Downstairs, Dad called, “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Mom’s voice came from the hallway.
“She’s texting Savannah.”
I looked toward the door.
“How do you know?”
“Motherhood.”
My phone buzzed.
Annie:Was that a good laugh?
I looked at Molly’s photograph again.
She grinned from inside a terrible dress, crackers hidden in her bouquet.
Me:Undetermined. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.
I placed the phone beside the photograph.
Tomorrow had once been the word I used to postpone everything.
This time, I had made an appointment.
Sixteen
Annie
By the time Ellie called, I had been ready for forty-three minutes.
This was not because I was nervous.
The tour had trained me to arrive early. Anxiety had trained me to rename itself.
I sat on the sofa in my hotel suite wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and no makeup. The television was off. The curtains were closed. A bottle of water stood on the coffee table beside a yellow legal pad.
Rachel had brought the pad earlier.
“Write down anything you don’t want to forget.”
I had written:
Apologize without explaining the apology.
Listen.
