Confessions on the 7:45(14)

Stella was all smiles, touching Charlie’s hand, leaning her body toward his. After dinner, most nights, Pearl would go up to her room and finish her homework, read until she fell asleep. Charlie and her mother would disappear into Stella’s room. She wouldn’t hear another peep from them. He likely wouldn’t be there when she got up for school in the morning. But right now, as they all ate, she watched.

There was something different about Charlie. All the other men who’d shared this table were in Stella’s thrall, hanging on her every word, rapt by her—beauty? Was it beauty? No, it was more than that, something that radiated from inside, a kind of magnetism. But the energy between Charlie and Stella—it was like she was the dancer, and he was the approving observer.

“Tell us about school today, Pearl,” said Charlie.

Stella seemed surprised, as if she’d forgotten Pearl was there. Pearl was surprised, too.

“I dissected a frog in science class,” she said. “We removed its heart.”

They all looked down at their plates. “Really, Pearl?” said Stella, disgusted.

“Ah,” said Charlie. “Did you learn anything that surprised you?”

“Well,” said Pearl. “I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the lab. But it wasn’t as revolting as I thought. In fact, it was kind of fascinating. How things work under the skin. You don’t think about your organs too much, you know?”

Charlie’s grin was wide and knowing as Stella pushed away from the table. Pearl had been looking for a reaction and she got one. And Charlie saw it all.

“Well, there goes my appetite,” said Stella, rising.

“Sit down,” Charlie said.

Pearl startled a little, glanced at her mother. His voice was gentle, coaxing. But Stella did not like it when the attention of a conversation turned away from her. And she did not like to be told what to do—especially by any man. Would she rage? Would she storm off? Pearl braced herself for what came next.

“I think Pearl’s just trying to shock us,” said Charlie, still grinning. The energy in the room cooled.

Stella surprised Pearl by sitting back down, scooting her chair back toward the table. She gave Pearl a look—half amused, half annoyed. Pearl pushed the chicken around her plate.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I emptied the mousetrap in the store room today,” said Stella. “It was every bit as disgusting as I imagined it would be. How’s that for shocking?”

Charlie put a hand on Stella’s. “You don’t have to do things like that, Stella,” he said. “I’m here now—to help.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” she said. Her voice was soft and sincere.

This one was definitely different.

Pearl helped Charlie clean the dishes while Stella went into the study to balance the books. As Pearl moved around the kitchen, she felt Charlie’s eyes on her.

“You’re a funny kid, Pearl,” he said, when she lifted her gaze to his. He tapped his temple. “Clever.”

Pearl had grown used to being invisible. She didn’t even know until that moment how nice it was to be seen.



SIX

Selena

Her house didn’t look like her house as she pulled into the drive and sat, car running. It was a shimmering facsimile, a pretty place that didn’t belong to her. It was exactly the kind of home she’d dreamed of as a girl—a big two-story, with expansive rooms, high ceilings, with shutters and shingles, big leafy shade trees, careful landscaping. She changed the perennials out every season, weeded meticulously in the summer, decorated elaborately for Halloween and Christmas. Her mother always said: Your home is the heart of your life. Her heart was broken. And her home, her life, would likely follow.

The boys’ lights were out; she could just make out the orange glow of their night-light through the drawn shades. She was sorry that she had missed kissing them good-night, but she was glad she didn’t have to put on a happy face.

Since her encounter on the train, she’d been buzzing—something about the stranger, her voice, her words. She wasn’t going to be able to sit with this. She couldn’t pretend, not for another day.

She killed the engine, leaving the car in the drive with enough room for Graham to get his car out. If she opened the garage door, she risked waking the boys and she didn’t want that.

Entering the warmth and light of the foyer, she dropped her bags by the door and walked down the hall to the kitchen and waited.

When Graham pushed in through the door, she could see that he’d showered. Of course. Washing away the scent of what he’d done. But he looked good, smelled good.

“Hey,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  They met on a rainy evening in the East Village. She was on her way to a book party for a famous mixologist at a tiny venue near Avenue A. Selena, running late, jogged down the street under a helter-skelter umbrella that had twisted in the wind and was essentially useless, broke a heel and went tumbling to the sidewalk. The contents of her bag rolled onto the concrete, phone flying into the street with an unpleasant crack.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?”

She was more stunned than anything, though she’d scraped her knee pretty badly. A hunky guy with dark hair, a stylish bomber jacket over slim pants, chased after her phone, her lipstick, her wallet. He helped her to her feet. The umbrella was a tangled mess on the ground. The rain kept falling. They were both getting soaked.