Her bones were so exhausted. If she told the children the truth, if Mark permanently moved to the pied-à-terre, if she slept with Zeke Rodriguez, if she figured out what she could still do with the rest of her life, would she finally sleep?
“Hello?” Charlie called.
“Mom’s probably in the kitchen,” Mark said, and his voice alone tripped her nerves. She thought she wanted to kill him, but then she reconsidered and realized that actually, she didn’t care enough to murder him, bury the body. Natalie had offered to help, of course, if she changed her mind.
Mom’s probably in the kitchen.
Just like she always was.
Sybil eyed the knife on the counter, considering all the ways she could have instead wielded a scalpel in the operating room,or all the ways she could carve up Mark, end up on her very own episode ofDateline. For some reason this made her think of Betty, and a tingling portent of warning ran flush through her. She dropped the knife into its slot in the butcher block and thought, for the first time in decades, that she could still be the heroine in her own story, that she could be done with total reliability. For once, she wanted to be wholly selfish, to detonate everything before thinking it through.
Hugs were exchanged, and Sybil noted that Charlie seemed to still be growing but also could use a shower. Then, once they were settled in the kitchen and Mark had ordered a pizza and no one offered to help Sybil with tomorrow’s Thanksgiving preparations, she said simply, but to the point:
“Guys, your father has been fucking his anesthesiologist. We’re getting a divorce.”
25
Night Ten
Betty
Thanksgiving
Betty didn’t knowwhat to expect when she trudged out to Sybil’s house for Thanksgiving. Growing up, her family hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving, and it wasn’t like she had been invited to anyone’s home for the feast in the ensuing years since she’d left. Caleb had gone to his parents’ place in Maryland for the holiday, but she hadn’t expected him to invite her and would have turned him down even if he had, despite promising Zeke she’d extend an invitation. They were sleeping together now, not Betty’s first time, but she wasn’t exactly a pro, and full admission, if Betty had been another type of girl in another type of life, maybe she would have begun to wonder what the future had in store for them. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t. Betty could live only from moment to moment, other than the bag of cash at Grand Central and being aware of all of her nearby emergency exits. She had to be willing to pull that lever at the first sign that she needed to.
Betty could hear voices that sounded heated through Sybil’s front door, so she hovered her finger over the doorbell out ofhabit, trying to eavesdrop. She hadn’t grown up in a house of yellers. Her father’s word was the final word, and Betty couldn’t dream of her mother challenging him. Levi got in his face once when he was a teenager, but that ended quickly when Levi was kicked out. But her other two brothers and Patience, no, never. Patience was the one who taught her: Avoid eye contact, keep your head low, speak softly, say yes when spoken to. Betty always assumed that Patience hated it as much as she had, but then Patience married Matthew and had no problem being a fully subservient wife to him and keeper for her father’s ever-changing rules, so Betty, it turned out, had entirely misjudged her. That realization was more devastating than Patience’s about-face.
Betty pushed the doorbell, and Sybil swung the door open, and for a flicker of a second, Betty thought her face was all shadow. Then there was the Sybil she knew, a smile full of teeth, cheeks perfectly blushed. Betty couldn’t be sure, but she thought Sybil had gotten her highlights done in the past few days. Whatever it was, was working, like she’d shed her veil of fatigue just in the nick of time for the gathering.
“Well, don’t you look gorgeous,” Betty said, an entirely different person from just a few seconds ago, and stepped inside. Maybe shewasan actor’s actor. The commercial shoot had gone well; it would be airing starting next week. Natalie wanted to send her out for more. Betty had declined, but Natalie was pushy, and the money was life-changing.
“That’s what happens when you leave your husband,” Sybil whispered, leaning into Betty’s ear. Betty could smell alcohol on her breath. “I hope you didn’t hear me yelling just then. I’ve found that since I’ve stopped caring, I just say whatever the fuck I want.” She pulled back and smiled. “It’s wonderful. Betty, I’m telling you, it’swonderful.”
“I thought maybe you’d started sleeping.”
Sybil paused, considering it. “No, not really.” She shook her head and her highlights shimmered. “But this has given me a totally different sort of comfort.”
The house itself smelled delicious, like rosemary and apple cider and crackling turkey skin. Exactly what Betty imagined a bustling Thanksgiving should smell like.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a gift,” Betty said, because she only just realized that she was empty-handed. “Also, I’m poor.”
Sybil threw her head back and laughed. Something rose up in Betty again, pride, at how good she was at being a chameleon.
“I wanted to introduce you to Charlie, but since you were on adate”—her voice dropped low and conspiratorial—“you are going to have to tell me all the details.” She reached for Betty’s shoulders, hugging her tightly, which Betty had learned was part of Sybil’s demonstrative display of maternal affection. So she leaned into it, absorbed it. She was playacting, yes, but also, she really did think Sybil was rooting for her. It was so highly rare that Betty had people rooting for her. She again thought of her own mother, of how when Betty’s father mocked her for not knowing an immediate answer at Bible study or when he sent her home from church because she didn’t look tidy enough or when he excused her from the dinner table because she didn’t wait for him to be served to start eating, her own mother never said a word in her defense. Never put her daughters first. She leaned into Sybil’s embrace for another second; it was something for Betty, even if it couldn’t ever be everything.
Julian was loitering in the kitchen deep in thought when they made their way inside. His eyes, heavy with bags, wandered toward Betty’s, and everything about him perked up.
“Betty!” She stepped toward him, and he tapped a striking young woman on the elbow. His daughter, Betty could tell just by her eyes. “This is Simone.”
“Hi, Simone,” Betty said. “I’m Betty. Your dad has been very kind to me.” It was important to be cordial here, to blend in with the gregariousness of the spirit of the holiday. Also, much like Sybil, Betty had taken a shine to Julian, who had indeed been very kind. She could tell the truth and still keep her wits about her.
Simone raised an eyebrow and made a face as if to say she couldn’t believe it, but then she smiled and said, “My dad has told me so much about you.” Which made Betty’s hair stand on end. She never wanted to be the star of any story.
“I heard you just shot a commercial?” Simone continued.
“Oh yes,” Betty said, now itchy and claustrophobic, though surely Simone was just making conversation. “Well, yes. But I really just did it for the pay. I’m not the next…” She had to stop and think of a movie star, but none came to mind. “I’m not the next big thing.”
“She’s anactor’s actor,” Julian said with a wink.
