vet-prescribed medication and was treating his heart condition with a tincture of Taraxacum, which when Lacey Googled it turned out to be dandelion. Hundreds of people read what Ella Dane wrote and took her advice for their own dogs. Astonishing.
Eric passed through the kitchen, on his way to somewhere else. “I’m going back to the office,” he said. “A client’s coming to give a deposition.”
“At night?” Lacey asked.
“I’ll call if I’m going to be later than eleven.”
For a moment she had felt the old connection with him, the sympathy that had been the root of their love. Now he was gone again, living a real life in the real world while all she had to do was keep the baby alive inside her, a thing even a sheep could do. Lacey tried to be understanding. Eric’s life was so much harder than he’d thought it would be. He was supposed to be writing contracts in Foothills Financial, making a six-figure income on four days a week, not putting in twelve-hour days in the back room of Moranis Miszlak. And she couldn’t even look at Ella Dane without seeing Grandpa Merritt’s green door in the shadow of the magnolia. She hauled herself out of the kitchen to relax on the living room sofa with the latest issue of Early Learning, to read about literacy readiness for at-risk kindergartners.
Dizziness walked through her. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the new-leather smell of her sofa. She breathed deeply, four, five, six times, and the doorbell rang on a single note, like a clock chiming the half hour. She waited for the second, falling tone. It didn’t come. She folded her magazine open on the kindergarten article and dragged herself into the hallway.
She didn’t want to answer the door. That black vertigo was gathering on the stairs, the terrifying sense of something spinning inward, closing in, pulling her down. She reached out to the banister as if she were groping in the dark, as if she could pull herself up the stairs. From nowhere, something tumbled toward her, a plunging boneless thing, falling without will and without resistance, all blood and hair. Lacey grabbed the banister with both hands. The thing fell into her, fell through her, leaving her hollow and cold.
She wanted to scream and run, cover her face and sob like a child; she bit her lip and stared right into it, the whirling vertigo. Whatever it was, it was wrong . Standing just here, she had seen her someday children and their maybe dog on the stairs, that first day. That was the truth, not this. There was nothing to see. Ella Dane would have sensed it and warned her.
She lifted her face. Light filled the porthole window and overflowed in the stairwell like water in a clean glass. Her beautiful house. Her family’s life would be beautiful here. It wasn’t yet, but it would be. The vertigo drained down her throat, leaving her head clear but her stomach full and sour.
The bell rang again and she opened the door. The evening light slanted on the porch. She blinked into the glare, blazing red with the blood in her own eyelids, and she swayed for a moment. The house at her back supported her, and she rubbed her eyes clear. “What do you want?”
It was little mister trouble-at-home. He smiled and said in one quick rush, “Hello-my-name-is-Drew-I’m-selling-popcorn-for-my-school-how-many-boxes-would-you-like-please-and-thank-you-ma’am-you-can-write-a-check.”
What kind of predatory PTA fund-raisers did they have in Greeneburg, sending the kids out to start their sales on the first day of school? “No,” Lacey said.
He clutched a clipboard in one hand and a plastic bowl of popcorn in the other. “Don’t you want a sample? Just one piece.” He shook the bowl. The unpopped kernels rattled, and Lacey choked on the hot chemical smell of artificial butter.
“No,” she said with her hand on the inner knob, ready to swing the door shut.
“There’s low fat,” he offered.
“I don’t eat low fat.”
“Yes, ma’am, I
Eric passed through the kitchen, on his way to somewhere else. “I’m going back to the office,” he said. “A client’s coming to give a deposition.”
“At night?” Lacey asked.
“I’ll call if I’m going to be later than eleven.”
For a moment she had felt the old connection with him, the sympathy that had been the root of their love. Now he was gone again, living a real life in the real world while all she had to do was keep the baby alive inside her, a thing even a sheep could do. Lacey tried to be understanding. Eric’s life was so much harder than he’d thought it would be. He was supposed to be writing contracts in Foothills Financial, making a six-figure income on four days a week, not putting in twelve-hour days in the back room of Moranis Miszlak. And she couldn’t even look at Ella Dane without seeing Grandpa Merritt’s green door in the shadow of the magnolia. She hauled herself out of the kitchen to relax on the living room sofa with the latest issue of Early Learning, to read about literacy readiness for at-risk kindergartners.
Dizziness walked through her. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the new-leather smell of her sofa. She breathed deeply, four, five, six times, and the doorbell rang on a single note, like a clock chiming the half hour. She waited for the second, falling tone. It didn’t come. She folded her magazine open on the kindergarten article and dragged herself into the hallway.
She didn’t want to answer the door. That black vertigo was gathering on the stairs, the terrifying sense of something spinning inward, closing in, pulling her down. She reached out to the banister as if she were groping in the dark, as if she could pull herself up the stairs. From nowhere, something tumbled toward her, a plunging boneless thing, falling without will and without resistance, all blood and hair. Lacey grabbed the banister with both hands. The thing fell into her, fell through her, leaving her hollow and cold.
She wanted to scream and run, cover her face and sob like a child; she bit her lip and stared right into it, the whirling vertigo. Whatever it was, it was wrong . Standing just here, she had seen her someday children and their maybe dog on the stairs, that first day. That was the truth, not this. There was nothing to see. Ella Dane would have sensed it and warned her.
She lifted her face. Light filled the porthole window and overflowed in the stairwell like water in a clean glass. Her beautiful house. Her family’s life would be beautiful here. It wasn’t yet, but it would be. The vertigo drained down her throat, leaving her head clear but her stomach full and sour.
The bell rang again and she opened the door. The evening light slanted on the porch. She blinked into the glare, blazing red with the blood in her own eyelids, and she swayed for a moment. The house at her back supported her, and she rubbed her eyes clear. “What do you want?”
It was little mister trouble-at-home. He smiled and said in one quick rush, “Hello-my-name-is-Drew-I’m-selling-popcorn-for-my-school-how-many-boxes-would-you-like-please-and-thank-you-ma’am-you-can-write-a-check.”
What kind of predatory PTA fund-raisers did they have in Greeneburg, sending the kids out to start their sales on the first day of school? “No,” Lacey said.
He clutched a clipboard in one hand and a plastic bowl of popcorn in the other. “Don’t you want a sample? Just one piece.” He shook the bowl. The unpopped kernels rattled, and Lacey choked on the hot chemical smell of artificial butter.
“No,” she said with her hand on the inner knob, ready to swing the door shut.
“There’s low fat,” he offered.
“I don’t eat low fat.”
“Yes, ma’am, I
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