Keeping The Moon(59)

smoked more when Morgan was away.

The car turned in to the driveway, scattering rocks, its headlights stretching past the trees before flooding the porch. It was the

Rabbit. Isabel stood up, shielding her eyes.

“Who is that?” I heard Frank say.

The car sped up to the house, swerving slightly, before coming to a sudden, jerking stop. The driver’s door opened, and as the

light came on, I could see Morgan.

“What happened?” Isabel was already saying, as Morgan ran past up the steps. She’d left the car going, the high beams on, so I

could make her out plainly. Her face was red and blotchy and she had her hand over her mouth. She also had something around her

neck, something yellow and fuzzy-looking.

Morgan ran through the living room to the bathroom. Isabel dropped her cigarette in the dirt and quickly followed her.

I came a little closer, sticking to our side of the hedge. Frank turned off the car engine and lights, and suddenly everything was

much quieter. He stayed outside.

“Morgan!” I could see Isabel through the half-open kitchen window. She was banging on the bathroom door. “Open the door!”

There was no answer. Isabel banged harder.

“Morgan, come on,” Isabel said. “You’re scaring me.”

Isabel, scared. Now that was something I hadn’t seen before.

Frank walked inside, hands in his pockets. He stood a respectful distance from Isabel, watching, before he said, “Should I—?”

“Go,” Isabel said, waving him off. She didn’t even look at him. “I’ll call you later.”

“Right, right.” He was already backing away. This was not a place for the weak of heart. I waited until he was gone before moving

on to the porch.

“Morgan!” Isabel was yelling now. “Open this door!”

No response. I stepped inside.

“This is crazy,” Isabel said. She didn’t look at me either, but somehow she knew I was there. “Tell me what happened,” she

said to the door. Then, more softly, pleading: “Morgan.”

“Maybe we should just—” I began. But that was as far as I got.

“You’ll be so happy, Isabel,” Morgan said from behind the door. Her voice was choked and tight, and I had to listen hard to

understand her. “Because you were right. So go ahead and celebrate.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

The doorknob rattled, taking a second to catch, and then Morgan stepped out. She was in the outfit from that morning, but now it

was a wrinkled mess, with one big rip along the front hem of the skirt. She had a bad scrape on her knee. Her eyes were red and

swollen, and she clutched a Kleenex in one hand. It was a Hawaiian thing—a lei, I remembered suddenly it was called—hanging

around her neck. It was yellow and looked dirty, like it too had been through something big.

“Jesus,” Isabel said, looking at her.

“Go on, Isabel,” Morgan said, gesturing at her with the Kleenex. “Pat yourself on the back. Do whatever it is you right people

do.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabel said. “Look what you’ve done to my skirt, for God’s sake.”

“You were right all along!” Morgan shrieked. “And I know how much you love to be right. How you live for it. So do your little

dance or whatever. Get it over with.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Why should I?” Morgan said. Her voice was high and unbalanced. “You know the whole story, start to finish. You were always so

proud of yourself because you had Mark all figured out.”

Isabel looked at me. I looked at the floor. We could hear Morgan breathing, fast and jerky, like hysterical people in the movies. I

wondered if I should leave.

“Okay,” Isabel said in a calm voice. For once, I wished there was music—loud music—playing. “Was there a girl there?”

“Of course there was!” Morgan screamed. “There was a girl living in the hotel with him. And do you know what she was? Do you?

Isabel sighed. “A stripper?” she asked.

“Yes!” Morgan pointed at her with the Kleenex as if Isabel had won a prize. “And what else?”

“I don’t know,” Isabel said softly.

“Yes, you do,” Morgan snapped. “Come on, Isabel. This is your game, baby! Take a guess. A wild guess.” I watched the lei move

as her chest heaved.

“I don’t want to guess,” Isabel said. “Why don’t you—”

“Oh, no,” Morgan said, holding up her hand. “You have to. I’ll give you a hint. She was also his”—and she crooked her

fingers, making quote marks, and for the first time I noticed the ring, Morgan’s touchstone, was gone—“blank. Fill it in.”

Isabel looked at the floor. I’d never seen her so quiet. “Wife,” she said softly.

“Exactly!” Morgan shrieked. “And here’s the bonus question. The big enchilada. The brass ring. Ready?”

“Morgan,” I said.

“Ready!” Morgan yelled over me. “She was also—blank. What? What is it?”