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“Where are you going?”
She doesn’t break stride as she spins a three-sixty, sending me a little wink on her way. “Out.”
“Where?” I push. “Don’t you think we should be here tonight? For Toni?”
“I’ll be right back. I have something I need to do.” And then she’s gone, the front door slapping shut behind her.
“I wonder where she’s going?” I say more to myself than to Jules, who is standing quietly behind me.
“Just leave her be. It doesn’t matter.” She sighs, the sound soft but full of weighted exhaustion.
I haven’t forgotten what Juliette has been through and can’t even begin to imagine how stressful today must have been for her. Yet, she was so calm, so put together that I’m only now beginning to see the stress leak through. Her eyes are rimmed with fatigue. The fingers of her free hand tap compulsively against her thigh. “How are you holding up?”
She smiles sadly. “Fine, actually.”
“I can imagine it wasn’t easy being interviewed like that…”
“For none of us.”
“But especially for you.”
Jules shrugs, but her mouth wobbles slightly. “When I turned around and saw him standing in the house…The uniform…It all came flooding back to me. It was just a moment, but I remembered everything so clearly.” Her eyes frost over as she thinks back. “I could see the lights flashing. I could hear the people shouting.” A visible tremor runs over her.
When her eyes fill, I take a step towards her, my arms outstretched. “Oh, sweetheart,” I say, folding her into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
She sniffles but doesn’t push me away. She buries her face against me and whispers, “Jace would have been nine last week.”
“I know.” We all knew. For the entire week, we all walked around on eggshells, unconsciously keeping Jules in our line of sight as often as we could while trying not to be too obvious about it. Even Lizzie stayed home more, not necessarily drawing attention to the fact that she cared, but still, making an appearance.
I rub Juliette’s back, moving my hand in slow circles. It should frighten me that I can feel her every rib and vertebra, but I push it aside for now. There’s too much to deal with already. Still, I take a step back, and say, “Why don’t I make some pizza? We can crack some wine, plopPride and Prejudiceon, and get smashingly drunk in Lizzie’s honor.”
Elizabeth would have liked that, I think. All of us, taking the night off to be together, to drink just to her.
“I think that sounds right.” Juliette doesn’t saygoodorfun. “Lizzie loved that freakin’ movie.”
“The heroineiscalled Elizabeth.”
Jules swipes at her face and gives me a watery laugh. “True.”
“Why don’t you go shower and put your fat pants on? I’ll get started. Maybe Toni and Lyla will come and join us by the time we settle down.”
“Thanks, Cat. I-I just need a few minutes to pull myself together again. I don’t want Toni to see me like this.”
“I know.” I start for the kitchen, barely pausing when I hear the back door sliding open and closed again as Jules heads for the casita.
Finally alone, I let go a little. Gripping the edge of the black granite countertop, I steel myself against the fresh wave of grief that rises. For a long moment, I just stand there and let the sadness come. It batters me from all sides, heavy and bruising.Oh, Lizzie. What have you done?The emotional drain of the day starts catching me. All of my memories of Lizzie flicker through my mind. The montage is saturated with color and chaotic. Bright and loud, just like her.
I’m not aware of the tears starting as I turn from the counter and move to the walk-in pantry. I’m barely conscious of what I’m doing as I hunt down the ingredients—bread flour, yeast, and salt—I need for the pizza dough.
I found baking for the first time when I first moved into the house. Even as a shell of a woman, homeless, unemployed, and broke, I felt the need to repay Toni and Lizzie for taking me with them that night.
They rescued me from a hell I couldn’t escape alone. And, although it took me months to get back on my feet, I found that, once I had, I was just as vulnerable sober as I had been high. I had no skills, no resume. I didn’t have a single day of employment to my name that I could leverage.
There was nothing I could do, no way I could work to repay them for the kindness they had shown me and for the money they had spent helping me get clean. So, I started cooking one night when I was home alone. And, after that, I started making sure that there was always something in the fridge for them when they got back in the early morning from a long night out. I didn’t realizeback then how feeding the girls slowly became my own catharsis. But there’s something about busy hands and a still mind that brings issues to the surface, something about quiet time that helps me sort through them. Even Harry, my therapist, encouraged the hobby. He said I should pursue activities that I find centering so that I have something constructive to distract myself with when my itch for a fix strikes.
Now, as I measure and sift and mix and knead, I recall all the moments Lizzie and I shared over the years. Not all of them were good, not even half of them. But sprinkled throughout the chaos, are glimpses of the side of Elizabeth that a hard life had forced out of her. It wasn’t a soft side. Nothing about Lizzie was soft. But she did have good moments.
Once, about a year after I started working for the Antoinette Rupetta Escort Agency, I went on a date that got out of hand. Lizzie was on Home Duty that night. Toni, Lyla, and I were working. Jules hadn’t joined us yet.
