Duncan stares at her, his mouth hanging open.
“I was better after. Only a little bit, though.” Diana never planned to tell anyone that story, especially not Duncan.
“Does this mean I can break something?” Duncan offers Diana a small grin, and she understands she was right to open up.
“If smashing a bottle of hot sauce will make you feel better, then yes. Ask me first, though, so we can keep you safe.” Diana smooths his sandy-colored hair back from his face and holds his chin in her hands. “I appreciate you shared all of this with me, honey. Thank you.”
“Mom, that letter ... What does it mean? What did Dad do? Who’s coming for you?”
Diana feels a rush of fear. This can’t be one of those times she says or does the wrong thing.
“This letter,” she begins. “It could all be a misunderstanding.” Diana wants to believe this, and she wants Duncan to as well.
So many emotions—sorrow, anger, and confusion—ripple across his face. “How am I supposed to remember him, or try to remember him, if he was someone else?” Duncan asks, kicking at the ground, pebbles ricocheting across the court.
How am I supposed to remember him if he was someone else?The words burrow into Diana, staking their claim on her memories of Tom. She wants to be alone, to hide in her room and scream into her pillow.
Instead, because her son needs her, she offers Duncan the assurance they both crave. “I’ll figure it out. Make some phone calls, do some research. But Duncan, this has to stay between us.”
“I can help.” He squares his shoulders in a movement that could have been cloned from Tom.
“No, this letter is my responsibility. Your job is to go to school, do your homework, and play basketball. It may take me a while to sort this, so you have to be patient. You’re staying out of it. No discussion. And we’ll keep this between you and me, for now. No talking about it with anyone else. No worrying Grandma or Grandpa, or Uncle Evan and Aunt Andie. Deal?” She holds out her hand, and he shakes it.
“Good,” Diana says, swaying on her feet. She mentally adds a large glass of wine to her to-do list for the evening. “Let’s go in. It’s chilly, and your sister’s by herself. I don’t want her to be frightened if she wakes up alone.”
“I have to get my ball.” Duncan runs to the far side of the court. He picks up the basketball Tom gave him, and because he can’t help himself, he pivots and tosses the ball up to the hoop.
Swish.
He catches it before it hits the ground and returns to Diana, taking her hand in his.
Chapter Six
Preteen boy clothes are disgusting,Diana thinks as she loads Duncan’s basketball shirts into the washer. It’s best to do the laundry each day, lest the odor kills them all.
There is much Diana hates about maintaining a house: mopping the children’s breakfast crumbs from the kitchen floor, managing the unending saga of dusting, and scrubbing toilets. The list of her least favorite chores is tiresome and infinite. Laundry, however, is an altogether different task.
Diana loves the way clothes smell brand new when they first come out of the dryer, and she appreciates the satisfaction of folding towels into a perfectly straight pile, all the corners lining up. Most of all, she loves the brief look back at the days that have already disappeared as shown through her family’s clothes: her daughter’s muddy leggings from playing tag with the neighborhood kids, her son’s basketball jersey damp with perspiration from one of his many games, her kitchen towels marked with traces of Lakshmi’s latest meal. When Diana drops the items, one by one, into the washing machine, she says a soundless goodbye to those rapidly fading moments and watches as the clothes swirl together, preparing for what is yet to come.
With those images clear in her mind, Diana closes the washer door, fills the dispenser with detergent, and turns on the wash cycle. Then she heads upstairs with a white plastic basket piled high with clean clothes. Arriving on the landing outside their bedrooms, Diana checks on thekids. Phoebe is already asleep, with Bear Bear in her arms and lullabies playing on Tom’s old iPod. Duncan sits at his bedroom desk, finishing up his homework. While they haven’t discussed the letter since last night’s conversation on the basketball court, he gave her a long hug this morning as he left for school, embracing her so fiercely her ribs ached afterward.
Diana puts the laundry basket on her bed and begins folding. Occasionally, when she comes across items of Tom’s the kids have taken as their own—his law school sweatshirt, a pair of cozy argyle socks—she groups them separately, as if forgetting he no longer needs them.
After Duncan agrees to listen for Phoebe and go to bed as soon as his homework is done, Diana leaves for Lakshmi’s. Once she’s inside her friend’s house, Diana’s tension fades away. Unlike her own home, which is more of a way station, at Lakshmi’s, she finds succor and stability. She can leave her life behind.
Lakshmi is in front of her stove, stirring a bubbling pot and dancing to pop music playing from her phone. Diana pauses to take in Lakshmi’s artwork, framed in gold and arranged together on the wall. The paintings are only ten by ten inches, and the subject matter is prosaic—a peony in full bloom, a pile of books, a beach ball—but the canvases have a liveliness that draws people in.
Diana’s favorite of Lakshmi’s pieces hangs in her own kitchen. It’s an earlier work, and while Lakshmi’s technique has improved since then, to Diana, it’s by far her best. Three peaches nestle in a blue bowl, sunlight falling across them with a shadow at the edge. Diana has added the painting to the list of things she’d save in an emergency, a categorization at which Lakshmi, ever humble, scoffs.
Lakshmi glances up. “How long have you been there?”
“A minute or two. Looking to see if you’ve added any new paintings.” Diana holds out a bottle of wine. “Pinot grigio.”
“My favorite, thank you.” Lakshmi accepts the wine and gestures to the stove. “I’m making chai. Or would you prefer the wine?”
“I can’t handle caffeine this late.”
“I made it decaf,” Lakshmi says, her smile indicating she anticipated that concern. She places the wine inside the refrigerator and hands Diana a bowl of pistachios. “Why don’t you settle in, and I’ll be over with our drinks.”
