Chapter 39
It is nearly eleven o’clock by the time Rebecca drives Sydney home.
Maddy stays at Sydney’s side, holding hands as the three of them make their way up the walkway, carved through lush landscaping.
Unseen lighting bleaches the air with a trio of flashes, waves of thunder rumbling at them on a few seconds’ delay.
They are soaked through and through, teeth chattering.
Rebecca has updated Mark at intervals, and he is already heading home to wait for them. The thought is an immense comfort.
They continue toward the expansive house. Because Rebecca called ahead, the butler and nanny are waiting in the foyer, the architectural front door already open beneath the modern portico.
As they near, Sydney reaches for Rebecca’s hand. She stands there between Maddy and Rebecca.
“Where is . . .” Rebecca hesitates, trying to remember the dad’s name. “Her father?”
“In New York on business,” the butler says.
The nanny gestures for Sydney to come in. Sydney does not let go of Rebecca’s and Maddy’s hands.
“Come,” the nanny says brusquely, with a heavy accent. “Bath time.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Rebecca said.
The nanny makes a clucking noise, as if shooing a dog, as she steps forward and tugs Sydney free.
The giant glass door closes, and Sydney is marched back toward one of the colossal hallways.
Rebecca and Maddy stand helplessly on the wide concrete porch, watching her recede. Before Sydney disappears from view, she casts a glance back over her shoulder.
Her chin quivers.
And she is gone.
“She gonna be okay, Mommy?”
Rebecca takes Maddy’s hand, and they hustle back to the van, ducking against the downpour. “She’ll have to be, honey.”
They climb into the minivan, and Rebecca turns over the engine, blasts the heat.
But she does not drive away. Instead she sits there, hands on the steering wheel. The rain has hardened her skin to rubber, but she feels oddly renewed, washed clean.
“What, Mommy?”
Rebecca draws in a deep breath. “You were right,” she says. “About Bao-Bao.”
Maddy’s head is drawn back, nearly invisible blond eyebrows lifted. “Bao-Bao isn’t Bao-Bao?”
“No.”
“What happened to Bao-Bao?”
“Mr. Man thought he was food.”
Maddy’s lips form a plump O. “So he ate him?”
“No. But he . . . killed him to cook him.”
Maddy studies her intently in the rearview mirror. “But you didn’t let him cook Bao-Bao.”
“No.”
“Why did he think Bao-Bao was food?”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“Like the stinky cheese.”
“Yes. Like the stinky cheese.”
“But you told me Bao-Bao was Bao-Bao.”
“I lied,” Rebecca says. “I lied to you. And I’m sorry.”
“But we don’t lie.”
“I know, honey. We’re not supposed to lie.”
“So why did you?”
“I didn’t want you to feel bad. And I felt . . . guilty, I guess. Responsible.”
“For what Mr. Man did?”
“For wanting to have a Mr. Man to begin with.” The answers are right there for Rebecca, though she has not considered them before. “When it should have been just you, me, and Daddy.”
Maddy’s expression is exemplarily thoughtful, a face carved by Rodin. “It’s okay, Mommy. It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t Mr. Man’s fault.”
“Why . . .” Rebecca’s voice wobbles, and she pauses to swallow. “Why wasn’t it his fault?”
“He didn’t know better. Neither did you.”
“Thank you, honey.” Rebecca drops the gear shift into Drive and forges into the battering rain. “But now I do.”