Halfway to You(70)

The comment would’ve made me giddy if it weren’t for the thick tension between the Whitaker twins.

“Ann can’t replace Penny,” Tracey said slowly. “Todd might think so, but she can’t.”

My mouth twisted in confusion.

“Todd isn’t replacing Penny,” Una said. “You’re not a replacement, dear,” she added, touching my hand, which was frozen on the table among the craft supplies.

Me, replacing Penny. If that was a concern, then that meant Penny was once something to Todd. Despite the hot room, my blood turned to slush in my veins.

“Nobody said she was replacing Penny,” Natalie continued, glaring at her sister. “Why can’t Todd move on, hmm? Without you judging and carrying on?”

The whites of Tracey’s eyes had turned a pale, fibrous pink. Tears hung heavy on her lower lash line but didn’t fall. “Someone has to stand up for her.”

“No,” Natalie said softly. “Penny is gone, and she’s been gone for years. Todd can miss Penny and still fall in love again—we all can. Why the sudden vitriol? Why—” Natalie kept speaking, but my slush-blood had rushed into my ears, and I couldn’t hear her anymore. I experienced the room as if through packed snow: muffled.

Todd can miss Penny.

He can love again.

Realization iced over my mind like a hard frost. My diaphragm clenched so hard I thought, for a moment, I was having a heart attack. I had to suck in air. Todd’s tragic story—his wife and child—his friendship with Keith and his closeness with this family . . . Was Penny Todd’s wife? Was Keith’s youngest sister the woman Todd had loved and lost? I had never asked her name, never voiced any of my many questions about his past. After Greece, I had tried so hard to respect his grief, but what if by not prodding, I had sent another signal: that he couldn’t come to me with the details of his loss? But it’s not like we hadn’t discussed it at all—so how could Todd leave out such a monumental detail? The detail that connected everyone together—everyone but me.

I felt like a fool.

Natalie was finishing her speech. “. . . but there’s room in this family for new faces too.”

Her sentiment was ephemeral, flimsy in the storm of this news.

“Is Penny . . .” I trailed off, clearing my throat. “Penny is the woman Todd lost in the fire?”

The entire table—all four women, all three children—swiveled their heads toward me. There was a moment that stretched like gum, drawing thin and stringy the longer it was pulled apart. I tried to meet Natalie’s eyes for confirmation, but even she evaded my gaze. I looked to Una, but she was fiddling with a piece of ribbon. This time, only Tracey was willing to hold my stare.

The whites of her eyes were red now, her forehead pinched so harshly that her brows almost touched above the bridge of her nose. Her lip quivered, and then—as if her body was a pressure cooker—she exploded. She threw her arms in the air, and her tears were finally shaken loose.

“She didn’t even know,” Tracey screeched, startling the kids. She pointed at me, seething. “She didn’t. Fucking. Know.”

A father at a neighboring craft table glared, making a show of covering his boy’s ears.

“Language,” Barbara scolded.

Tracey continued, clearly not caring about her volume. “If Todd really cared about this . . . this famous author . . . he would’ve told her! Having her here is an insult to our family.”

People were openly staring now. Una placed a hand on Tracey’s shoulder. “Calm yourself,” she said. “You’re embarrassing us.”

“Oh, I’m embarrassing?” Tracey asked, louder now. “I’m embarrassing? Fine, then I’ll leave.” She pushed away from the table, rattling the undecorated glass orbs and bowls of supplies. A tube of glitter tipped over with a puff of shimmering dust.

Tracey stomped out of the common room, her footsteps audible long after she was out of sight. Una slumped in her chair. Natalie had finally dared to look at me, eyes sympathetic, as if she could cradle me with that gaze. My own face was slick and snotty. Shock and betrayal made my mouth tremble. I balled my fists in my lap.

“He didn’t tell you he was married to Penny?” Natalie ventured.

“He didn’t,” I confirmed.

“But he told you about the fire?”

I sniffled. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” I stood and somehow managed to stumble my way to the elevators. I was rapidly pressing the up button when Barbara found me.

“Ann,” she said sweetly. “Are you all right, dear?”

“No,” I whimpered and tumbled through the elevator doors as soon as they parted.

Barbara didn’t follow; she watched me as the doors slid closed again, her warm expression unflinching, as if she could melt the hurt I felt just in that single glance.

She couldn’t.





MAGGIE


San Juan Island, Washington State, USA

Thursday, January 11, 2024

The recorder rests on the table between them, and Maggie leans forward, hitting the pause button.

Ann’s eyes are glassy. She glances down, smoothing her herringbone sweater, a tear sliding down the bridge of her nose. She swipes it away with a finger. “Thank you,” she says, gesturing at the recorder. “I’ve never told this story in full, and it’s . . . well . . .”