It still helps.”
By the time I finished editing, I couldn’t see the screen through my tears.
Sunday evening, we drove to Brenda’s house under a pink-gray sky that made everything look softer than it was.
Mark had the laptop bag at his feet and a large manila envelope tucked under his arm.
I knew better than to ask what was inside.
Whatever it was, he had prepared it with the same terrifying calm he’d worn since Thursday.
Brenda opened the door in a pressed blouse and lipstick, smelling like perfume and rosemary.
The dining room table was already set for the whole family.
Her roast beef sat on the counter, filling the house with the kind of comforting smell that usually means safety.
That night it just made me nauseous.
She leaned down to kiss Lily’s head, then looked at Leo and smiled with ugly satisfaction.
“There,” she said.
“Isn’t that much neater?”
Leo moved behind Mark so fast it barely looked conscious.
Mark put a hand back without turning around and rested it against Leo’s leg.
“We’re not doing that tonight, Mom,” he said.
Brenda’s husband, Tom, looked between all of us with the shell-shocked expression of a man who knew something was wrong but not how wrong.
Mark’s sister Dana was there too, along with her teenage daughter.
Nobody seemed to understand why the air in the room felt so thin.
Brenda kept talking anyway, bright and brisk, as if she could manage reality by keeping the conversation moving.
Dinner was miserable.
Brenda carved the roast.
Forks clinked against plates.
Leo barely touched his food.
Lily stared at her mashed potatoes and said almost nothing.
Twice Brenda tried to make conversation about school, and twice Mark answered in one word.
Every time I looked at my son and saw the ragged buzz where his curls had been, I had to unclench my teeth.
Halfway through the meal, Brenda reached across the table and said, far too cheerfully, “Well, at least we solved the hair issue before picture day.”
That was the moment Tom put his fork down.
Mark dabbed his mouth with his napkin, set it beside his plate, and stood.
He didn’t rush.
He didn’t raise his voice.
“Before dessert,” he said, “there’s something everyone needs to see.”
Brenda laughed once, a sharp little sound of disbelief.
