Thirty-Three

Mrs. Tibaldi came to the door within ten seconds of Bonnie ringing the bell.

Even before saying hello, she turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Rachel! Your mother is here!" Then she turned to Bonnie and said, "Hi."

"I'm so sorry," Bonnie said. "I had no idea Richard was going to do this."

"It's fine," Mrs. Tibaldi said. "Rachel's never any trouble."

Rachel came running to the door, shouting, "Can I watch the rest of How to Train—"

"Get in the car," Bonnie said.

"I'd only seen half of it when Daddy brought me—"

"Get in the car."

Rachel knew the tone and said no more. She scooted around her mother and ran to the Mitsubishi crossover. Bonnie followed without saying another word. Mrs. Tibaldi, evidently expecting some token thank-you or nod of appreciation, looked taken aback.

"Good night!" she called out.

Bonnie, her back to the woman, waved a hand in the air and got into her car. Rachel was already in the back, seat belt buckled.

"Are you mad at me?" Rachel asked as Bonnie backed the car onto the street.

"I'm not mad at you," she said, the car now heading in the direction of home.

"You seem mad."

"I'm not mad," she said.

"Are you mad at Dad?"

"I'm not mad at anybody," Bonnie said. "Stop asking questions."

"But can I watch the rest of the movie when we get—"

"Rachel! Enough!"

Bonnie, too preoccupied to look in her mirror, oblivious to the headlights behind her, neglected to hit her turn signal as she cranked the wheel to the left to turn into their driveway. The car behind had pulled out to pass. The driver hit the horn and the brakes, nearly broadsiding Bonnie's vehicle.

"Oh God!" Bonnie screamed. "Sorry! Sorry!" she shouted, even though her window was up and there was no way the other driver could hear her.

She pulled into her driveway as the other driver laid on the horn some more before driving off.

Bonnie put the car in park, turned off the engine, put her hands and head atop the steering wheel, and began to weep.

"Mommy?" Rachel said.

"I'm so sorry," Bonnie said. "It's okay. Everything's fine. Mommy's just a little on edge."

Rachel said nothing as her mother leaned over to open the glove compartment and pulled out a packet of tissues. She used two to dab her eyes, then put the packet back and closed the door. It didn't latch and dropped down. Bonnie closed it a second time, and again it dropped down.

"Goddamn it!" she shouted, closing the glove box a third time with such force that it sounded like a shot going off inside the car. The third time proved a charm.

Bonnie collected herself before turning to look at Rachel. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just—I've got a lot on my mind."

Hesitantly, Rachel asked, "Is Aunt Marta worse?"

"What?" Bonnie said, dabbing her eyes.

"Is her head still hurting?"

Bonnie took a moment before answering. "She's fine, sweetheart. Much better." She gave her nose a quick wipe and asked, "Why did your father go out?"

"I don't know," Rachel said. "He just said he had to. Didn't he text you?"

Bonnie had seen the text, but Richard had offered no explanation. "I just thought he might have told you what he was up to."

Rachel shook her head.

"Let's go," Bonnie said.

Once they were in the house, Bonnie told Rachel to get ready for bed. "I'll be up in a minute."

Rachel did as she was told.

Bonnie went into the kitchen, found an open bottle of cheap white wine in the fridge, brought it out, and unscrewed the cap. She made no effort to bring down a wineglass from one of the upper cupboard shelves. She grabbed a coffee mug and filled it to the brim.

Drank it down.

She set the mug on the counter and held her right hand out. Watched it shake.

She filled her mug a second time, emptying the bottle. Took another drink, and held her hand out again.

Still shaking.

Where the hell was Richard?

She went back to the front hall, got her phone out of her purse, and texted him:

Where r u?

Bonnie waited for the dancing dots to indicate he had received the text and was in the process of writing back to her.

Nothing.

She was about to send a second text, asking the same question, this time tapping it out entirely in capital letters. Let him know she meant business.

But then she stopped.

Maybe she really didn't want to talk to him. Because once she started asking where he'd been and what he'd done, he'd want details about how her evening went. Like whether she'd told Marta about his situation.

Bonnie definitely did not want to tell him what she'd done.