“She seemed okay to me.”
“I know her better than you,” she said. Maya could wear a smile broad enough to span the Grand Canyon and Rebecca would still be able to see the lie in it. “They’re both miserable.”
“Well,” Brent said, “they’re going out to dinner with us Saturday night. We’re going to that new Brazilian place. Want to come?”
Dorothea shook her head. “Too much to do here,” she said. She was no good at delegating. Rebecca would do a better job of spreading the work around. “Supposed to be a good restaurant, though,” Dorothea added.
Rebecca couldn’t believe Maya had agreed to the Brazilian restaurant. Maya avoided that part of Durham. A sketchy area, to be sure, but when Brent mentioned it, Adam had lit up.
“Yeah!” he’d said. “I’ve wanted to try that place!”
Seeing the sudden life in Adam’s eyes made Rebecca realize exactly how glum he’d been since their arrival. Maya must have noticed as well, because she nodded her okay. Trying to please him, Rebecca thought. Trying to make it up to him for losing another baby. Rebecca nearly suggested a different restaurant, but remembered Brent saying that she infantilized Maya and kept her mouth shut. Besides, she wanted to try the restaurant herself.
“So are you two getting married or what?” Dorothea asked with her usual lack of tact. She looked up from the screen, first at Rebecca, then at Brent, and Rebecca could see the hurricane map reflected in her enormous gray eyes.
“I’m waiting for her answer.” Brent sounded almost shy. Kind of cute, actually. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile at him.
“I’ve told him I still don’t see the point,” she said.
Dorothea tipped her head to the side to look at Brent. “How do you stand her?”
Brent laughed. “’Cause I love her,” he said.
Rebecca lowered her gaze back to the map. She knew in that moment she did love him. As her friend. As the guy who’d run with her through the streets of Durham in the middle of the night. Who’d bike with her. Jump out of a plane with her. Who wasn’t afraid to drop everything at a moment’s notice and fly off to a tsunami-wrecked village to do whatever it took to help the injured. But could she love him as her husband? That she didn’t know at all.
8
Maya
R EBECCA AND I SAT IN THE BACKSEAT OF B RENT’S P RIUS , while the men sat in the front. The three of them were talking about DIDA, Rebecca with her seat belt unbuckled so she could lean between Adam and Brent’s seats, monopolizing the conversation, as usual, but I wasn’t listening. I wished I’d stayed home. I was still achy and bleeding a bit from the miscarriage and not up to trekking into the bowels of Durham for a meal I would never enjoy. But Adam was excited about it, and Brent was leaving early in the morning for Ecuador, where an earthquake had wiped a couple of villages off the map the day before. How could I say no?
It was still light out, light enough to let me see the neighborhood deteriorate block by block. I glanced at my sister, whose tanned and superhumanly toned arm was stretched across the back of Adam’s seat. Her mouth moved with words I barely heard. She was talking about the last time she was with DIDA in South America. Someone had boarded the bus she was riding and stolen money from all the passengers, threatening them with a machete. Nice, Bec, I thought. Nice, reassuring conversation for Brent the night before he leaves. But Brent was laughing, as was Adam. I was the only one who felt like I was on that bus. The only one who could see the guy coming toward me, the sharp blade of his machete catching daylight as it sliced through the air. I reached for my purse, opened it, poured my money onto the floor of the bus. Take it. It’s yours.
When Brent suggested this restaurant the other night, I thought for sure Adam would realize its location and offer an alternative. He knew this was hard for me. Either he just wasn’t thinking, or he
“I know her better than you,” she said. Maya could wear a smile broad enough to span the Grand Canyon and Rebecca would still be able to see the lie in it. “They’re both miserable.”
“Well,” Brent said, “they’re going out to dinner with us Saturday night. We’re going to that new Brazilian place. Want to come?”
Dorothea shook her head. “Too much to do here,” she said. She was no good at delegating. Rebecca would do a better job of spreading the work around. “Supposed to be a good restaurant, though,” Dorothea added.
Rebecca couldn’t believe Maya had agreed to the Brazilian restaurant. Maya avoided that part of Durham. A sketchy area, to be sure, but when Brent mentioned it, Adam had lit up.
“Yeah!” he’d said. “I’ve wanted to try that place!”
Seeing the sudden life in Adam’s eyes made Rebecca realize exactly how glum he’d been since their arrival. Maya must have noticed as well, because she nodded her okay. Trying to please him, Rebecca thought. Trying to make it up to him for losing another baby. Rebecca nearly suggested a different restaurant, but remembered Brent saying that she infantilized Maya and kept her mouth shut. Besides, she wanted to try the restaurant herself.
“So are you two getting married or what?” Dorothea asked with her usual lack of tact. She looked up from the screen, first at Rebecca, then at Brent, and Rebecca could see the hurricane map reflected in her enormous gray eyes.
“I’m waiting for her answer.” Brent sounded almost shy. Kind of cute, actually. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile at him.
“I’ve told him I still don’t see the point,” she said.
Dorothea tipped her head to the side to look at Brent. “How do you stand her?”
Brent laughed. “’Cause I love her,” he said.
Rebecca lowered her gaze back to the map. She knew in that moment she did love him. As her friend. As the guy who’d run with her through the streets of Durham in the middle of the night. Who’d bike with her. Jump out of a plane with her. Who wasn’t afraid to drop everything at a moment’s notice and fly off to a tsunami-wrecked village to do whatever it took to help the injured. But could she love him as her husband? That she didn’t know at all.
8
Maya
R EBECCA AND I SAT IN THE BACKSEAT OF B RENT’S P RIUS , while the men sat in the front. The three of them were talking about DIDA, Rebecca with her seat belt unbuckled so she could lean between Adam and Brent’s seats, monopolizing the conversation, as usual, but I wasn’t listening. I wished I’d stayed home. I was still achy and bleeding a bit from the miscarriage and not up to trekking into the bowels of Durham for a meal I would never enjoy. But Adam was excited about it, and Brent was leaving early in the morning for Ecuador, where an earthquake had wiped a couple of villages off the map the day before. How could I say no?
It was still light out, light enough to let me see the neighborhood deteriorate block by block. I glanced at my sister, whose tanned and superhumanly toned arm was stretched across the back of Adam’s seat. Her mouth moved with words I barely heard. She was talking about the last time she was with DIDA in South America. Someone had boarded the bus she was riding and stolen money from all the passengers, threatening them with a machete. Nice, Bec, I thought. Nice, reassuring conversation for Brent the night before he leaves. But Brent was laughing, as was Adam. I was the only one who felt like I was on that bus. The only one who could see the guy coming toward me, the sharp blade of his machete catching daylight as it sliced through the air. I reached for my purse, opened it, poured my money onto the floor of the bus. Take it. It’s yours.
When Brent suggested this restaurant the other night, I thought for sure Adam would realize its location and offer an alternative. He knew this was hard for me. Either he just wasn’t thinking, or he
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