apple. Panic set in. She began kicking her legs and arms. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

She held eye contact, making her eyes round and serious, trying to communicate that it had gone too far. But, although he was looking at her, he was unseeing. He didn’t look like George at all. He looked like a monster.

Finally, he let go.

Sonja quickly rolled away from him, gasping and retching. Air wheezed in and out of her lungs, making a horrible rasping noise. She turned to look at George and noticed that the smile had slid from his face. This wasn’t about sexual gratification, she realized. Not anymore. It was about power. And George had to be the one to have it.





47

A week after her first chemo session, Alice was struggling. She wasn’t sick to her stomach, but she felt woolly-headed, sweaty, like she had the flu, and she was bone-tired, as if she could sleep for days. For a week her evening routine had been the same. Each night she’d curl up with Zoe and a cup of tea, Alice watching the television, Zoe absorbed in her book.

“Can I get you some pills?” Zoe asked each night, code for You don’t look so good.

“Sure,” Alice would reply, code for I don’t feel so good.

Now Zoe was at school, which meant Alice was on her own. She hadn’t worked since before chemo—she’d had to hire another two part-timers while she was out of action. Yesterday one of them had dropped off a stack of get-well wishes from the clients, as well as a bunch of flowers from Mrs. Featherstone. Alice was touched. She had, of course, sent cards to her clients when they’d been in and out of the hospital. But she hadn’t understood how humbling it felt to be on the receiving end.

Alice pulled a blanket around her shoulders. Her brochure said she should call the hospital if something didn’t feel right, but according to the cancer-forum ladies, chills were a normal side effect of chemo. The cancer-forum ladies were people she interacted with online and who had screen names like Hope4me and LongLife and Survivor! (Alice’s screen name was CancerSucks.) The strangest thing about chemo, the forum ladies agreed, was the red pee. The nurses had explained to Alice that because the dye in the chemo was red, her pee would be red too, until it flushed out of her system. The good news, the forum ladies all said, was that you could tell when the chemo was through, because your pee returned to its normal color. Calling it “good news,” Alice thought, was a stretch, but she supposed they were all in short supply of good news.

There was a knock at the door just as Alice got comfy on the couch.

“Go away,” she whispered.

But whoever it was just knocked again. Groaning, Alice hauled herself upright and toward the door. When she swung it open, Paul was standing there. He was wearing the same hoodie and jeans he’d worn the last time she saw him.

“Hey,” he said. “How’re you doing?”

Alice’s mind spun. It was one thing making the effort to show up once. People made the effort once all the time. Volunteering to serve the homeless on Christmas Day, for example—who didn’t love doing that? But how many people showed up to serve the homeless the day after Christmas as well? Not many, Alice guessed. Because once you’d paid your dues you could go back to living your life feeling that you’d done your bit.

Why wasn’t Paul doing that?

Alice stared at him. “What are you doing here, Paul?”

“I just … I couldn’t stop thinking about what you told me,” he said. “About Zoe’s father.”

Alice turned and headed back into the apartment. “Come in,” she called over her shoulder. She fell onto the couch with another violent shiver.

Paul shut the door and joined her in the living room. “I just wish I had known. Did Mom or Dad know?”

Alice pulled the blanket tightly around her. “No, not the details. I just told them what I told you.”

“That he wasn’t father material?”

“Yes.” Alice was stunned. That was exactly what Alice had said. She hadn’t realized Paul had been paying attention.

“Alice. I’m your big brother. I could have … done something. I could have tracked him down and punched his lights out.”

A lump, big and fat and gnarly, grew in Alice’s throat.

“I’ve been a shit brother,” he continued. “But I’m going to step up. I promise.”

It was so little, so late. And no help to her at all. But hearing him say it brought Alice dangerously close to tears. As for stepping up, she believed that, at least in this moment, he meant it.

“Thanks, Paul.” She gave another involuntary, violent shiver. “Is it … is it cold in here?”

“Actually, I was about to take off my sweater.” Paul put a hand to her forehead. “Jesus, you’re roasting!”

She pushed his hand away. “Hot? I’m freezing.”

“You’re on fire, Alice.”

She shivered again, as if to prove him wrong. Then she realized that fever and chills were not an either/or. And according to the forum, a temperature was something you did call your doctor for. “Let me find my thermometer,” she said. “If it’s over a hundred point five, I’ll need to go to the hospital.”