Well Behaved Wives(47)

She flipped her notebook to a new blank page, jotted the word doorbells, set down her pencil, and stood. Even though the etiquette lessons didn’t feel as important to her anymore, she still needed to get them done, to plan them, to make them worthwhile.

Then she stopped and wrote the word tap. There was a better way to command attention, even without a doorbell. These tips were important points for civilized behavior.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lillian made a few tsks under her breath as she headed to the door and the awful racket.

Peeking through the sidelight, she saw the source of her annoyance. She groaned at this rude interruption, then whirled around to ensure there was no witness within earshot. She held the polished brass doorknob, inhaled, exhaled, smiled, and pulled open the door. Wide and polite. The proper thing to do. She might be conflicted, but she wasn’t a barbarian.

She had to remind herself that Ruth was still a student.

“Hi, Ruth . . . You seem to be unable to find the doorbell. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m too upset. I know I was here a few hours ago, but I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Come in.” Lillian kept her smile graceful as Ruth stepped inside.

Hearty and spicy dinner aromas mingled with the smell of bleach, and both followed Sunny out of the kitchen door and into the dining room. Lillian motioned for Ruth to sit.

“Would you like some coffee or tea, Mrs. Appelbaum?” If Sunny had been perturbed by the loud door pounding, she gave no sign of it.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Ruth replied at the same time that Lillian said, “That’s not necessary.”

Lillian tapped her index finger to her lips as if to take back the words, or to soften them. Of all people, she shouldn’t be contesting an offer of hospitality. Worse, Ruth—this girl who had such confidence, such fight—looked like she’d just lost a war.

“Cream and sugar?” Sunny asked.

“Please,” Ruth said, and Sunny slipped out of the room.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Ruth tapped her fingers on the table in a rapid patter. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Calm down and tell me what’s going on.” Lillian didn’t consider herself particularly intuitive, but the Ruth in front of her was about as subtle as a dump truck unloading its freight.

“It’s Carrie,” Ruth whispered just loud enough for Lillian to hear. “I should have spoken up earlier, as soon as I saw, but I didn’t even—I mean—I never. I said I wouldn’t tell, but now, how can I not?” Ruth’s words shot out hard and fast like BBs.

“Slow down, Ruth, I can’t follow you.”

Ruth inhaled. “Carrie has bruises on her.”

Lillian blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I touched Carrie’s hand, she flinched, and I got this weird feeling—an instinct, I guess—and I pushed up her sleeve and her wrist was bruised.”

Why had Ruth come to her with this scuttlebutt? “That doesn’t mean anything except that Carrie’s probably a klutz and was embarrassed.”

“Are you serious? She pulled her arm away. She didn’t want me to see her wrist.” Ruth’s voice rose.

“Not everyone likes to be touched, Ruth. I expect it made her uncomfortable.”

Ruth dismissed Lillian’s response. “You don’t understand. She was afraid of what I might see.”

Her mother’s long sleeves flashed into Lillian’s mind for some reason. She ignored it. “What did Carrie say about the bruise?”

“That he didn’t mean to do it.”

“He?”

“Her husband, Eli.”

“See? It was an accident.”

Sunny returned with the tea. She smiled at Ruth as she slid the china cup and saucer across the polished table. As she swiveled to leave, she raised one eyebrow at Lillian.

“You didn’t see the mark on her wrist. Or the other one.” Ruth lowered her voice to a breathy breeze, the way adults during Lillian’s childhood had whispered cancer.

“Other one?”

“That’s why she insisted on a scarf on Monday. There was a bruise on her neck. She said she walked into a cabinet door. She said it was an accident.”

“I’m sure it’s exactly what Carrie said it was.” It had to be. Nice suburban people didn’t do such things.

“Does Carrie seem like a klutz to you?”

Lillian had to shut this down. It would be terrible for Carrie and Eli if this rumor tainted their reputation. Highly unfair. After all, Eli was a vice-principal. And it wouldn’t look good for Lillian’s classes—or their community—if something like this got around, whether or not it was true, which Lillian doubted very much. Ruth was young, a newlywed, not from here. Those New York types could be excitable.

But Lillian liked Ruth. “Husbands and wives fight. Some more than others. Carrie probably took an accidental spill when it happened.”

“So it’s okay if he hurt her?”

“It’s none of our business.” What people did in their own homes was no one else’s business. Her grandmother had taught her that. She’d shut down any questions Lillian had tried to ask about what had happened to her parents. Eventually, she’d learned not to ask.