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“Are you guys okay?” I asked.
“We’re fine,” Andy said. Grace didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry if you were worried.” I was searching for words. Not for the first time in our married life, I wished that Andy could read my mind. There was so much I had to tell him, and I couldn’t say any of it in front of Grace.
“Whatever,” said Grace, with perfect teenage disdain.
“Grace.” Andy said her name with a warning note.
“What?”
“Really, I’m sorry if you were worried. Matthew Wright says that it’s not too serious. That, given the circumstances, I’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist.” Which was not what he had said, of course, but I had an overwhelming urge to reassure them both, and I was willing to lie to do it.
“They charged you?” Andy said. He was genuinely shocked. I could hear it in his voice.
“I guess they didn’t have a choice.”
“Well, you punched Simon Jordan in the face. In front of like, a hundred people, so I don’t know what you expected.”
“Grace!” Andy’s warning note had moved up to a reprimand.
“What, Dad? She’s acting like a crazy person.”
Andy was red faced and angry. He opened his mouth to say something, but I reached out and squeezed his hand. I turned in my seat to look at Grace.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a difficult situation.”
The words were completely inadequate. Grace shifted in her seat and subsided into silence. We drove on. When we got home, we parked in the courtyard and went through the back door into the kitchen. Rufus gave Grace an ecstatic greeting. She gave him the briefest pat on the head, then pushed him off. She turned to face us. She looked exhausted, and pale, and very young.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay, Grace. I get it.”
“I just think you need to remember that Simon loves her too. I mean, maybe they broke up, whatever, but they were together for a really long time. And he’s really, really upset. You guys saw that.”
I tried to answer her. I just couldn’t find the words. Andy turned away and went to the fridge.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” he said.
“I have to go out,” I said. They both stared at me. “I’m sorry. Just for a few minutes.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Andy said. He was looking at me like I was losing my mind. I tried to convey with my eyes that I had a lot to tell him, that I had a very good reason to leave the house at this delicate, delicate moment. I tried to ask him to trust me. I don’t think the message got through. He turned away, shaking his head, and opened the fridge door.
“Go,” he said. “If that’s what you want to do. Grace, what do you feel like eating? We’ve got bacon. I could do something with pasta.”
I could feel the anger coming off him. That hurt me. I wished he trusted me more than he did, but it was something I would have to deal with when I got back. I had a brutal, relentless urgency inside me. I went to Grace and gave her a quick hug. She stood stiff and unresponsive in my arms. I got my keys and jacket and left the house.
Julie Bradley’s mother, Delores, managed a bar just off Main Street in Waterbury. By the time I got to the bar it was almost 7:00 P.M. and the place was busy. Not ski-season busy, but busier than I would have expected, given that the college-aged kids had gone back to school. There were a few regulars, faces I recognized from around, enough so that there was a hum of conversation over the music. The booths that lined the walls of the bar were mostly empty. The previous week they would have been full of college kids who’d come to Vermont for their week’s vacation, to hike and climb and kayak and hang out. We saw them around town every year. They wore hiking pants and T-shirts and had flushed, laughing faces and endless, twenty-something-year-old energy. Nina energy. You could feel their absence in the bar, almost like a hollowing out of the air.
The kitchen was still serving buffalo wings and popcorn chicken, and the beer was still flowing. Nathan Lowery was the barman. I’d known Nathan for years. He had a reputation as a bit of a bore, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He kept an eye on the young girls in the bar and made sure that when they left, they left with friends. Nathan was shooting the shit with a small group of college-aged guys at the other end of the bar. I waved to him. He saw me, I thought, but didn’t wave back. He just stayed where he was and kept chatting. I sat on an empty stool at the bar and waited to order, but all his attention was on the guys.
“Nathan,” I said. He didn’t hear me. I raised my voice and tried again. Still no reaction. I was about to walk down the bar and stand in front of him when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Mrs. Fraser. Looking for me?” It was Julie. She’d changed since the search. She was wearing clean jeans and a T-shirt with the bar’s logo on it—a kicking mule. Her hair was wet from the shower.
“You got home okay?” I asked.
“Everyone left. Mr. Fraser—Andy—was going to go to the police station. He didn’t find you?”
