The little boy rocks on his feet a bit, looking down but somehow mustering up enough volume for me to hear his request. “Um, could Marlo come over and play?”
“Aww, that’s very nice of you to ask,” I say.
“I just opened a bottle of wine,” Alison adds, then switches to a singsong tone. “Just in caseMomwants to join.”
This isn’t the first time Alison has asked me to hang, and while I’m not entirely sure if her motivation is an olive branch of friendship or an awkward stab at a date, I’m not interested in finding out. Since arriving in Palm Springs, Alison has already carved out a healthy business for herself as a private investigator, following people around and digging through their trash.
Good for her, but with secrets like mine, Alison is the last person I need to be friends with. She’s already a greatbackup babysitter during the daylight hours when Noah’s not around, and she follows me on Instafeed. That’s enough.
“Today’s not great,” I say with an exaggerated frown. “We’re about to hit the gym for an hour.”
Alison lets out a cackle of laughter, but this good-natured eruption slowly crumbles as I hold her gaze and decline to join in.
“This time I’m not messing with you,” I add flatly.
Alison settles. “Whoa,” she says, nodding awkwardly. “Okay then.”
“Gotta start the healthy habits early.”
“Sure. Of course,” Alison replies, struggling to conjure up a look of understanding but not quite making it.
She can judge, but it changes nothing.
“Maybe next time,” I offer with a tight-lipped smile.
Alison nods, playfully ruffling Bowie’s mop of brown hair as the two of them turn and make their way down the front walk. When they reach the curb, Alison glances back just once, as if tempted to yell out some final thought, but her lips remain sealed and eventually the pair continue across the street.
I stand on the front stoop and watch them go, then breathe deep. Citrus and lawn clippings flood my nostrils, the latter a glorious sign that our neighborhood is worthy of Marlo’s blooming childhood. Grass is a luxury in Palm Springs.
Objectively speaking, it’s a beautiful day, yet a dark cloud still hovers above me: Eddie Michaels is dead.
If the greatest artist who ever lived can shuffle off thismortal coil, then what other tragedies are possible? Could this life I’ve built for Marlo disappear just as quickly, a careening sports car tearing down the road and launching through the wall of our living room?
Eddie Michaelsshouldbe immortal, but apparently he’s not.
I stride down the front walk, waving to another neighbor as he cruises by on his bicycle, then pop open my mailbox and extract a stack of envelopes.
I’m not surprised by the fresh heap of credit card bills that have long since become routine, but I’m still not immune to the visceral feeling of holding them in my hands or the way the ink looks with all those numbers stacked next to one another. I open one and the minimum payment makes me wince. The interest makes me wince again.
“Business expenses,” I quietly mutter in a half-hearted attempt to justify the bright pink statue of David in my living room.
I gather the envelopes and head back up the walk, pushing through my front door to find Marlo waiting for me, her hair wet and her body wrapped in a giant beach towel.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Nobody. Get changed,” I instruct. “You’ve got that birthday party with the cool girl from dance class later, so adventure time starts early.”
Marlo deflates slightly, then nods and heads down the hall to her room. Her bare feet slap gently against the hardwood floors. Never before has a child been sounenthused by the wordsadventure time, but I get it. I’m not always thrilled for an hour of cardio in the home gym, either.
I walk over to the kitchen island and pull out what has gradually become the bill drawer, tossing the new envelopes in and praying that somebody out there is in the market for fresh-cut flowers.
(Nothing But) Flowers
And how isUncle Noahthis evening?” I ask, our eyes meeting as I stroll across the crowded restaurant patio to greet him.
He stands up, grinning as we embrace, but as we pull away I notice a flicker of concern in his expression. He’s picked up on my slightly nagging tone, a drop of venom swirling through my otherwise playful choice of words.
“Does that bother you?” he asks, the two of us taking our seats across from each other.
