Adele shrugged. “Yes, well, it’s why I came today. I cannot play dead forever. I’ve done that for too long.”
“So what happens next?” Milly said when Sylvia brought out the next course. “I know I already said it, but I’ll make him leave the guest cottage; just say the word and he’ll be gone.”
Adele shook her head. “No, let him stay, let him pay you rent a little longer. If he doesn’t stay with you, he’ll just find someone else to put him up. Hopefully he’ll get bored and go home eventually.”
“Just let us know what we can do to help,” Milly said. “We’re in this together now.” She took a bite of the chicken casserole. “This is delicious, Sylvia.”
“Is it really?” Sylvia beamed. “I had to call Maria three times today to make sure I was doing it right,” she said, laughing. “Good Lord, I miss having her around.”
There was a noise at the back of the house, and they all looked up.
“Is that Judith?” Milly asked.
“No, she’s staying at her friend’s house tonight. I wasn’t expecting Walter home for dinner, either.” She got up and pushed in her chair, mildly annoyed. “Walter? Is that you?” He’d said he’d eat at the club with Hank, their accountant, and she thought she’d have more time with Milly and Adele. They couldn’t talk freely with him around, and there was no space for privacy in this house. “Walter?” she called again.No answer. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.Please don’t let him be drunk, she thought, hurrying toward the back door. “Why are you—”
She stopped and gasped.
Walter was stooped over, leaning on the counter holding his ribs, his white shirt covered with blood. “My God,” she cried, rushing to him.
When he looked up, his face was almost unrecognizable. One eye was swollen shut and blood was covering his mouth, chin, and clothes. Walter moaned and allowed Sylvia to put his arm around her shoulder and steer him to a chair. “What happened to you?” she asked after he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, Milly and Adele now joining them.
“Oh my God,” Milly said, hands over her mouth.
Sylvia imagined possible scenarios—a car accident, a bar fight—but in the pit of her stomach she knew it was something to do with the men he’d paid off. “Walter, please, tell me what happened.”
Adele had already grabbed a kitchen towel and drenched it with water, rung it out, and handed it to Sylvia, who dabbed at the blood on his face. He winced and pulled away. “This is bad, Walter,” she said, breathless. “I need to call Doc.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s too late,” he managed. “Don’t.” Doc lived in the next town over and was nearing his seventies. He’d retired years ago but was still who they called in a medical emergency. He lifted his head and took one look at Milly and Adele. “I don’t want people to know,” he managed to say, but he looked so terrible that Sylvia didn’t know how to help him. Just seeing his face made her lightheaded. She reached for the counter to steady herself.
Milly brought a chair to Sylvia and poured them both a glass of water.
“You need stitches,” Adele said, taking over. “Bones could be broken. you need a doctor, or your face will stay like this,hideuse.”
“I don’t care about my face,” Walter mumbled sorrowfully. He turnedto Sylvia. “I care about you and Judith.” He looked from his wife to Milly and Adele, then back to Sylvia.
“Don’t worry about them,” Sylvia assured him. “They know everything; they won’t say a word.”
“I still owe them interest,” Walter said. “I paid them what Iowed, but they’re still insisting on getting their lousy ten percent for each day I was late.” He took a few short breaths, holding his ribs.
“They’re still charging interest?”
“I told them it was bullshit. I told them to get lost!”
“Oh, Walter,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.” He’d done this to them, ruined them financially, but she’d made sure he knew she hadn’t forgiven him. She’d been so intolerant, she’d put so much pressure on him to fix it. She’d let her immense disappointment in him be known, as well as her rage over selling the house and moving to this one. If she hadn’t been so obstinate, if she’d given him even a glimmer of hope that she might someday be willing to forgive him, that they might be able to move on with their lives, he might have simply paid the interest he owed and been done with it. Instead, he’d tried to hold on to what little money they had left. And they’d come after him. “I’m sorry, Walter, I’m so, so sorry.”
She dabbed at his mouth and chin to wipe away the blood so she could see what injuries lay beneath, then she carefully unbuttoned his shirt. His chest and stomach were bruised and bloody, and he winced when she tried to move the hand that clutched his ribs.
Adele poured him a shot of whiskey from the bar, and he sipped it, sucking in air when it touched his split lip, but he gulped the rest down anyway.
“I know someone who might be able to help,” Milly said, stepping forward. “A doctor—well, a doctor-in-training, but I’m sure he can help. He lives nearby, and he’ll be discreet.”
Sylvia gave her a puzzled look but there was no time to explain. Walter had set his glass down and was now slouched over the table as if he might pass out. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“I’ll go now,” Milly said.
Sylvia nodded. “Thank you.”
When Milly returned to the kitchen with a handsome and vaguely familiar young man by her side, Sylvia was surprised: Wasn’t he one of the college kids who’d stayed in Milly’s guest cottage during Bal Week?
