She turns and stares at him; she’d been reaching for the cookies on the counter.
For fuck’s sake, he thinks, can he never get a moment to himself? He doesn’t want to deal with his difficult daughter right now.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but it’s hard. It’s been a shitty day. He’s just lost the woman he loves, and it feels like he’s lost everything.
“I live here,” she says sarcastically. And she turns away from him and reaches for the cookies, opening the package with a crinkly sound and plunging her hand in.
“I mean, aren’t you supposed to be at choir practice?” he asks, reminding himself to breathe. To not get upset. She’s not being deliberately obnoxious, he tells himself, she can’t help it. That’s just the way she is. She’s not wired like other people.
“They sent me home,” she says.
She’s not allowed to walk home from school alone. She’s supposed to be picked up by her older brother; basketball practice and choir end at the same time, at 4:30. He sees the time on the stove clock—4:08.
“Why didn’t you wait for your brother?”
She’s stuffing Oreos into her mouth. “Didn’t want to.”
“It’s not always about what you want,” he tells her crossly. She eyes him warily, as if sensing his darkening mood. “How did you get in the house?”
“I know about the key under the front mat.”
She says it as if she thinks he’s stupid. He tries to control his growing temper. “Why did they send you home? Was choir canceled?” She shakes her head. “So what happened?” He finds himself wishing that Erin were here, so that she could handle this. She’s much better at it than he is. He feels a familiar pain starting between his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose and begins moving restlessly around the kitchen, tidying, putting things away. He doesn’t want to look at her because the disrespect in her expression infuriates him. He thinks of his own father: I’ll wipe that smirk off your face.
“I got in trouble.”
Not today, he thinks. I can’t deal with this shit right now. “For what?” he asks, looking at her now. She just stares at him, stuffing her face. And he can’t help it, he feels that familiar spurt of anger at his daughter. She’s always getting into trouble, and he’s had enough. When he was a kid, his father smacked him when he misbehaved, and he turned out fine. But it’s different nowadays. They have coddled her. Because the experts say she needs patience and support. What they’ve done, he thinks, is enabled her to become a spoiled brat who doesn’t understand limits.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, a warning in his voice now.
“No.” And it’s that defiance in her voice, as if she holds all the cards, as if he’s nothing and has no authority over her at all, that sets him off. In three long strides he’s across the kitchen, in a blind rage. Something inside him has snapped. It happens so fast, faster than conscious thought. He strikes her across the side of the head, harder than he meant to. She goes down like a stone, the expression of defiance wiped from her face, replaced by shock and then vacancy, and for a fraction of a second, he feels satisfaction.
But it’s short-lived. He stands over her, horrified at what he’s just done. He’s shocked, too, that he could do this. His hand is stinging with pain. He’d only meant to slap her, he tells himself now, to slap some sense into her. He hadn’t meant to strike her. He bends down over his daughter, where she is slumped across the floor; she cringes away from him. He quickly but gently pulls her up to a sitting position, with her legs out in front of her and her back against the kitchen cupboards. “I’m sorry, honey! Avery, I didn’t mean it! I’m so sorry.” The words come in a rush. He’s blinking back tears.
She looks back at him blankly, not mouthy now. He’s sickened by what he’s done. He’s a decent man. A doctor, not a brute. He’s not his father. And he loves his daughter, he does. How could he have lost it like that? “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, Avery, I promise. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just, I lost my temper—I’ve had a very bad day. I know that’s no excuse. You know I love you, sweetie. I love you more than anything.”
Her eyes are a bit glassy, but otherwise she seems fine. She looks away from him then, won’t meet his eyes.
His voice is pleading, and he hates the sound of it. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s unforgivable, but let’s not tell your mother. She has a lot on her plate right now.” Avery doesn’t answer; she won’t speak to him. He pauses and says, “And we won’t tell her you came home by yourself, because that will get her upset, and you know she will have to give you consequences. You can say you walked home with a friend.”
She ignores him, staring sullenly straight ahead. He thinks she’ll tell, and it’s what he deserves. There’s going to be a bruise. He supposes he could try to deny it; there’s no predicting who Erin will believe. His daughter has a history of telling lies. He does, too, but his wife doesn’t know that.
He stands up and backs away from Avery. He has to get out of here, away from the sight of what he’s just done. He’s filled with self-loathing. He can feel his little girl’s reproach, imagines her calculating. She has something to use against him now. One more nail in the coffin of his marriage. He turns around and heads back out to the garage.
But when he gets to the car and reaches for his keys, he hesitates.
Two
Nora arrives home about a quarter to five. She’d run a few errands after leaving William at the motel, so that she’d have something to show for her absence. Faith is at soccer practice and should be home soon. Ryan must have gone out; his car is gone from the driveway. Her husband, Al, won’t be home till around six. She doesn’t have time for a shower, to lather away the smell of William. The smell of what they did together. How would she explain a shower in the afternoon if Ryan suddenly arrives home? Instead, she washes herself with a cloth at the bathroom sink.
She lets herself cry. It had to be done. Her own feelings don’t matter, she tells herself. She must live with the choices she’s made. She’s strong and she must get over him. But it won’t be easy—she’s in love with William. She knows now that she’d never been in love with her husband, even in the beginning. She and Al had loved each other once, but there had never been true passion there. Not like there is with William. Was.
She’s only forty-two. She still has her figure, her good looks. She’s not as stunning as she was twenty years ago, but she still turns heads when she enters a room. She can’t help it that she’s fallen for William, a handsome and charming doctor, that she still wants to be desired. But she can change her actions. She can stop seeing him. It’s too risky. She’s been selfish. Too many people will be hurt if they are found out: Her husband and children. His wife and their children. She doesn’t want to cause all that damage. She will have to stop volunteering at the hospital. She won’t be able to bear it, seeing him there, after this.