Chapter 10 - JOEY WASN’T THE FIRST PERSON SENT TO THE SIDE DOOR.
Alan did not ask Margaret who the woman was immediately.
That restraint cost him.
His first instinct was to demand the name, the date, the story, every detail Margaret could remember.
Then he looked at Joey.
She had gone quiet.
Not curious.
Overwhelmed.
Alan put the question away.
For the moment.
They left the coffee shop and drove to a small diner near the hotel.
Joey ordered grilled cheese.
Alan ordered coffee.
The waitress poured it.
Alan tasted it and made a face.
Joey looked at him.
“What?”
“This could remove paint.”
For a second Joey stared.
Then she laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
Surprised.
Alan smiled.
“There you are.”
Her smile faded more slowly this time.
She picked up half the sandwich.
Then paused.
Alan watched.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Waiting.”
She looked at the plate.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Joey took a bite.
Alan said nothing.
She chewed.
Then another.
After several minutes she said, “I hate that you notice.”
“I hate that there’s something to notice.”
Joey put the sandwich down.
“What did Margaret mean?”
Alan knew which part.
“The woman?”
Joey nodded.
“I don’t know.”
“You want to?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
She thought.
“No.”
“Okay.”
That answer seemed to surprise her too.
They spent the afternoon doing something painfully ordinary.
Apartment hunting.
Not buying.
Not signing.
Just looking.
Alan’s leave had limits. Joey’s treatment schedule had limits. Their savings had limits.
For the first time since he came home, those limits felt reassuring.
Real problems.
Not psychological traps disguised as generosity.
The first apartment was too far from the hospital.
The second smelled like wet carpet.
The third had a beautiful kitchen and no elevator.
Joey stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“No.”
Alan nodded.
“No.”
The leasing agent said, “There’s a first-floor unit next month.”
“We need sooner,” Alan said.
The fourth apartment was smaller than Jessica’s kitchen.
Joey walked through the living room twice.
“I like it.”
Alan looked around.
“You’re lying.”
“It has windows.”
“So do prisons.”
She laughed again.
The leasing agent did not know what to do with that.
They left.
By evening, Joey was exhausted.
Back at the hotel, Alan’s phone showed six missed calls from Jessica.
He ignored them.
Then a text arrived.
YOU ARE MAKING DECISIONS THAT WILL AFFECT YOUR FUTURE.
Alan stared.
Joey looked over.
“What?”
He showed her.
She went pale.
“That’s what she does.”
“What?”
“She says things that sound bigger than they are.”
Alan read the message again.
“What future?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has she said that before?”
Joey nodded.
“When?”
“When I wanted to call you.”
Alan’s jaw tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That I needed to think about your future.”
“Exact words?”
Joey looked at the ceiling.
“Something like, ‘Alan has spent his entire adult life building a career. Don’t make a frightened decision that he has to pay for.’”
Alan felt anger.
But underneath it was something worse.
Recognition.
His mother knew exactly which fear to use.
Alan had always taken duty seriously.
Jessica had spent years praising that.
Apparently she had also used it to convince Joey that asking for him was selfish.
He typed back:
WHAT FUTURE?
Jessica answered immediately.
CALL ME.
He did.
“What future?”
Jessica sighed.
“Finally.”
“Answer the question.”
“I am trying to protect you.”
“From?”
“Impulsive choices.”
“Moving out of your house?”
“Walking away from your responsibilities.”
Alan frowned.
“What responsibilities?”
“Your career.”
“This has nothing to do with my career.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Alan went still.
Jessica continued.
“You came home early.”
“Yes.”
“You extended leave.”
“Yes.”
“You are spending money on hotels.”
“Yes.”
“You are taking Joey to appointments personally.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think none of that matters?”
“Not the way you want it to.”
Jessica lowered her voice.
“Alan, illness changes marriages.”
He looked at Joey.
She heard enough to know.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you are allowed to have limits.”
Alan felt his face harden.
“Mom.”
“You think anger makes you noble right now.”
“Stop.”
“You have been home three days.”
“Stop.”
“You have no idea what months of this feels like.”
Joey stood.
Alan watched her go into the bathroom and close the door.
He lowered his voice.
“You never get to speak about my wife like that again.”
Jessica paused.
Then said, “There it is.”
“What?”
“The fantasy.”
Alan nearly hung up.
Jessica continued.
“You think love means saying yes to everything.”
“No.”
“You think caring means making somebody comfortable every second.”
“No.”
“You think I was cruel because I expected her to function.”
“I think you were cruel because you made her feel like being sick was a character flaw.”
Silence.
Then Jessica said, “You have always been dramatic when you’re angry.”
Alan ended the call.
A few minutes later, Joey came out.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good answer.”
She sat beside him.
Alan told her about Margaret’s comment.
The other woman.
Joey looked uneasy.
“Do we need to know?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if it has nothing to do with me?”
“Then we leave it alone.”
“And if it does?”
Alan looked at the cream-colored rules lying on the desk.
“Then maybe we understand the pattern.”
The next morning Margaret called.
“I remembered the name.”
Alan looked at Joey.
She nodded.
“Tell me.”
“Rebecca Hale.”
Alan searched his memory.
Nothing.
“Who is she?”
“She was married to one of Jessica’s cousins.”
“Was?”
“They divorced.”
“Did she live with Mom?”
“For maybe six months.”
“Why?”
“Her husband lost his job.”
Alan’s stomach tightened.
Financial dependence.
Housing.
Same ingredients.
“Was Rebecca sick?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Margaret hesitated.
“She worked retail.”
Alan waited.
“That mattered?”
“To Jessica.”
Of course it did.
Margaret continued.
“Jessica was hosting something. Rebecca came through the front door wearing her work uniform.”
Alan closed his eyes.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t see the first conversation.”
“What did you see?”
“After that, Rebecca started using the side entrance.”
Alan stared at the wall.
“Did Jessica tell her to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anything else?”
“She stopped coming to dinners.”
“Why?”
“I assumed work.”
Alan looked at Joey.
She looked sick in a different way now.
Not physically.
Recognizing herself in somebody she had never met.
“Where is Rebecca?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can Karen contact her?”
“Maybe.”
That evening Karen called.
She had found Rebecca through an old social media account.
Rebecca agreed to speak.
Not to Alan.
To Joey.
When Joey called, Alan left the room.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then forty.
At fifty-three minutes, Joey opened the hotel door.
Her face was colorless.
Alan stood.
“What happened?”
Joey held up her phone.
“She asked me one question.”
“What?”
Joey swallowed.
“She asked if Jessica ever told me the front of the house was ‘for family and guests.’”
Alan stared.
“And?”
“I said yes.”
Joey’s eyes filled.
“Then Rebecca said, ‘That’s exactly what she told me.’”
Alan said nothing.
Joey looked down at her phone.
“There was one difference.”
“What?”
“Rebecca wasn’t family yet.”
Alan frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Joey looked at him.
“She said Jessica kept saying she had to prove she belonged.”
Alan felt the hair rise on his arms.
“How?”
May you like
Joey’s answer came quietly.
“By being useful.”
