2. Chapter 2
Harriet
My eyes open to darkness and cold. The car sits in a driveway I don’t recognize, windows fogged slightly, the engine quiet. I push myself up in the passenger seat, my neck stiff, mouth dry. Concerningly, the twins aren’t in the backseat, nor is Buck beside me. I’m alone in the car.
I blink hard, trying to orient myself, which is increasingly difficult because my head feels thick. The last thing I remember is Buck driving, the twins in the back with their phones, and me falling asleep after drinking the water Buck handed me.
Slowly, I check my phone in the cupholder and see I’ve been asleep for three hours.
I press my palm against the window, clearing a small circle in the fog.
Through it, I can see Buck’s brother’s house.
It’s a split-level with a covered porch and lights glowing in every window.
My family went inside without me. I’d been looking forward to this visit for weeks.
Buck’s brother had moved to a lake house last summer, and this is our first chance to see it.
I packed extra towels and the good sunscreen.
I’d wanted to spend time with my family on the ride down, and now I’ve ruined the start of our trip by falling asleep. And now I’m sitting in a cold car.
My hand finds the door handle. I push it open. My legs are stiff as I swing them out, feet hitting the gravel driveway with a crunch. For a moment, I consider staying put. Letting them wonder where I am, making them come looking. But that’s not me. I’ve never been the type to make a scene.
On the porch, I turn the handle of the front door and step inside, the warmth of the house feeling nice compared to the chill of evening outside.
Voices filter from the living room—Buck’s low rumble, his brother’s higher laugh, the occasional comment from one of the twins.
I follow the sound, dropping my purse on a chair in the entryway and shrugging off my coat.
Buck and his brother, Gary, are sitting in matching recliners, beers in hand, feet propped up. Meanwhile, Coris sprawls on the couch and Maren leans against the doorframe. I’m not sure where Gary’s wife, Christine, is.
No one looks up when I enter.
“I’m awake,” I say, unsure if I should be angry at myself or them.
Buck turns, surprise flashing across his face before it settles. “Harriet! There you are. Feeling better? You looked ill so I let you be.”
“So your response was to leave me alone in the car?” If I was truly ill, it would make more sense to guide me to a nice warm bed, rather than leave me.
Buck shrugs, a casual lift of one shoulder. “You looked peaceful. We figured you needed the rest.”
“That may have been true, but I was there for three hours.”
“Well, you’re the one that fell asleep,” he says, turning back to his beer. “That’s not my fault.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Coris says from the couch, not looking up from her phone. “It’s not Dad’s responsibility to wake you.”
“It’s really not a big deal,” Maren adds, pulling out her earbud. “We were just letting you rest.”
I stand in the middle of the room, my family arranged around me in a perfect circle of dismissal.
No one meets my eyes. No one acknowledges the strangeness of what happened—how deeply I slept, how completely I vanished from their thoughts.
I’m going to have to drop it though, because I’m starting to get upset and that will do no good.
Since they’re busy, I drift to the kitchen.
There’s the sound of pans clacking, so I bet Christine is in there.
The unmistakable smell hits me before I reach the kitchen.
Fish. I pause in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and watch Buck’s sister-in-law move efficiently around the small space.
On a cutting board beside the stove lies a large fillet of salmon, its pink flesh glistening under the kitchen lights.
She looks up when she notices me, offering a smile. “Harriet! You’re awake. Feeling better?”
“I’m fine,” I say, the automatic response. “Can I help with anything?”
She shakes her head, turning back to the stove. “Almost done. It’s just fish and some roasted vegetables. Buck mentioned the family was excited about it.”
My stomach drops. Not only because it’s fish, but because she says my husband, who knows I’m allergic, knew about it. “Fish?”
She nods, reaching for a wooden spoon. “Salmon. Buck and the girls requested it once you all got here.”
My face goes still.
“I need to talk to Buck,” I say, already turning away.
He’s still in the living room. I stand at the edge of the room until he notices me—which takes longer than it should—then beckon him with a finger.
He makes a show of reluctantly putting down his beer and pushing himself out of the recliner. “What’s up?”
I lead him to the small hallway between the living room and kitchen, keeping my voice low to not cause a scene. “Did you tell your brother we wanted fish for dinner?”
“Yeah, while you were sleeping. Why?”
“I’m allergic to fish, Buck.”
“Since when?”
“Since always.” My voice stays level, though something hot and tight is building in my chest. “Since we got married. Since before the twins were born. Since the time I ate a tuna sandwich at that picnic for our third date and spent the night in the emergency room.”
“I forgot. It’s not a big deal.”
“You can’t be serious. We’ve been married for 25 years. I know all of your allergies and you can’t remember the one that puts me in the hospital?”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on, Harriet. Calm down. It’s not my fault you fell asleep in the car. I can’t be expected to read your mind or remember every little detail about your preferences.”
“It’s not merely a preference,” I say, defending myself. “I get hives and my tongue and lips swell. It physically hurts me.”
Apparently, we weren’t as quiet as I thought, because Christine appears in the doorway.
“We can make something else,” she says, her voice careful and kind. “I’ve got mac and cheese ingredients for at least a few servings. It wouldn’t take long.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “That would be really nice.”
That’s all I wanted. Some sort of accommodation so I can eat. Christine slips out, giving us privacy.
“See?” Buck says, as though she’s just proven his point. “Problem solved. No need for the dramatics.”
Before I can respond, Maren appears in the hallway, earbuds dangling around her neck. “What’s going on?” she asks, looking between us.
“Nothing,” I say automatically. “Everything’s fine.”
She rolls her eyes in the same expression Buck just made. “Come on, tell us. You two are doing that thing where you whisper-fight and then pretend everything’s normal at dinner.”
“We’re having fish,” I say, the words coming out flatter than I intended. “Your aunt’s making mac and cheese too.”
Maren’s brows draw together. “Okay, and that’s bad because why?”
Before I can explain, Buck cuts in. “Yeah, so stop blaming me. You still have food you can eat.”
Maren looks at me, confusion written across her face. “You’re upset with Dad over this? But there’s still mac and cheese. And I think salad, too.”
I look at my daughter, who has my eyes and Buck’s dismissive shrug, and realize this is what they’ve learned from him. This is what I’ve allowed by keeping quiet and keeping the peace above all else.