It’s forty minutes to Annie’s, but they have to stop halfway there to put the top up as a cloud comes out of nowhere — a big loud Florida storm that rains torrentially for fifteen minutes before they’re clear of it. Annie reaches past Ellie to relatch the car’s top and Ellie presses herself hard against the seat to be sure their skin doesn’t brush.
“He doesn’t hate it,” Annie says. It takes Ellie a minute to realize to whom Annie’s referring. It’s been half an hour since the comment about Jeff hating the car. “He just gets worried about me and Jack. He thinks I drive too fast.” Ellie’s eyes wander to the speedometer. Annie’s been going ninety the whole trip. Annie laughs, watching Ellie’s eyes. “I’m better with Jack.” She reaches up to the thick expanse of plastic that stretches across the middle of the car. “We have the roll bar. I always make him wear his seat belt and sit in his booster. It’s not much different from any other car.” Annie keeps one hand on the roll bar, arching her back and rolling her head down to her chest and then right and left, ears against shoulders. She turns and winks at Ellie. “The fresh air’s good for us.”
She looks a little younger than forty now, though when Ellie does the math she realizes she must be closer to forty-three or — four. Ellie’s mom was twenty-two when she was Annie’s teacher. They’re only six years apart.
“How’s everyone?” Annie asks her. “Your mom?”
“Fine,” says Ellie. It’s her father’s least favorite word. He says it doesn’t mean anything. But Ellie’s not sure what or how much she wants to give Annie yet.
Annie nods.
“And you? How are you?”
Ellie wants to ask her what she knows, how much her mom has told her, how much she’s left out. She thinks, briefly, of telling her the whole thing start to finish, just to see if she’s still willing to let her near her kid.
“I’m fine,” El says.
“Right,” Annie says.
Ellie holds her right arm out the window. She straightens her elbow and moves her hand in waves up and down as they hit the exit and head toward Annie’s house. It’s the same exit that takes them to her mom’s.
“You know, just trying to be Good this time,” Ellie says. She smiles straight ahead. “I’m the Great Struggle of all their lives.” She keeps her voice low as she says the last part and her eyes roll up higher in her head.
“Hmmm,” says Annie. “I used to be one of those.”
At Annie’s wedding: Ellie’d worn a yellow dress that she’d loved when she’d found it with her mom in a little store near their house in Brooklyn. It was a simple sheath but flared at the waist with lines of slightly brighter yellows folded in. Her mom had told her she looked beautiful and she’d believed her. She’d been grinning, proud, as the saleslady stood behind her watching when she’d tried it on. They’d done her hair up in a simple twist. She’d worn drop pearl earrings that were her mom’s, and she’d felt grown-up the whole ride to the wedding. Benny wore a blue bow tie and El had held his hand. She’d liked the feel of her mom so close to her and proud to be there, other people smiling down at her and then up at her mom. But then everyone had gotten quiet and Annie had come up over the dunes all by herself and perfect, not looking like a bride at all. Her dress was nothing like the ones Ellie had seen in pictures or at the handful of other weddings they’d been to. She didn’t wear a veil. The dress had thick twisted straps and the neckline bunched down into her chest. It was a perfect cream, falling down her body with no ornamentation until below her waist. Then, just above her knees, layers of thin lace fell one atop the other, blowing in the ocean’s breeze. And every face, hands reaching up to shade against the setting sun, smiled, eyes focused on Annie. And Ellie felt herself begin to disappear.
“You tired?” Annie asks. “Hungry?”
Ellie shakes her head. She’d stayed up all night staring out her upstairs window, wishing she were free enough to roam around instead of being trapped inside. She hadn’t wanted to worry her mother. It was her last night with them and she had resolved no matter what to try her very best to be Good. They’d eaten a quiet, simple dinner, pasta with spinach and sausage, her dad had cooked, and afterward she’d sat on the couch with her feet in her mom’s lap.
“I wasn’t with him,” she’d said. Her mom held a book and was looking down at it. Ben was flipping channels on the TV. Their dad was outside working in the garden in the twilight. Ellie’s mom shook her head.
“All right, El.”
She’d wanted to hold her face up close to her mom and beg to be believed, to have Joseph call her to confirm she hadn’t been with Dylan. But there was no point in proving just this once that she had been better than her mom thought. She had years of proving still to do no matter what.
She’d curled in with Benny after everyone had gone to bed. He didn’t say anything to her. They were too old to touch; she just liked being close to him. She’d left his room before the sun rose, slipped on shorts and boots and one of her mom’s old sweaters, and left before anyone woke up. She’d walked out down Seventh Avenue and smelled the city wake up one last time.
It’s still early afternoon when they get to Annie’s house, which is smaller than Ellie’s mom’s house, simple with mounds of overly lush landscaping obscuring it almost completely from the street. The exterior is a mustard-yellow and the roof an orange-red. There’s a screened-in room right off the driveway. The door has a latch but no lock and there’s a large couch and two chairs covering one full side of the room, a brown ceiling fan whirring on high overhead. Behind that room is a frosted glass door with slats in it. You can make out only shadows on the other side.
Annie nods toward the slatted door. “That’ll be your room,” she says.
Ellie looks over at Annie, who nods again, and Ellie lets herself in. It’s a single room, but separate from the main house. There’s a small bathroom off the back. The bed is built into the wall, with two levels of bookshelves built-in around the edge. There’s a window AC unit in the side window and the other window looks out over the lush backyard. There’s a desk across from the bed and drawers underneath.
“It’s a little tight,” says Annie. “But it’ll give you some privacy.”
The bed’s been made up in a simple white comforter with large green and yellow flowers; the walls are yellow too. A sort of bright but unobtrusive yellow that has Ellie smiling despite herself. “It’s fine,” she says. “Thanks.”
She finally turns to Annie, looking full at her for the first time since the airport. And, before Ellie can think of how to stop her, Annie leans in and hugs Ellie tight against her, and Ellie rests her fingers on two separate nubs of spine and stretches her neck up, not willing to let her head settle too close to Annie’s face.
“Oh, El,” she says. “I’m really so happy you’re here.”
Ellie keeps her back hard and straight till Annie finally lets her go. They hear a car pull up behind them, and then a man’s voice, with laughter coursing through it: “You were suffocating the poor girl.” Both Ellie and Annie turn toward the driveway. Jeffrey looks much the same as he did ten years ago. He wears swimming shorts and flip-flops. His hair is long and floppy and he’s not wearing a shirt. His whole body’s firm. He walks over to the passenger’s side and opens the back door, then pulls a blond, wiry boy from the backseat. He’s a near-replica of Jeffrey, and Ellie wonders how Annie could have had so little to do with what this boy’s turned out to be.
“Hi, boys,” says Annie. She grins at Ellie, the lines around her eyes all bunched up and lovely, then turns her smile to her son. The boy jumps from his father’s arms and walks shyly toward them. Annie scoops him up and kisses his cheek.