It's One of Us(18)
Eileen seems genuinely upset, voice cracking and lower lip wobbling, which makes Darby feel even worse. They’ve always gotten along, had great respect between them. But this, the power imbalance suddenly exposed, is untenable.
“Can I stay for Patti’s going away?”
Eileen nods. “Technically I’m supposed to take your badge and ask you to leave immediately, but what HR doesn’t know won’t kill them. But promise me you’ll see HR as soon as we’re done? And don’t talk to anyone on the floor? I have one more cut to make, and I don’t need the whispers starting. This is hard enough.”
Tell me about it.
Darby nods, unable to speak anymore. Who else is Eileen letting go?
That doesn’t matter. My God, what is she going to do? This is a good paycheck, and to have it disappear with no warning... She has planned for this, of course, has enough to last several months, and there’s the kids’ college funds... No, she can’t raid them. A new job is the only way to survive. Oncology nurses aren’t a dime a dozen; the field is small and the opportunities limited, at least here in Nashville. With all the specialized training she has, she is an expensive proposition. She’ll be able to get another job, sure—hopefully—but this is the best gig in town, even if she does work nights.
Damn. She is now a single mother with two kids in pricey schools and no job.
Eileen has given her a swift hug and ushered her out of the office, and Darby realizes she’s been standing, frozen, in the hall, running scenarios through her head: rack and ruin, the kids starving, losing the house, living on the street. She has the fallback of six months’ savings, but that’s it. She’s alone in the world, just her and the kids. She wanted it that way. She wanted to do it herself. But now...
There are cheers coming from the other end of the hall, bells ringing and people shouting congratulations. Darby hurries toward the cacophony, arrives just in time to blow Patti a kiss before the doors close on the elevator and it’s over, the sweet child is gone, and now Darby must collect her coat and bag and keep her chin up, get the paperwork from HR, and follow her young charge out of the hospital, not looking back.
She manages the exit with dignity, makes it to her car in the parking garage before the tears come. She is sobbing with her arms folded on top of the steering wheel when she hears the breaking news alert that the body of Beverly Cooke has been found at last.
Could this day get any worse?
She listens, head still pillowed on her arms. She knows—knew—Beverly from a private group on Facebook for local mothers who’ve used sperm donation to have children. It is an intimate enclave, a very safe space. It is the one place these women have to express their hopes and fears—into the waiting arms of anonymous friends who are always there to lend succor. Beverly was unique in the group because she was married, and her husband doesn’t know the baby isn’t his. The lengths she went to in order to save face for that man, the crazy details she’d shared—how she mixed the donor’s semen with her husband’s so they would never truly know unless they did testing, how guilty she felt at times for tricking him, for doing the testing to find out it was him, not her, and making the drastic decisions to catapult them both into the unique world of donation; exultant in others, especially when it became clear the baby she conceived was going to have her husband’s coloring—she’d done so much research, been so very careful to find a donor who would fit the physical bill so her husband would not become suspicious...
And then she went missing, and now she’s been found dead, and God knows what’s going to happen. Beverly’s husband, Dan, is by all accounts a kind, gentle man, incapable of harming his wife, but it’s always the husband, Darby knows this. He must have found out and lost it.
The police ask for any tips, and Darby sighs, turning off the radio, and puts the car into gear.
She stops at Five Daughters for gluten-free donuts on her way home. She shouldn’t spend the money, but she’s exhausted and heartsick and needs something sweet to help get her through the rest of the morning. She will have a nice cup of the cinnamon-spiced decaf she likes, and a donut, or maybe two, and then she will take a deep damn breath and figure out what she’s going to do.
Traffic is light. The sun is out. She listens to the All Things Considered podcast, as she always does, pretending this is a normal drive home. Despite her exhaustion, she takes the long way, as if delaying her arrival will change anything. The drive is surprisingly pleasant, so she keeps going past her street and down to Centennial Park. Eats a donut sitting by the lake, listening on her headphones. She never gets through a full episode; it normally takes her three morning commutes home. Today, she indulges. Watches the ducks bob and dunk. Feels her nose growing pink in the bright sunshine.
Finally, the show over and her gas tank reduced by one quarter, she pulls into the driveway, surprised to see Scarlett’s beat-up Volvo still in its spot. Normally Scarlett drives herself to school—the deal they made when Darby bought her the car, no more lingering in bed and missing the bus so Darby has to rush her to school when she comes home from her shift—and she’s stuck to it until today. Maybe she’s ill. Damn, just what they need. Doctors’ bills.
She gathers up her things—she’s always very careful not to leave anything of value in the car—and trundles to the door. It is unlocked, another breach of family rules.