Chapter 4: My Sister's Door
Lauren lived twelve minutes from me.
I had always thought that was a good thing.
I drove with both hands on the wheel and the radio off.
I didn't cry.
I kept waiting to, but nothing came.
Just a flat, clear feeling, like the moment after a glass breaks and before anyone moves.
Her lights were on.
Both floors.
Her car was in the driveway.
I rang the bell.
She took too long to answer.
Forty seconds, maybe.
Long enough that I knew she had looked through the peephole.
Long enough that she had made a choice.
The door opened.
Lauren looked at me.
She was wearing a loose sweater.
Her hand went to her stomach — just for a second, just a reflex — and then she pulled it away.
"Evie," she said.
"Can I come in."
It wasn't a question.
She stepped back.
Her living room was warm.
A candle burning on the coffee table.
A throw blanket on the couch.
It looked like a normal evening.
It looked like someone who had been waiting for something to arrive.
"How long have you known about me and Michael?" I said.
She sat down on the edge of the couch.
"What did he tell you?"
"I'm not asking what he told me.
I'm asking what you knew."
She looked at her hands.
"I knew he was married."
The candle flickered.
"You knew he was married to me," I said.
"Specifically.
To your sister."
"He said things were bad between you.
That it was basically over.
That he was going to—"
"Lauren."
She stopped.
"Did he tell you it was basically over before or after the wedding?"
Her face changed.
Something moved behind her eyes and then went still.
"Before," she said quietly.
"We got married eleven months ago."
She didn't answer.
"So he told you, before he married me, that the marriage was basically over." I sat down in the chair across from her.
"And you believed him."
"I didn't — it wasn't like that at first.
We ran into each other at Dad's thing in March.
We just talked.
And then he called me and I should have—" She stopped.
"I should have told you."
"Yes."
"I kept thinking it would stop.
That he'd choose you and it would just — stop."
"But it didn't stop."
"No."
I looked at her.
She looked back.
She had my mother's eyes.
I had always thought that was the best thing about her face.
"When is the baby due?" I said.
"April."
I did the math without meaning to.
April.
Conceived in July.
Two months after our first anniversary.
"Does he want to be involved?" I said.
"He says he does."
"And what do you want?"
She looked up.
She hadn't expected that question.
I hadn't expected to ask it.
"I don't know," she said.
"I know that's not — I know it's not enough.
I know I don't have the right to not know."
"No," I said.
"You don't."
We sat there.
The candle burned.
Outside, a car passed.
"Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?" she said.
"I don't know yet."
"Evie, I'm—"
"Don't." I stood up.
"Not tonight.
I can't hear it tonight."
I walked to the door.
She didn't follow me, which was the right thing to do.
My hand was on the knob when she spoke.
"He told me you two hadn't been close in a long time.
That you'd grown apart."
I turned around.
"We went to Portugal for our anniversary," I said.
"Three weeks ago.
He planned the whole trip.
He said it was the best week of his life."
Lauren's face went very still.
I left her with that.
In the car, I finally cried.
Not long.
Just enough.
Then I wiped my face, started the engine, and called the one person I should have called an hour ago.
"Karen," I said when she picked up.
"I need to know everything you know."
There was a pause.
May you like
Then: "Pull over somewhere.
This is going to take a while."
