Unlike her, they could only see Michelle in what she told them: from far away, an outline.
“We used to come here every month. She used to pick up onions and tomatoes from the booth and ask for the price in French, just to practice. No one could understand her. It was embarrassing.”
Kevin still didn’t care. She kept going.
“When we were eight we snuck into a concert they held in that pavilion,” she told Kevin. “It wasn’t even fun. It was just a cello. But we were proud.”
As they crossed the street, Kelsey called back to him, “Once I caught her reading aloud the steamy parts of my mom’s romance novels to her Barbies.”
That one got a laugh. Or at least it sounded like a laugh.
After ten minutes of wandering through the neighborhood, Kevin put his end of the tree down and made a noise that was supposed to be exasperation, but sounded more like a malfunctioning blender. No sign of the Subaru.
Kelsey pulled out her phone.
Her mother picked up.
“Mom?” Kelsey put on a smile.
“Where are you?”
“Fifth and Walnut. So, Mom—”
“We’re coming to get you.”
Silence. Her mother hung up. Kevin blew a bubble with his gum, popping it. As the Subaru rolled up next to them, she took the tree from him, leaning it on her shoulder. Her mother’s window rolled down, revealing a stone face, glancing at the tree.
“No, Kelsey.”
Something between a laugh and a cough escaped Kelsey. “But—”
Her mother jerked her head toward the backseat. “We’re going home.”
Kelsey threw up her hands. “We just got here!”
Her mother sighed. Kelsey noticed she had tried to put on lipstick for the first time in several weeks. She wanted to go back to normal, too. “We didn’t even make it into the market. Your father isn’t feeling well.”
Kelsey looked at her dad through the windshield, and rubbed her cold hands together. “I’m sorry,” she called to him. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”
Her father leaned across the seat toward the window, his voice cracking. “You’re a very sweet girl. But it’s not that easy. Your old dad isn’t quite there, sweetheart.”
Kelsey was sputtering, which she hated to do. “This is a nice thing, a nice thing I’m trying to do for everyone. I would really, really like to put up a Christmas tree. It’s what people do.”
“I’m sorry, Kelsey,” her mother said. But she didn’t look sorry. She wasn’t even looking at her. Kelsey stayed still.
“Please get in the car. We’ll come back and get it later.”
Disappointment cut, sharpened by the rare hope she had just felt a second ago. And the guilt of it all, of lying to Peter and lying to herself, was weighing on her, pushing her. She caught her mother’s eyes.
“Michelle would have wanted a Christmas tree.”
She shouldn’t have said that. Her mother tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Kevin stood quiet, looking back and forth between them, not knowing what to do.
Kelsey’s mom’s voice came out shaky. “Put the damn tree down, Kelsey. I love you, but I don’t have rope to tie a tree to our car, I don’t have a stand to put it in, I don’t have a working vacuum to clean up after it, and I’m tired. I don’t—Please put the damn tree down.”
“Just leave it?”
Kevin’s gum popped in the silence. A family with a stroller rolled by, staring.
Her dad’s voice floated out. “We need to go home.”
“I’ll take it back,” Kevin said quietly.
Instead, Kelsey lowered the tree to the brick street and gave it a shove with her foot toward the curb. Kevin picked it up and, with a glance at her, carried it away.
She got into the backseat. No one said anything more, and her father put on the radio. “Part of you pours out of me, In these lines from time to time…” Kelsey heard a woman’s voice sing, but as they got on the highway, her mother turned down the volume so it was barely audible, a whine that got lost in the drone of the wheels on the road.
CHAPTER
“We used to come here every month. She used to pick up onions and tomatoes from the booth and ask for the price in French, just to practice. No one could understand her. It was embarrassing.”
Kevin still didn’t care. She kept going.
“When we were eight we snuck into a concert they held in that pavilion,” she told Kevin. “It wasn’t even fun. It was just a cello. But we were proud.”
As they crossed the street, Kelsey called back to him, “Once I caught her reading aloud the steamy parts of my mom’s romance novels to her Barbies.”
That one got a laugh. Or at least it sounded like a laugh.
After ten minutes of wandering through the neighborhood, Kevin put his end of the tree down and made a noise that was supposed to be exasperation, but sounded more like a malfunctioning blender. No sign of the Subaru.
Kelsey pulled out her phone.
Her mother picked up.
“Mom?” Kelsey put on a smile.
“Where are you?”
“Fifth and Walnut. So, Mom—”
“We’re coming to get you.”
Silence. Her mother hung up. Kevin blew a bubble with his gum, popping it. As the Subaru rolled up next to them, she took the tree from him, leaning it on her shoulder. Her mother’s window rolled down, revealing a stone face, glancing at the tree.
“No, Kelsey.”
Something between a laugh and a cough escaped Kelsey. “But—”
Her mother jerked her head toward the backseat. “We’re going home.”
Kelsey threw up her hands. “We just got here!”
Her mother sighed. Kelsey noticed she had tried to put on lipstick for the first time in several weeks. She wanted to go back to normal, too. “We didn’t even make it into the market. Your father isn’t feeling well.”
Kelsey looked at her dad through the windshield, and rubbed her cold hands together. “I’m sorry,” she called to him. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”
Her father leaned across the seat toward the window, his voice cracking. “You’re a very sweet girl. But it’s not that easy. Your old dad isn’t quite there, sweetheart.”
Kelsey was sputtering, which she hated to do. “This is a nice thing, a nice thing I’m trying to do for everyone. I would really, really like to put up a Christmas tree. It’s what people do.”
“I’m sorry, Kelsey,” her mother said. But she didn’t look sorry. She wasn’t even looking at her. Kelsey stayed still.
“Please get in the car. We’ll come back and get it later.”
Disappointment cut, sharpened by the rare hope she had just felt a second ago. And the guilt of it all, of lying to Peter and lying to herself, was weighing on her, pushing her. She caught her mother’s eyes.
“Michelle would have wanted a Christmas tree.”
She shouldn’t have said that. Her mother tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Kevin stood quiet, looking back and forth between them, not knowing what to do.
Kelsey’s mom’s voice came out shaky. “Put the damn tree down, Kelsey. I love you, but I don’t have rope to tie a tree to our car, I don’t have a stand to put it in, I don’t have a working vacuum to clean up after it, and I’m tired. I don’t—Please put the damn tree down.”
“Just leave it?”
Kevin’s gum popped in the silence. A family with a stroller rolled by, staring.
Her dad’s voice floated out. “We need to go home.”
“I’ll take it back,” Kevin said quietly.
Instead, Kelsey lowered the tree to the brick street and gave it a shove with her foot toward the curb. Kevin picked it up and, with a glance at her, carried it away.
She got into the backseat. No one said anything more, and her father put on the radio. “Part of you pours out of me, In these lines from time to time…” Kelsey heard a woman’s voice sing, but as they got on the highway, her mother turned down the volume so it was barely audible, a whine that got lost in the drone of the wheels on the road.
CHAPTER
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