The Better Liar(88)

How had I missed it? Why hadn’t I wanted to believe it?

Her battered high heels were in there, the ones she’d worn last night, and a long string of fake pearls, tangled in one of the mesh pockets. At the bottom of the bag lolled one of her pink crystals and a prayer candle, which had rolls of five-and ten-dollar bills inside it instead of wax. I pulled them out and counted them. She had two hundred forty dollars. I rolled the bills back up just as she’d had them before and put the candle back into the corner of the bag.

The side of the duffel crinkled under my hand. It took me a moment to work my fingers into the lining and pull out the piece of paper without tearing it, my heart pounding. Something she’d hidden. A secret.

    I smoothed out the piece of paper on my lap. It was a receipt—a gas-station receipt, I saw, looking closer, for two packs of Spirits cigarettes. She’d paid with cash at the one just outside my neighborhood.

I stared at it for a minute. Then I curled into myself, my head on my knees, the receipt crumpling again in my lap. It was so ordinary—such a person thing to do—to stuff a receipt in her bag and forget about it. To take all my bath bombs, like she was stealing the complimentary shampoo at a hotel. To leave her wet towel on the floor, like she’d always done.

I went over that afternoon in my memory again. We’d been outside on the patio.

I don’t understand why she can’t do it.

Do you remember when it snowed?

When had I gone inside? When had I discovered what she’d done?

Whatever had been there was rubbed out. For years now, when I reached for my mother’s face, I could only call up images from the photographs I’d seen. I had forgotten it, maybe on purpose, the way I’d forgotten what Robin was like, how it felt to be her double.

I inhaled and sat up. Then I went over to the bed and retrieved Robin’s folded clothes and the travel bag of makeup, tucking them carefully into the bag, beside her shoes and her necklace. I zipped the duffel and looked over my shoulder.

It was as if she had never been here.



* * *



—

I had one last night with my new family, before I left with the old. I cleaned the house methodically, with my yellow gloves on, and went to the grocery store, where I bought an entire chicken, several carrots, a bag of pearl onions, a package of cremini mushrooms, and a bottle of wine to replace the one that was currently sitting at the bottom of Mrs. Alderete’s swimming pool. When Dave came home, lugging Eli’s car seat, I was at the stove. “That smells so good,” he said. “I’m starving. Can I have some?”

    “No,” I said, pushing the onions and garlic around the pan. “I’ve barely started.”

He set Eli’s car seat down with a slightly unceremonious thunk and came over to kiss me. I smiled against his mouth.

“You look good,” he said, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Happy.”

“I am happy,” I said. “You brought my baby back.” It was something a better version of me might say. I knelt down next to the car seat. “It’s Eli!” I whispered.

Eli kicked his legs and screeched at approximately fourteen times the volume I’d used.

“Yeah, that’s you.” I held his feet and bicycled them in the air. “So strong.”

Dave wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Pilates so early,” he said, biting my shoulder delicately. “I love you.”

I leaned back into him, breathing him in.

“Your garlic is starting to smell weird,” he said after a while. Eli yelled a string of unintelligible syllables. “That’s right,” Dave agreed. “He smells it too.”

I straightened up. “If you’re hungry, there’s a baguette on the counter. You could slice that early. I left the butter out.”

“You’ve saved my life,” Dave said. “Can I help make salad?”

“You’re required to make salad.”

“Oh, well, then,” he said. “See if I ever do you a favor again.” He went to the drawer and pulled out the bread knife.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I said as he took the bread out of its paper sleeve.

“Well, I talked to Elaine today,” he said, breaking off the end of the baguette and stuffing it plain into his mouth. Eli babbled to himself in the corner and Dave hustled over to unstrap him from the car seat. “You hungry too, my small auctioneer?”

Eli squeaked.

“Well, I don’t think you can have what Mom’s making, because I’m pretty sure that at least half that bottle of wine goes into the stew.”

    “I cooked some of the carrots and chicken before and chopped it up with a little bit of stock. It’s in the fridge,” I put in.

Dave raised his eyebrows. “Thinking ahead.” He settled Eli in his chair at the table and went to the fridge.

“You were talking about Elaine,” I prompted him.

“Oh, right.” Dave nudged me aside so he could put the baby portion in the microwave. “She’s thinking about dating again.” He watched the microwave count down, then opened the door to test the temperature and grabbed the orange plastic baby spoon from the drawer. Eli’s eyes followed it like a beacon as Dave stirred the makeshift stew. “She’s been,” Dave continued, sitting down at the table, “blow on it, Eli, that’s it—no yelling at the table—she’s been in touch with her ex again recently.”