“You could always serve it at room temperature, right? And put out some sliced tomatoes and maybe one of those great pasta salads you do.”
“That would work.”
I think suddenly of my mother’s macaroni salad, to which she added hard-boiled eggs, peas, onions, celery, and gobs of mayo. She used to make it for friends if they lost a loved one or had a family member in the hospital. It was a dish that could keep in the fridge for a few days and people could help themselves to when they had a chance to eat. Not the kind of thing that would ever get whipped up in this kitchen, but it’s exactly the type of comfort food I could use right now.
“I’m going to check on Henry,” I announce, rising from my chair and abandoning my tea, “but I’ll be back—and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” I pause for a moment. “Um, do you have any help coming later?”
My motive for asking is partly practical, but I still want to get to the bottom of what happened last night. What ifthe stress of the conversation triggered some sort of medical issue in Claire?
“Yes, but someone new,” Bonnie tells me. “Not the girl who was here this weekend.”
Wait, does this mean the pink-haired helper really had been the person Claire confronted?
“How come?” I ask.
“She’d only been able to give me a couple of days since she’s getting ready to attend her college orientation program. I have a young guy coming who’s done a few dinner parties with me here.”
So then it clearlywasn’tthe helper whom Claire gave the ultimatum to, especially when you add in the fact that I heard Bonnie and the girl leave the premises while Claire and I were in the kitchen.
I jog back to the cottage, desperate not only to check on Henry but also to grab my phone. Though the ambulance probably won’t reach the hospital for another ten minutes, Gabe will surely call after that with any news.
With a start I discover that the ground floor of the cottage is empty, and Gabe’s laptop is resting on the coffee table, its screen dark.
“Henry,” I call out. “Where are you?”
No reply.
“Henry,” I yell, this time frantically.
“I’m up here,” he shouts back from the second floor.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Changing out of my trunks.”
“Well, come down.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Sorry about yelling,” I say as he emerges from the stairwell, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. “I was just worried when I didn’t see you.”
“I’m not a little kid anymore, you know.”
Yes, you areI want to say, but this isn’t the moment.
“Look, why don’t you start another movie on Dad’s computer? I have to use my computer for a minute.”
“Yeah, all right. Are we gonna eat dinner soon?”
“It might be a little later than usual. Sweetie, Gee ended up having to go to the hospital and Dad went with her.”
His face wrinkles in confusion and concern.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure. They took her to a really good hospital, with really good doctors.”
I give myself a D for my performance. EvenIhear the uncertainty in my voice.
