Atmosphere(43)

“I liked the club, though.”

Vanessa was quiet, but she held Joan’s gaze. Then she looked away and nodded again, this time with a little smirk. “Yeah, I suspected you would.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Joan asked. “The club?”

“What do you think?” Vanessa said.

“I don’t know. You left early. I couldn’t tell.”

Vanessa didn’t say anything.

“You say I don’t know who I am, but do you know who you are?” Joan asked her.

Vanessa laughed. Joan cringed.

“Yes, Joan, I do. And you know who I am, too. If you’re honest with yourself.”

Oh, they were much too close to the sun.

“I think we should . . . I mean . . . we’re already so late! Can you grab my sunglasses? I’ll get dressed.”

Vanessa looked at her for a moment longer and then said, “Okay.”

Joan shut the bathroom door and put on her clothes. She fixed her hair. When she came out, Vanessa was holding her sunglasses and her wallet. She was standing right by the nightstand. Joan’s cheeks grew hot, as she worried Vanessa had opened the drawer. But she showed no signs of having seen anything.

Vanessa started to walk past the bed, toward Joan and the door, but then she stopped and leaned over. “Oh, looks like you left something,” she said as she grabbed a piece of paper, half-buried in the sheets.

“It’s nothing,” Joan said. “Don’t look at it. You don’t need to.”

But Vanessa did look at it, and then she smiled. “Oh, I do know you,” she said. “I know you so well. I know you exactly, Joan Goodwin.”

Joan could feel her cheeks warming. She was on the thinnest edge of something. But, somehow, she knew she was okay.

“All right, Ford,” she said. “Let’s go.”



The following weekend, Joan had made plans to pick Frances up on Sunday morning at ten, but she woke up almost half an hour late.

She’d been doing that lately. Unable to sleep, then unable to wake up, her mind scattered, her body falling behind. She called the house but no one answered, so she threw on a dress and got in the car. She made up some of the time by cutting through corner gas stations to avoid red lights—painfully aware that the maneuver was illegal.

When she pulled into Barbara’s driveway, Frances was outside sitting on the stoop. She was in cream overalls, her hair in two braids she’d clearly done herself.

“Hey, babe,” Joan said. “Sorry I’m late.”

It was eleven minutes after ten.

“It’s okay,” Frances said, getting up.

“Where’s your mom?”

“With Scott.”

Joan did not know who Scott was, but she could figure well enough.

Frances walked toward Joan’s car, but Joan stood on the lawn for a moment.

“Your mom’s not home?”

“No, she left about a half hour ago, to go pick him up. She said to wait out here until you came.”

“Why not in the house?” Joan said.

Frances shrugged. “She locked the door when she left.”

Joan could not tell if this was as big a deal as it seemed to her.

“Are we going out to breakfast?” Frances said as she got into the front seat. “I already had Lucky Charms, but I’m still hungry.”

Joan opened her own car door and got in.

“If you want to, sure.”

Joan drove them to the diner by her apartment building and they got a table. When the food arrived, Frances scarfed down both her pancakes in about three minutes flat.

“Franny, c’mon, eat your eggs,” Joan said.

“I really don’t want to,” Frances said.

“You promised that you would,” Joan reminded her.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Frances said.

This worked with Barbara. Joan was sure of it. “Eating an egg is not going to kill you,” she said, entirely unamused. “I don’t want you to get all hopped up on sugar and no protein.”

Frances frowned, but then she picked up her fork and began eating.

“What are we doing today?” Joan asked. “Movies or shopping?”

Frances considered her options. “How much money will I get for shopping?”

“The exact cost of a movie ticket—you know that.”

Frances nodded. “What if I said I wanted to see a movie tonight, would you take me?”

“Of course, my love. If it is okay with your mom.”

“But those tickets are more expensive.”

“Right, but that’s fine.”

“So if we go shopping now, can I have the same price as an evening movie ticket?”

Joan laughed just as Frances did. “You little trickster,” Joan said.

Frances’s eyes crinkled and she curled her shoulders up, so pleased with herself. “You did say . . .”

“Okay,” Joan said, pointing at her. “That trick will work this time. I’ll give you the money because I admire your moxie. But next time, I’ll be on to you.”

Frances shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said. “I want to go see a movie anyway.”

Joan laughed. “You’re going to be a lawyer when you grow up,” she said. “Or a hostage negotiator.”