Her mind meandered to her landlady. She wonderedif this austere living space reflected Jo’s personality. She was probably just as brittle and hard as the steel and concrete she employed in every room. You didn’t have to be a therapist to guess Jo might be frigid.
After dinner, Tori took the garbage out through the back door, her least favorite chore. As she dragged the garbage into the backyard, she fought the urge to lock the door behind her. This is Eastbrook, she told herself, one of the safest suburbs in America.
The air was scented with blooming lilacs and viburnum, and the sound of laughter carried on the breeze. A backyard party somewhere close. There were always parties in this neighborhood, not to mention friends jogging side by side, chatting as they ran, or older couples taking slow meandering strolls. It felt like the neighborhood was a densely woven fabric, and she a drop of rain that bounced right off, unable to penetrate.
Tori never knew she could be so lonely surrounded by so many people.
Moving into the suburbs without a husband was never going to be easy, but she wasn’t prepared for the way these women would react when they heard she was divorced. The way the other moms stayed away from her and Leo at the playground, as if they could sniff her out as not one of them, a hyena trying to blend in with a herd of graceful impalas at the watering hole. As soon as she grew near, their metaphorical ears flattened against their heads, and their eyes grew wide.
Interloper, interloper, they screamed telepathically to each other.
They were worried that divorce was contagious. And she had to admit they had a right to be. Studies showed that having a close friend who got divorced increased your own chances by 75 percent. The more divorced people you knew, the greater the chances of becoming one yourself.
Tori plopped the trash bag into the can and dragged it along the side of the house toward the front curb. As the wheels hit the lip, they caught, and the heavy can twisted out of her hand. She jumped out of the way just as the can crashed to the street with a loud crack, its contents tumbling onto the asphalt.
“Oh no!” She bent down to examine the mess. The bag was ripped, and the plastic garbage can split along the side. Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched an empty La Croix can roll into the street. She wiped at her eyes and walked back to the house for a heavy black garbage bag and a roll of paper towels.
When she returned, she saw a figure righting the garbage can. A man. She hesitated a moment, a survival instinct kicking in, but when he turned his head, the neighbor’s porch light caught his face. Daniel.
“Hi,” she said, approaching. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. I’m the landlord, right? These things are worthless.” He shook the plastic can.
“Now you tell me,” she said.
“I should have gotten you one of the heavy-duty rectangular ones. They sell them at Strosniders.” He held out his hand, gesturing toward the garbage bag.“Let me do that. I have lots of experience. We used to have some pretty resourceful raccoons.”
He took the bag from her and snapped it in the air, opening it wide. It took him mere moments to scoop everything up using the bag like a giant mitten. He tied it up and put it back in the cracked can.
“Wow. You’re, like, what’s that guy’s name? The superintendent from that show with the single mom?”
Daniel shook his head. “Don’t know it.”
Tori snapped her fingers. “One Day at a Time.That’s it. There’s this super that always shows up and helps out. He’s like part of the family. What was his name? I can’t remember.” She knew she was blabbing, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Well, happy to help,” he said.
He was close enough to touch. Close enough that she could see the stubble on his face in the moonlight and smell the mix of cologne and sweat on him. Why did Jo get to have a man like this and she didn’t? A strange urge burned in her, to be seen by this man, to be recognized and reckoned with. To make herself part of the Allards’ world and move from the periphery to the center.
He stepped back and the frisson between them evaporated into the nighttime air. “Don’t hesitate to text if you need anything.” Daniel’s voice was cool, distant. “We’ve got a great handyman.” He turned to go, having reestablished their power dynamics. He owned the house she lived in.
“Schneider,” she called after him. “The super’s name was Schneider.”
Daniel stopped, turned, and gave her a puzzled half smile that made her shrink in embarrassment.
She stood there alone on her street, her humiliation hardening into something sharp. She wasn’t invisible, a nobody. She just needed a way in.
NINE
I wake in a panic in the middle of the night, sure someone else is in the room. It takes a few seconds to orient myself. There is no one here, no one besides Miguel, who is snoring in bed next to me. I lie on my back trying to return to sleep, but I can’t shake the fear that saturated my dreams. With my heart pounding like this, I know I won’t be falling back asleep anytime soon. I open the bedside table drawer and reach for the bottle of Ambien, but then stop myself as I recall the look on Officer Jankowski’s face when he learned I had a prescription. No, no pills. I shut the drawer and get out of bed.
In the upstairs hallway I peek inside Zach’s room. Nothing has changed since he left for UVA two years ago. A vintage Fugazi poster hangs on the wall above his single bed. Next to it is a small bookshelf crammed with everything from Camus to Stephen King, the top shelf piled high with trophies and ribbons from science bowls and cross-country races. I’m happy he found a position this summer in a lab at school doing research on aging, but I miss him.
Rachel’s room also looks how she left it when she rushed out the door for her camping trip. Piles of laundry and books, self-care products and craft supplies litter the floor. Her bed is unmade, her precious koala lying on his back staring at the ceiling.
Their empty rooms echo the strange emptiness I feel.
Although Rachel will be back from her hiking trip on Tuesday, it’s only for a short while. Then she’ll head off to tennis camp to work as a counselor. This is how it will be from now on. I know that from my experience with Zach. I’ll have snatches of time with Rachel, a few weeks here, a month there, but the days of my daughter living here under the same roof as me are gone.
