He almost went in. He put his hand on the . . . the . . . that thing you turn to open a door, but then the water went off, and John jumped back. He walked silently down the hall to pretend he hadn’t heard her, didn’t know, hadn’t almost come in.

He should have gone in, he realizes now. Maybe she would still love him if he had gone in. He’s sorry he didn’t go into the bathroom. If he could do it over, he would have gone in and not let her pretend to be fine. He would’ve let her be not-fine. They could’ve been not-fine together.

But too much time passed, blurry time that John doesn’t remember. Then Barb was happy because of the baby, the girl baby, and he was the one who was alone. He was alone and no one listened to him, and he wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. He wanted four children, but there was only one and she was Barb’s, until a long time later, another one came, and this time, it was his baby. This time, he wasn’t shut away. He got to be needed again.

Sadie. Sadie!

He smiles because he remembered her name. Sadie. Such a pretty, happy name.

He tries to say it, but no sound comes out. His mouth is moving, but not the part that makes sound.

He wishes he could tell his daughter he remembers her name. He wishes he could say, Hi, Sadie, and make her smile and hug him. But he can’t, and this makes his eyes water, and so he tilts his head back and escapes to sleep once more.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Juliet

It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Juliet knew this. That being said, she wouldn’t mind a paper bag to put over her head right now. Or no, a silk bag. They could afford it, that was for sure. That way, no one would have to look at each other and pass judgment.

Park Avenue Aesthetics.

Yep.

There were four of them, three women, including Juliet, and one man. One woman had that freakish, ageless look that didn’t say youth, but did say that plastic surgery was a legit addiction. Her skin was so tight it seemed like her whole face would crack if she blinked, which she seemed unable to do. Another woman was stunningly beautiful and, honestly, why was she here? Could she be a day over thirty? Don’t buy into the patriarchy, sweetheart! You’re perfect! Then again, what if she’d been made perfect here? If so, could Juliet have what she was having? The man was a normal-looking guy who had a pleasant face and fit-enough physique. What did he want to change? Why?

Go home, people, she wanted to say, hypocrite that she was.