Chapter 4: Wait a Little Longer

On Thursday I drove to my mother's house in Warwick and told the two people I trusted most that I might leave.

I had not slept since the teacher's clipboard.

*Carraway, Maisie.* A form I never signed had changed my daughter's name, and I wanted to see my mother's face when I said it.

My mother had a new refrigerator.

It was stainless steel and taller than she was, and she opened it to show me the ice maker, proud as a child.

"Philip's driver brought it at Christmas," she said. "A thank-you, he said, for raising such a good daughter."

"A thank-you for what?"

"For being patient with him." She shut the door. "Sit. Marcy's on her way."

Marcy came in ten minutes later with a white box of pastries and her red curls wet from the rain.

She hugged me hard.

"You look awful," she said. "What happened?"

I told them about the bowl, the villa, the gold card at the parent meeting.

I did not tell them about Tobias or the folder.

I had not known why until I heard my own voice leave those parts out.

When I finished, my mother set her tea down.

"Rosalind, every marriage has a hard stretch."

"Six years of it?"

"He pays for that school. He pays for your doctor. You've never worried about a roof."

"I've worried about a pair of boots."

"Boots," my mother said, and shook her head.

I looked at Marcy.

She had stopped eating her pastry.

"Roz," she said, and her voice went soft. "I know you're hurting. I do. But if you leave, where does Maisie go?"

"I could rent somewhere in Providence. I could go back to auditing."

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