The Better Liar(38)

She turned around immediately, like she’d wanted me to stop her.

I’d gotten it right, the way the play was supposed to go. A last glance, a final exchange—the part of the scene where people talked about secrets.

“Do you think Leslie’s still upset? About what happened?” I swallowed.

    Twin vertical lines appeared between her eyebrows. For a moment I thought she could tell I had pushed the conversation here, that all the rest had been scaffolding. “Oh. I mean, it’s a hard thing, when somebody does that. Everyone wants to think they could have done something to prevent it. And when it’s a parent…But I don’t think Leslie blames you.” Nancy shook her head. “It’s no one’s fault.”

“Okay,” I said. “I just—I don’t know that many people who knew both of us. So I thought you might…I’m sorry.” I lifted the corner of my mouth. “I just wanted to see you again.”

Nancy gripped the top of the car. Her eyes were dark, and I felt she took all of me in at a single glance, as if she might not have the opportunity again. “Yeah. Bye, Robin.”

“Bye,” I said, standing up.

I watched the cop car disappear into traffic. She died when I was twelve, Leslie had said back in the motel bathroom. As if it had just happened. As if it had been an accident.

The longer I stayed in Albuquerque, the more I understood how death ruptured its setting, leaving a kind of black hole where the person had been that the survivors had to take care not to be sucked into. There were a lot of black holes around Leslie now. There was a stickiness to being Robin. I didn’t know if it would be as easy as I’d thought it would to pull myself free when all this was over.





27


    Leslie


When Dave got home Eli was in his bouncer on the kitchen floor as I made boeuf bourguignon. “Hello, my favorite Winona,” he said as I was pouring red wine into the sauce. He kissed me and I closed my eyes, dropping the spoon, setting down the wine bottle to hold his face with my hands.

“I love you,” I said, not pulling away.

“I love you too,” he mumbled against my mouth. He slid one hand inside my shirt and felt me up a little, out of habit. Then he froze. “Is your sister home?”

“No,” I said, certain he could feel my heartbeat against his palm. I twitched away from him and he withdrew his hand. “She wasn’t here when I got home. I left her a dozen messages. She’s not picking up.”

“Oh. Good.” He caught the look on my face and amended that with “Not that she’s not answering your calls, just that she didn’t catch me getting to second base with you in the kitchen.” Dave went over and lifted Eli out of his bouncer, inhaling the smell of his smudgy hair. “Our baby’s head is delicious to me. Is that normal?”

When I grabbed the spoon and went back to stirring the pot, he added, “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

    I didn’t look up. “You know, the last time someone said that to me about Robin, I didn’t see her for ten years.”

He paused mid-lift, leaving Eli stranded in midair, giggling. “Okay. That’s fair.” Eli shrieked and Dave resumed doing the Simba dance. “Let’s just worry about it later. I invited Elaine and the kids over for dinner, is that cool?”

“What?”

Dave’s expression dimmed. It was an old argument between us. My parents had never had anyone over to the house when I was growing up. When we’d started dating, I was happy to be invited to his family events, which happened at least once a month, with at least fifteen people squashed into his parents’ backyard every time. We want enough space to have everybody over for dinner, Dave said to the realtor when we bought this house. But when it was our house, it was different somehow; I went around the housewarming party making everybody nervous. Dave’s sister Cadence told me I looked like I thought people would spill things. I hadn’t known you could see it on my face. We’ll get better at it, Dave told me, meaning, You’ll get better at it, only I hadn’t, and people still gathered at his parents’ house instead of ours, and although Dave didn’t bring it up, I knew he could tell I preferred it that way.

“I don’t know if we have enough food,” I said, trying to sound neutral.

“We have enough. You used the army pot,” Dave said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. She’ll be here at eight.”

“Next time you have to warn me,” I said. “This could get cold by the time she—”

“Then put it in the oven,” he said. “That’s what the oven’s for.”

“I don’t—”

He put Eli down. “I’m sorry,” he said, touching my shoulder. “I should have warned you. I’ll warn you next time. It’s just when Eli and I went for a playdate last time I told her we’d have her over to say thank you. I mean, do you not want her here?”

“No,” I said, hating the pitch of my own voice. “It’s fine. I’m just…I’m worried about Robin. I don’t know where she went. What if she comes back while we’re eating?”

    Dave stared at me. “Then she can join us.”