CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Saturday, May 27
Kathryn
In the hallway a light flickered in the crack beneath Emmy’s door. Kathryn knocked.
Emmy’s voice came softly. “It’s open.”
Kathryn turned the knob, and the girl sat up and adjusted her pillows against the headboard, her face white in the glow of the muted TV. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Emmy’s eyes were red and puffy, and she gave a weak shrug. “Sure.”
“Where’s Max?”
Emmy sniffed. “Javi said they’re together.”
A weight lifted from Kathryn. Max was safe; he just needed some space.
“Kathryn, I didn’t mean to disrespect you, or to cause problems between you and Max.” The words tumbled from Emmy; then she hiccuped and fell silent.
“Honey, calm down. Take a breath.” The mattress shifted when Kathryn lowered herself onto its surface. Every movement required more effort than she had energy for.
“But I don’t want to go back to live with Nora.” Tears snagged Emmy’s words.
“I’d never make you do that.” Relief washed Emmy’s face, and her shoulders dropped. Mortification flowed again when Kathryn recalled the argument. “Earlier, I said a lot of horrible things I regret deeply. I’m the adult here; I should know better than to bite back in anger that way. And I’m sorry you were there to witness that.” A flash of Max’s eyes. Devastated. Kathryn swallowed.
“Max is angry because you’ve never been honest with him about his father—”
The knife in her diaphragm was back. Gouging. Twisting. “Andrew has nothing to do with this.” Kathryn’s voice came out in a gravelly whisper.
“He has everything to do with this, Kathryn.”
It crashed over her, waves on a seawall. Kathryn closed her eyes. Emmy was right. Her body trembled before the tears came. Shuddering sobs. Kathryn dropped her face into her hands. “It’s complicated with Andrew,” she cried. “I never explained the situation to Max, and that’s my fault. Max shouldn’t blame Andrew.”
“But Max doesn’t know that.”
She breathed into her fingers. “You’re right.”
A beat of silence. Kathryn cleared her throat. “I’ve sent him to all the best therapists. Nothing seems to have worked.”
“Have you tried going with him? He might have some things to share with you.”
Kathryn had never considered this. Why had she been so blind all along? “I can do that.” Emmy’s maturity was remarkable. Harper had done a better job than she had. “But Max does have a history of being impulsive, and he doesn’t react well when things get tough. In the past, his behavior has been concerning. Dangerous, even. I don’t want you getting your heart broken, but I don’t want him to get hurt, either. Do you understand?”
Emmy nodded, tears tracing her cheeks. “We broke up. I mean, I think we did. I didn’t want to. I love him,” she sobbed.
A sigh emptied from Kathryn. “Oh God. I’m sorry, honey.” She thought of the way Max had clutched Emmy’s hand on the couch. “I never thought he’d let anyone in, really in. I thought he’d learned that from me.”
Emmy shook her head. “No, that’s not Max at all. He’s sweet and funny and he’s ... happy. We’re happy together.” A flicker of light in Emmy’s face. “And he loves Javi.” Emmy palmed a tear from her cheek. “But when he’s upset, he withholds love from himself, like a punishment. And I’m pretty sure he learned that from you.”
Kathryn bit her bottom lip and let this wash over her. That was all her son had taken from her. But that flicker in Emmy sparked a thought: maybe Emmy was good for Max; maybe her son could be happy. Kathryn thought of the way Harper had transformed when she met Lucas.
Kathryn sighed. “Having you here has stirred up so many memories. I told your dad I’d take care of you, and I haven’t done a very good job.” Her voice was thick, and she cleared her throat. “But also memories of your mom. She was so different back then.”
“Nobody ever told me that, either. I don’t know what happened. Max and I both grew up with these things nobody talked about, big things, formative things that are just blank for us.”
This had never occurred to Kathryn, that these gaps were holes the kids had filled on their own. Another teary sigh. “You’re right, Em. I need to talk to Max. And maybe if you make space for Harper, she’ll talk to you, too.”
Emmy took a ragged breath. “Fine.”
Exhaustion gutted Kathryn, but she reached over to squeeze Emmy’s hand. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” She rose and pressed a kiss to Emmy’s forehead before she closed the bedroom door behind her.
Kathryn fell onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been the longest day she could recall, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night. But there was a modicum of relief; hiding Andrew from Max was in the past. And speaking of Lucas and Harper had been painful, yet cathartic.
It was ten thirty. She dialed Harper’s number. It rang once. “Kathryn, what’s wrong?”
Kathryn propped herself up. She hadn’t considered what she’d say. “Everything’s fine. Emmy’s fine.” But her own voice was scratchy. It was clear she’d been crying. “I—I have something to tell you.”
When Kathryn froze, Harper asked, “Well, what is it?”
“Emmy and Max ... they’ve been seeing each other. I just found out today.”
“Haven’t you been keeping an eye on her?” Harper’s voice was sharp.
“Harp, I—” The tears came again. “I’ve been distracted, okay? Yes, I kept an eye on Emmy, but she’s eighteen in a few weeks, and she said she was with her friend, Maggie.”
“Maggie moved away a year ago,” Harper said.
Fresh embarrassment flowed. Harper had entrusted her with her child. Lucas had entrusted her with his child. And what had she done? Neglected her. Allowed the girl to witness the culmination of years’ worth of mistakes come to a head at her house. Emmy had witnessed her reducing her son to nothing, a thought that now made bile rise in Kathryn’s throat. “I was distracted with my own things.”
“With Andrew?”
Kathryn shut her eyes. “Yes.”
Harper sighed on the other end of the line.
