asked some earnest follow-up questions about Liv’s method on the ride to the station, which was slightly vindicating.)
It didn’t help that she’d found one of her ex’s dismantled hunting guns—he came from pheasant-hunting types—and had tried to put it together in case the post-Sandy fallout turned to civil unrest. She was trying to explain this, slurringly, to the cops and real estate agent, whose face was propped with gauze, but only made things worse by picking up the parts of the weapon and swinging them around.
But it was all okay. The world would forgive her. It always did and it would show it by offering her something soon.
In fact, her oversized Louis Vuitton bag was filled with engagement pages pulled from her mother’s
New York Times
and
Washington Post
s. She fiddled with the leather drawstring but resisted opening her bag. She’d taken them just to feel close to one of her old addictions, not to fall back into it.
“The universe loves me and will provide,” she whispered. It felt like a comforting little dinner bell jingling in her chest, and then she lay down on the front seat, curled up, and fell asleep.
She was woken up by a knock on the window.
There was Ru’s face. She wore no makeup. Her brown hair was unkempt, not dyed. She was wearing a long cotton wraparound skirt, a tank top, and some kind of weird shawl. “Christ,” Liv muttered.
She sat up and rolled down the window.
“What the hell?” Ru said. “Why didn’t you meet me in baggage claim?”
“I thought we’d meet in our usual spot.”
Ru cocked her head.
“This isn’t my first time picking you up at an airport after you’ve run away.”
“I was doing research,” Ru said, too quickly not to have touched on a sore spot.
Liv shrugged.
“You fell asleep,” Ru said.
“I’m taking a lot of antidepressants.”
“Why?” Ru gripped the door where the window had been rolled down, and Liv noticed her engagement ring. If Liv had to guess—and she knew diamond rings—it looked like it weighed in at around thirty thousand dollars, and she also knew that Ru probably had no idea what it cost and therefore didn’t seem to deserve it. And why wasn’t the fiancé picking her up?
“I’m depressed,” Liv said.
“Why?” Ru asked again.
“Don’t ask
why
like a toddler. People are always going to think of you as a baby if you act like a three-year-old.”
“You’re the only person who thinks of me as a baby.”
“I’m not the only one.”
“What if you aren’t depressed and you’re just sad?”
“Sadness is an appropriate response when things are going badly. Depression is feeling bad even when things are going very well.”
“Are things going very well?”
Liv squinted through the windshield. “In fact, no.” Then she looked at Ru through the open window. “You’re wearing a blanket.”
“Unlock the fucking doors, please.”
“Oh, look!” Liv said. “And now you’re going to throw a temper tantrum?”
“I’m speaking in a very normal voice,” Ru said slowly and calmly, but not in a normal voice at all. She was thinking of elephants—the way they roared to intimidate one another and sometimes when they were joyfully reuniting with another elephant, returning. She couldn’t ever really differentiate between the two roars. “I’m thirty-six years old,” she said to her sister. “Can you please unlock the fucking doors?”
Liv had forgotten that she was in the car and Ru was locked out of it and that they were actually heading home.
Her daughters would be home soon.
Augusta stared at the box delivered by Herc Huckley’s son. It sat on the middle of her bed. Its lid still in place.
She couldn’t keep it in the closet behind the quilts. It seemed to be pounding like the heart hidden under the floorboards in that Poe story.
But she couldn’t quite open it either. She remembered all the things she’d given up, and all the things she’d gotten because of her chance encounter
It didn’t help that she’d found one of her ex’s dismantled hunting guns—he came from pheasant-hunting types—and had tried to put it together in case the post-Sandy fallout turned to civil unrest. She was trying to explain this, slurringly, to the cops and real estate agent, whose face was propped with gauze, but only made things worse by picking up the parts of the weapon and swinging them around.
But it was all okay. The world would forgive her. It always did and it would show it by offering her something soon.
In fact, her oversized Louis Vuitton bag was filled with engagement pages pulled from her mother’s
New York Times
and
Washington Post
s. She fiddled with the leather drawstring but resisted opening her bag. She’d taken them just to feel close to one of her old addictions, not to fall back into it.
“The universe loves me and will provide,” she whispered. It felt like a comforting little dinner bell jingling in her chest, and then she lay down on the front seat, curled up, and fell asleep.
She was woken up by a knock on the window.
There was Ru’s face. She wore no makeup. Her brown hair was unkempt, not dyed. She was wearing a long cotton wraparound skirt, a tank top, and some kind of weird shawl. “Christ,” Liv muttered.
She sat up and rolled down the window.
“What the hell?” Ru said. “Why didn’t you meet me in baggage claim?”
“I thought we’d meet in our usual spot.”
Ru cocked her head.
“This isn’t my first time picking you up at an airport after you’ve run away.”
“I was doing research,” Ru said, too quickly not to have touched on a sore spot.
Liv shrugged.
“You fell asleep,” Ru said.
“I’m taking a lot of antidepressants.”
“Why?” Ru gripped the door where the window had been rolled down, and Liv noticed her engagement ring. If Liv had to guess—and she knew diamond rings—it looked like it weighed in at around thirty thousand dollars, and she also knew that Ru probably had no idea what it cost and therefore didn’t seem to deserve it. And why wasn’t the fiancé picking her up?
“I’m depressed,” Liv said.
“Why?” Ru asked again.
“Don’t ask
why
like a toddler. People are always going to think of you as a baby if you act like a three-year-old.”
“You’re the only person who thinks of me as a baby.”
“I’m not the only one.”
“What if you aren’t depressed and you’re just sad?”
“Sadness is an appropriate response when things are going badly. Depression is feeling bad even when things are going very well.”
“Are things going very well?”
Liv squinted through the windshield. “In fact, no.” Then she looked at Ru through the open window. “You’re wearing a blanket.”
“Unlock the fucking doors, please.”
“Oh, look!” Liv said. “And now you’re going to throw a temper tantrum?”
“I’m speaking in a very normal voice,” Ru said slowly and calmly, but not in a normal voice at all. She was thinking of elephants—the way they roared to intimidate one another and sometimes when they were joyfully reuniting with another elephant, returning. She couldn’t ever really differentiate between the two roars. “I’m thirty-six years old,” she said to her sister. “Can you please unlock the fucking doors?”
Liv had forgotten that she was in the car and Ru was locked out of it and that they were actually heading home.
Her daughters would be home soon.
Augusta stared at the box delivered by Herc Huckley’s son. It sat on the middle of her bed. Its lid still in place.
She couldn’t keep it in the closet behind the quilts. It seemed to be pounding like the heart hidden under the floorboards in that Poe story.
But she couldn’t quite open it either. She remembered all the things she’d given up, and all the things she’d gotten because of her chance encounter
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