to sit down?”
“No, you’re eating—”
“Please, sit down.”
Angela pulled out the chair and sat and the girl studied her, searching her face with large brown eyes. For a moment Angela was lost in them. Why had she come? What did she think she would say to this girl, this young woman whom she’d once picked up and dropped off, fed, watched over like one of her own?
“Mrs. Courtland, is there . . . I mean has something . . . ?”
“Oh,” Angela said. “No. No, I’m sorry, I should have said so right away.”
“It’s just, I haven’t seen you here. I mean I’ve never seen you here before. I thought maybe . . .”
Angela shook her head.
“I’m so sorry,” said the girl.
A man came to the counter and ordered something in a low voice, as though he didn’t want anyone to know, and the barista girl set to making it.
“I saw Ariel this morning,” Angela said.
“You did?”
“Yes. I was substituting.”
“You were?”
The girl didn’t want to look or sound surprised, Angela knew, but she couldn’t help it, she had no guile. Her heart had been through too much.
“I’m sorry,” Lindsay said, “I thought you were . . .”
“I was. But that was months ago.”
Lindsay nodded. “Did she behave herself—Ariel?”
“Yes.”
Angela stared at her hands where they lay upon the book. They looked like someone else’s. Her heart was aching.
“She’s gotten to be a pain at home,” said the girl.
“I’m sorry, Lindsay.”
Lindsay shrugged. “She’s what they call a teenager, I believe.”
“Not for that.” She held the girl’s eyes. “I’m sorry for the way I was that day you came to the house.”
Lindsay shook her head. “Don’t, Mrs. Courtland—I shouldn’t have come like that, out of the blue. It must have been a shock.”
“It was. But everything was. Everything. I didn’t know what to say to you.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. I never came to see you at the hospital either. After your accident. I’m sorry for that too. That was hideous of me.”
“It was hard for people . . .”
“You were friends with my daughter. I was friends with your mother. I should’ve come.”
Lindsay looked down, and for a moment Angela saw her in flight, one long leg thrown out before her and the other folded under like a wing as she took the hurdle. Effortless, magnificent.
“Caitlin came,” Lindsay said. “Every day after school. Or after practice. I’ll never forget that, Mrs. Courtland.”
Angela smiled. Lindsay smiled. Without thinking, Angela reached and thumbed the tears from the girl’s face, one side, then the other.
“I’m sorry I ambushed you like this. I’m sorry to upset you. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m not upset. I’m glad to see you.”
Angela stood to go.
“Mrs. Courtland?” said Lindsay.
“Yes?”
“I know about what happened.”
Angela stood looking at her.
“Between my mom and your—with Mr. Courtland. Years ago. I know about it. I know that’s why you and my mom stopped being friends. I know that’s why you didn’t come to the hospital.”
Angela stared at her. Then she remembered—but it was like something she’d lost, or buried. She had no idea what it once felt like to know that her husband had slept with—was sleeping with—Jeanne Suskind. She thought of her own mother in the nursing home, who sometimes called her Faith, who asked,
Where’s Angela?
Did the mind break down or did it simply correct? Vectoring away from pain? They’d never told her mother about Caitlin and they never would. The old woman would die without ever having lost her granddaughter.
“That was so long ago, sweetheart,” Angela said at last. “None of that matters anymore.”
“I know. But Caitlin and I talked about it sometimes. I think it made us closer. Almost like sisters. Weird as that sounds.”
Angela nodded. She smiled. “I’m glad I got to see you, Lindsay. Will you please tell your mother I said
“No, you’re eating—”
“Please, sit down.”
Angela pulled out the chair and sat and the girl studied her, searching her face with large brown eyes. For a moment Angela was lost in them. Why had she come? What did she think she would say to this girl, this young woman whom she’d once picked up and dropped off, fed, watched over like one of her own?
“Mrs. Courtland, is there . . . I mean has something . . . ?”
“Oh,” Angela said. “No. No, I’m sorry, I should have said so right away.”
“It’s just, I haven’t seen you here. I mean I’ve never seen you here before. I thought maybe . . .”
Angela shook her head.
“I’m so sorry,” said the girl.
A man came to the counter and ordered something in a low voice, as though he didn’t want anyone to know, and the barista girl set to making it.
“I saw Ariel this morning,” Angela said.
“You did?”
“Yes. I was substituting.”
“You were?”
The girl didn’t want to look or sound surprised, Angela knew, but she couldn’t help it, she had no guile. Her heart had been through too much.
“I’m sorry,” Lindsay said, “I thought you were . . .”
“I was. But that was months ago.”
Lindsay nodded. “Did she behave herself—Ariel?”
“Yes.”
Angela stared at her hands where they lay upon the book. They looked like someone else’s. Her heart was aching.
“She’s gotten to be a pain at home,” said the girl.
“I’m sorry, Lindsay.”
Lindsay shrugged. “She’s what they call a teenager, I believe.”
“Not for that.” She held the girl’s eyes. “I’m sorry for the way I was that day you came to the house.”
Lindsay shook her head. “Don’t, Mrs. Courtland—I shouldn’t have come like that, out of the blue. It must have been a shock.”
“It was. But everything was. Everything. I didn’t know what to say to you.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. I never came to see you at the hospital either. After your accident. I’m sorry for that too. That was hideous of me.”
“It was hard for people . . .”
“You were friends with my daughter. I was friends with your mother. I should’ve come.”
Lindsay looked down, and for a moment Angela saw her in flight, one long leg thrown out before her and the other folded under like a wing as she took the hurdle. Effortless, magnificent.
“Caitlin came,” Lindsay said. “Every day after school. Or after practice. I’ll never forget that, Mrs. Courtland.”
Angela smiled. Lindsay smiled. Without thinking, Angela reached and thumbed the tears from the girl’s face, one side, then the other.
“I’m sorry I ambushed you like this. I’m sorry to upset you. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m not upset. I’m glad to see you.”
Angela stood to go.
“Mrs. Courtland?” said Lindsay.
“Yes?”
“I know about what happened.”
Angela stood looking at her.
“Between my mom and your—with Mr. Courtland. Years ago. I know about it. I know that’s why you and my mom stopped being friends. I know that’s why you didn’t come to the hospital.”
Angela stared at her. Then she remembered—but it was like something she’d lost, or buried. She had no idea what it once felt like to know that her husband had slept with—was sleeping with—Jeanne Suskind. She thought of her own mother in the nursing home, who sometimes called her Faith, who asked,
Where’s Angela?
Did the mind break down or did it simply correct? Vectoring away from pain? They’d never told her mother about Caitlin and they never would. The old woman would die without ever having lost her granddaughter.
“That was so long ago, sweetheart,” Angela said at last. “None of that matters anymore.”
“I know. But Caitlin and I talked about it sometimes. I think it made us closer. Almost like sisters. Weird as that sounds.”
Angela nodded. She smiled. “I’m glad I got to see you, Lindsay. Will you please tell your mother I said
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