“But I’ve never done that,” I said. “That’s my point. That’s what my mother wanted me to do — deny myself — and I refused.”

Jessica opened her mouth to argue but that was when the waiter brought our bill on a small china saucer decorated with apple blossoms. She snatched it away before I could.

“I’m the one who invited you out,” I protested. “I’m the one who did all the talking.”

“Let me treat you,” said Jessica. “It’s so good to reconnect.”

“I feel like we should have been talking more about you,” I said.

“We have been,” said Jessica. “This whole time.”

I didn’t contradict her. It seemed possible that, to Jessica, all conversation felt that way — as if the purgatory of her childhood was an eternal subtext, undergirding every human exchange.

My afternoon with Jessica had done its work. Spilling my guts had left me feeling lighter, better, clear-headed yet sort of intoxicated, like I’d taken a hit of oxygen. This, I thought, strolling down the sidewalk to where my car was parked, was what I’d needed all along. Just a bit of human contact. An afternoon out; a sympathetic ear. It was a gorgeous, breezy summer afternoon and I realized how little time I’d spent outside since I’d been here. I’d barely even caught a glimpse of the ocean, something I usually made a point of the moment I was on this coast. The restaurant had been near the water, and now I could smell salt air, could see the harbour glittering in the distance. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would call my clients and let them know I’d need more time. Some of the work I could likely do from here, so I’d offer them that as a way of softening the news that I’d be absent another month. A month might be excessive, but it was better to be on the safe side. Give myself lots of time to make a decision, to get Kelli nicely settled, to feel confident and good about wherever she ended up. That was what mattered, however long it took.

I was feeling positive for the first time in ages — and so grateful. Something nice had been done for me that day. I found myself wanting to do something nice for someone else.

8

He had hinted he’d like to eat with us, after all. Actually, it was more that he had offered to eat with us, as a kind of reward — a reward for Kelli being good, he said, but also, I intuited, a reward for me as well. Because I had done the right thing and called him when I was in need.

I went to the grocery store thinking I’d pick up some chicken and potatoes for baking. I pulled out my phone as I lingered in the vegetable aisle, wondering what sort of green thing Trevor might find acceptable — and, without thinking, called the landline at my mother’s house (as opposed to the number named TREV). It was lucky the line still worked, as I’d called to cancel it just a couple of days ago after a bill arrived in Irene’s name.