Page 57 of Unforgivable
I’m standing outside the school gates and Erin comes up to me.
“Hi! How are you?” She says it with a frown, head tilted, and of course I’m thinking, birthday party, drama, pony, and feel a wave of shame burn in my cheeks.
“Good! I’m great. Thank you. And you?”
“I’m well. We’re all well. We didn’t see you to say goodbye, after Charlie’s birthday party.” She says this again, with a frown. “You seemed very upset.”
“Not at all,” I say with a tight smile. “Bronwyn and I had a small misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“I see. Speaking of Bronwyn…” She touches my arm. “I’m thinking of having drinks at our house. Just us, keep it small, simple. It would be so nice to see her again. I mentioned it to her, but we haven’t made a date yet. The girls could have a play date. Can you talk to Jack and let me know? I know Rob wants to show Jack his new motorcycle. You know, boys and their toys.” Then almost in a whisper, she adds, “Jack doesn’t have a job yet, does he? Is he okay? Is he seeing someone?”
“Seeing someone?”
“Bronwyn told me about his depression.” She shakes her head. “Unemployment is very hard on men, harder than on women, don’t you agree? And it’s been a very long time.”
My face feels suspended in shock. “Oh my God! She told you that too?”
“Is that okay? You know we’re friends, Bronwyn and I. You don’t mind, do you? She’s very worried about him.”
“No,” I say, repressing a sigh. “But it’s not as bad as you think. Jack’s fine. He will be. He’s very busy, very very busy. I’ll check with him and let you know when’s a good day for us.”
And then the kids come running out into the yard and Brielle skips over to her mother. Erin gives me a little wave and they walk off. I look around for Charlie. She is one of the last to come out of the building, and my heart sinks.
There’s something different about her, and I don’t just mean her outfit, although there’s that. I didn’t see what she was wearing this morning because I left before she went to school. She looks like a little fashion model in an ad for a luxury kids store, with wide, flowing red and black checkered pants down to her calves, black pumps with a low wedge heel, a silver buckle, a red top with a ruffled sleeves, a red felt hat with a ribbon around the rim and the most horrible part, a red velvet ribbon around her neck, like a choker. With a little pearl pendant.
I wonder how she feels dressed like that among her classmates who are in denim skirts and sneakers and tees. She sees me and smiles, but she doesn’t come running the way she normally does. Her steps are measured, she looks more like an awkward sixteen-year-old than the eight-year-old bouncing with excitement Charlie I know.
She holds her schoolbag in one hand and walks up to me, with none of that exuberance she usually has, the way she’d normally run up and come to stand right in front of me like a little gymnast, feet together, face tilted up to me. And I know in my heart that whatever good intentions Bronwyn has, they’re doing damage, and I absolutely have to talk to her about this.
“Where’s Mommy?” she asks as I take her school bag from her.
“She went shopping. I was finishing early, so I thought I’d come and pick you up myself for a change.”
“Okay,” she says, taking my hand.
“I thought we could go to the park. And then maybe we could have ice cream after.”
“No thanks,” she says.
“Why on earth not?”
“I don’t want to go to the park. I don’t want to mess up my clothes.”
“Oh, okay. Well, maybe we could do something on the weekend together. We’ll make sure you’re not wearing anything that can be messed up.”
“Do what?”
“I’ll think of something.”
Jack is in the living room when we get home. Charlie goes upstairs to put her things away. Unheard of. It’s like she’s been kidnapped and replaced by a pretty poor copy.
Jack was scrolling on his phone, but he puts it away in his back pocket the moment I walk in.
“What’s up?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head, fake nonchalant. I come to sit next to him, put my head on his shoulder. He gets up, and I hold back a sigh as I sit up.
He walks over to the bar. “I think I’ll have an early drink. You want one?”
“No, thanks, I’m okay. Hey, listen.” I turn to face him. “Why don’t we go out for dinner this week? Just the two of us.”