“It’s Cris’s. He said it was very good, so I asked if I could borrow it.” Gio wiped around the sink with a towel and folded it.
“Ellie, are you coming?” Peggy called from the bedroom.
“Let me help you,” Gio called to her, maneuvering around Ellie to get out of the bathroom.
“I asked Ellie.”
“Well, I’m standing right here, Peg,” Gio said.
“I don’t care where you are standing, George, I asked my daughter.”
“I’m coming,” Ellie yelled over her shoulder. The book was a memoir written by a former reporter who craved a greater sense of purpose after 9/11 and decided to become an EMT. She flipped through the pages and could see that there were chapters about his training and details about the kinds of things he saw out in the streets. She saw the words “blood,” “dead,” and “gunshot” quite a few times before closing the book and going to make her own rescue.
“You’re not dressed yet,” Peggy said, looking Ellie up and down.
“It will take me only a minute,” she said, fastening a gold bracelet onto her mom’s right arm. It was the antique scarab that her maternal grandmother had given to her mother when she graduated from high school.
“I’m going to walk over now. It’s sweltering in here,” said Peggy, fanning herself with her small clutch handbag.
“I’m leaving, too,” said Gio. It would probably take them more effort to avoid walking together than resigning themselves to the fact that they were, in fact, unavoidably together, as usual.
“Be nice, okay? It’s a seven-minute walk. Try not to kill each other.”
“I, for one, don’t have the energy,” said Peggy. She turned to open the front door, but Gio had already opened it. He smiled and gestured for her to go out first.
“All of a sudden, huh?” Peggy shook her head. “Sure, thirty-three years later.”
Ellie closed her eyes the second they closed the door, honestly hoping her mom would cool down before dinner. She walked back toward her bedroom to change, but the black book on the counter inthe bathroom called her over again. Why would Cris be reading this? Maybe he liked autobiographies. Maybe he knew the author. Then she remembered him saying something at the tennis match about healthcare. And classes. He said he might be taking classes and that he was afraid to tell people about it. She scanned the prologue of the book, where the author wrote about friends he knew from his military high school, who were all in Iraq or Afghanistan while he was in a relatively cushy job as a reporter. He wanted to change his career from writing about brave people to being one of them. He wanted to do something that tested his limits, and he wanted to save lives. Ellie picked her head up from the book. Could this be what Cris was talking about?
Her phone pinged in her bedroom, pulling her out of her thoughts. She figured it was probably her mother wondering where she was. Instead, it was Greta.
Been busy with the puppies all day
How did it go with C this morning?
Not sure
We talked and maybe he’s not trash
Progress
What are you wearing tonight?
Navy dress
Oh good one
Plz have fun OK?
Drink wine
For me
No really
Start now
It’s bath night isn’t it?
