Chapter 1 - THE WATER WAS STILL RUNNING.
Alan knew something was wrong before he saw Joey’s face.
His boots hit the marble hard enough to echo through the front hall. He had expected Joey to come around the corner. She had always been able to recognize his walk, even before he reached the door. Instead, the house stayed strangely quiet.
Then came the sound of running water.
Alan dropped the canvas strap higher on his shoulder and followed it toward the kitchen.
Jessica was the first person he saw.
His mother sat at the breakfast island in a bronze-gold satin robe, one hand resting beside a glass of red wine. Her diamond necklace caught the kitchen light every time she moved. She looked comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Joey stood at the sink with her back to him.
She was washing dishes.
For one second, Alan did not understand what he was seeing.
Joey had always been small, but she looked different now. Her oversized sweater hung from her shoulders as though it belonged to somebody twice her size. Her wrists were thin. One sleeve had ridden halfway up her forearm, revealing strips of medical tape.
“Joey?”
She froze.
Jessica turned.
The wineglass slipped from her fingers.
It struck the marble floor and shattered.
Red wine spread across the white stone.
“Oh my God!”
Alan barely heard her.
Joey’s hands remained under the faucet.
“Hey.”
He crossed the kitchen quickly.
Joey turned halfway, then stopped as though she had remembered she was not supposed to.
That was when Alan noticed the knit beanie.
She had never worn one inside.
He dropped his backpack.
“Joey, look at me.”
She did.
Alan had prepared himself for weight loss. They had talked about that. He had prepared himself for fatigue, nausea, bad days, good days that turned bad without warning.
He had not prepared himself for fear.
Joey was afraid.
Not of the treatment.
Not of being sick.
She was looking past Alan toward Jessica.
Alan reached carefully for the edge of the beanie.
“Can I?”
Joey said nothing.
He eased it backward.
There was no hair underneath.
Her head had been shaved clean.
Alan stopped moving.
Their last video call had been three nights earlier. Joey had worn the same beanie. Jessica had passed behind her once and joked that Joey was becoming “a winter person.”
Nobody had told him.
Joey’s mouth trembled.
“I was going to tell you.”
Alan stared at her.
“When?”
Jessica stepped forward.
“Alan, she didn’t want you distracted.”
He did not turn around.
Joey wiped at one eye with the back of her wrist.
Her sleeve slid farther.
Bruises covered the inside of her arm.
Not one bruise.
Not two.
A dense patch of yellow, blue, and purple surrounded needle marks and old medical tape.
Alan took Joey’s hands out of the water.
They were ice cold.
“Enough.”
The word came out louder than he intended.
Joey flinched.
Alan immediately loosened his grip.
“Sorry.”
He looked down at her hands.
The skin around several knuckles was cracked.
“How long have you been standing here?”
Joey looked toward the floor.
Jessica answered for her.
“She wanted to help.”
Alan slowly turned.
Jessica had not moved from beside the island.
“She wanted to help?”
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“You just walked in. You don’t know what’s been happening.”
Alan looked at the broken glass.
Then at his mother’s wine.
Then at Joey’s wet hands.
“I know what I’m looking at.”
“No, you know what you think you’re looking at.”
Jessica’s voice had changed. The panic was disappearing. The familiar confidence was returning.
Alan had heard that tone his entire childhood.
Calm.
Correct.
Final.
Joey pulled her sleeves down.
Alan saw the movement.
That bothered him almost more than the bruises.
She was hiding them.
From him.
“Why didn’t you tell me your hair was gone?”
Joey swallowed.
“I didn’t want you worrying.”
“I was already worried.”
“You had work.”
“My wife is sick.”
Jessica exhaled sharply.
“Exactly. And somebody had to keep things stable while you were away.”
Alan looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I opened my home.”
Joey’s eyes closed.
Only for a second.
Alan caught it.
Jessica continued.
“I rearranged my entire life. Appointments. Meals. Transportation. Privacy. Everything.”
“Privacy?”
“I have people in this house, Alan.”
“People?”
“Friends. Committees. Dinners.”
Alan looked at Joey again.
“Why are you washing dishes?”
Jessica folded her arms.
“Because she ate.”
The kitchen became very still.
Alan thought he had misheard.
“What?”
Jessica’s expression tightened.
“Please don’t twist my words.”
“I asked why my wife is washing dishes.”
“And I answered. She used the kitchen. She made food. She cleans up.”
Joey spoke quietly.
“It’s okay.”
Alan turned.
“No.”
“Alan—”
“No, Joey.”
He lowered his voice.
“It isn’t okay because you say it fast.”
Jessica rolled her eyes.
That tiny movement did it.
Alan had seen his mother angry before. He had seen her cold, sarcastic, controlling, and ruthless in arguments.
But he had never seen her look at Joey that way.
Not until now.
He stepped between them.
“How long?”
Jessica frowned.
“How long what?”
“How long has she been doing this?”
Jessica gave a small laugh with no humor.
“You’re making washing dishes sound like forced labor.”
Alan looked at Joey.
“She has tape on both arms.”
“That’s from treatment.”
“I know where it’s from.”
“Then stop acting like I caused it.”
“I didn’t say you caused it.”
Jessica opened her mouth.
Alan continued.
“I asked why she’s standing in cold water cleaning your kitchen.”
“It is not my kitchen when she is using it.”
There it was.
Not anger.
A rule.
Alan felt something inside him turn cold.
He walked to the faucet and shut it off.
Jessica stepped forward.
“Don’t come into my house and start making some kind of scene.”
Alan turned.
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
Joey whispered his name.
“Alan.”
He looked at her.
She was shaking now.
Not dramatically.
Barely.
Her shoulders had tightened. Her fingers curled inside her sleeves. Her eyes kept moving between Alan and Jessica.
Alan had seen frightened people before.
He knew what it looked like when somebody expected the next few seconds to become worse.
He lowered his voice.
“Get your coat.”
Jessica laughed.
“Where exactly are you going?”
Alan ignored her.
“Joey.”
Joey did not move.
“Get your coat. We’re leaving.”
Jessica picked up a kitchen towel and placed it over the spilled wine.
“You might want to ask your wife whether leaving is actually what she wants.”
Alan looked at Joey.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
He waited.
“Joey?”
She whispered, “I can’t.”
Alan felt the first real fear then.
Not rage.
Fear.
“Why not?”
Joey looked at Jessica.
Jessica’s face became perfectly still.
“Joey,” Alan said. “Why can’t you leave?”
Her answer was almost too quiet to hear.
“Because my treatment is here.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“And the rides.”
“We’ll figure that out too.”
“The appointments are already scheduled.”
“Okay.”
“And…”
She stopped.
Alan stepped closer.
“And what?”
Joey’s eyes filled again.
Jessica spoke sharply.
“That’s enough.”
Alan turned his head.
He did not raise his voice.
“Don’t.”
Jessica’s mouth closed.
Alan faced Joey again.
“What else?”
Joey looked at the broken wineglass near Alan’s boots.
Then she said the sentence that changed the entire meaning of the room.
“She said if I made things difficult, I should remember whose house I was living in.”
Alan stared at her.
Joey’s chin shook.
“And she said if you came home because of me…”
May you like
She looked up.
“…we might not have anywhere to come back to.”