After Lucas had died, after Harper had severed their relationship, Kathryn hadn’t let a man touch her for three years. The coldness of her solitude had felt like an appropriate punishment for her transgressions, for everything she’d allowed herself to lose. When men asked her for a date, her refusal was automatic, practiced. One evening, when she’d settled in at her firm, one of the newbies, Tad, asked her out for an after-hours drink. She’d become so accustomed to saying no, his request felt almost invasive. But Max was at a sleepover, and an endless stretch of a lonely evening at home loomed in front of her. Besides, Tad worked one floor beneath hers. If she didn’t want to see him again, he could easily be avoided.
After a dinner over contrived laughter and three martinis, Kathryn and Tad slid into his BMW in the nearly vacant parking garage, and his lips crashed into hers before he slipped his hand inside her blouse. She’d set her red-bottomed heels on the floorboard and leaned into him.
Three weeks later, Kathryn was about to pass off an envelope destined for Tad’s office to an intern. Instead, she decided to deliver it herself. She rode the elevator down and knocked, catching Tad’s smirk when she stepped into the room. Kathryn shut the door behind her, and Tad loosened his tie. Then she spotted the framed wedding portrait on his desk. Tad’s toothy smile was caught mid-laugh, his blond wife beaming at the camera. Kathryn leaned in close to him, her palms flat on his desk and asked, “Do you have children?”
“What are you talking about?” Tad’s eyes darted toward the portrait.
“It’s a simple question, Tad. Do you have children with that woman?” Kathryn pointed a manicured nail at the photo.
“No.” His voice wobbled. “Not yet.”
“Then tell her.”
His brows knitted together. “Excuse me?”
“Tell her, you piece of shit. Before you waste any more of that girl’s life. Or I will. And I’ll have you fired for sexual harassment.” She strode from the room.
After that day, Kathryn scoured for wives and children on the social media profiles of any man who offered to take her out. When she was certain they weren’t scumbags, she made bubbly conversation over drinks, laughed at dumb jokes, but never told them where she lived, or about her son. In the end, the men were all the same: generic and ultimately boring, and she left most of them with a polite peck on the cheek. If the conversation flowed, if she felt a hint of what was supposedly called chemistry—or if the bite of loneliness was particularly sharp—she let them take her back to their place for the evening. She realized sex didn’t need to leave life-altering wreckage in its wake; it could simply be a transaction, a momentary distraction from the crushing emptiness in her life.
When she returned to her silent house, Kathryn often passed by Max’s bedroom and pushed the door open without making a sound. She never dared enter, but sometimes she slid down the doorframe onto the floor, letting the soft rhythm of his breathing soothe the sting of her isolation. She hadn’t let anyone get close to her until Andrew returned to her life.
In her bed, with the phone pressed to her ear, Kathryn longed to hear Harper say something to soothe her. Maybe it was having her secrets exposed, opening up to Andrew that evening, taking down the stones that made up that wall she’d built one by one; maybe it was the culmination of all her failures, but Kathryn felt something inside her crack open. She’d spent so many years harboring animosity for Harper, bitterness over their lost friendship. Getting over heartbreak was difficult, but getting over losing your best friend? That was a grief Kathryn had never steeled herself for. Harper was alive, grieving for Lucas, suffering the trials of motherhood, all just a few miles away, and Kathryn had never reached out. Suddenly, the bitterness seemed fraught. The loneliness they’d endured alone suddenly so absurdly trite.
“Look, Harper,” Kathryn said. “I want to make one thing clear. I loved Luke with all my heart. But I loved him the same way I loved you, as a friend. You two were a fucking fairy tale. I’m done with everyone judging me. Luke didn’t have the luxury of time; he had to make his choices fast. All he had was his money, and he did what he thought was best for his daughter. And that was asking for my help, so you wouldn’t be alone. And I fucked that up. I wasn’t there for Emmy, and I certainly haven’t been there for Max.”
Harper didn’t speak, but Kathryn could hear her breathing into the phone.
“Motherhood is hard as fuck. And I’m failing at it. Miserably. I’ve been failing at it since Max was five.”
“So am I,” Harper said. “I’m sorry, Kat. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, and I’m sorry for my distance.”
A swell rose within Kathryn. “This would be easier with a friend. What do you say we leave it all behind us? We were so much better when we were on the same side.”
“Yeah.” Harper’s voice was just above a whisper. “Okay.”
“These two pain-in-the-ass brats of ours aren’t making life easy.” A teary laugh broke from both ends of the phone, along with a warm swell of possibility. Kathryn might have her best friend back, her confidante, with whom to share the ups and downs of life. Quick, bright flashes from the summers she’d spent with Harper peeked into her thoughts, of glittering pools and lounge chairs, the greasy-coconut smell of tanning oil.
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” Harper said.
Kathryn tilted her head against her pillow. “Harp, you have no idea .”
“I left Joshua,” Harper blurted.
“What?” Kathryn sat up. “Why?”
“It wasn’t fair to him. I didn’t—I’ll never love anyone the way I did—” Harper’s voice broke. “I know Emmy doesn’t want to be around Nora, so I’m going to get my own place. Maybe she could come with me for the summer.”
Maybe Kathryn could bridge Emmy and Harper’s relationship. A shred of atonement for everything. “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Harper said. “This thing with Max, do you think it’s serious?”
“It seems so,” Kathryn said. A hmm from Harper. “You raised a sweet kid, Harper. Luke would be proud.”
“Thanks.” She heard Harper swallow. “So tell me about Andrew.”
Kathryn thought of the way his eyes held hers that evening, and the way he lingered when he touched her. His kisses in the driveway. Andrew had given her a small part of his life, and she clung to it. Maybe the dreams they’d once dreamed on those afternoons so long ago weren’t dead. “I love him, Harp. I always have.”