Chapter 10 - Emily Reed Had Taught The Family How To Keep A Door Closed
Emily Reed had worked for the Hayes family when Daniel and Mara were children.
Not a live-in nanny.
After-school care.
Dinners when June worked late.
Homework.
Driving.
The sort of adult children remember with a role larger than the payroll category.
Mara loved her.
Daniel did too.
Then one day, when Mara was seventeen and Daniel fourteen, Emily stopped coming.
“What happened?” I asked.
June was still on speakerphone.
She answered.
“I fired her.”
Daniel frowned.
“You told us she moved.”
“I know.”
Mara stared at the phone.
“Why did you fire her?”
June went quiet.
“Mom.”
“She was overstepping.”
Mara laughed bitterly.
“Define.”
June said:
“She involved herself in things that weren't hers.”
Daniel looked tired.
“What things?”
“Our marriage.”
Their parents' marriage.
Robert and June had been fighting.
Emily apparently advised June to leave for a few days.
Helped her look at an apartment.
Mara laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Pattern.
The same family conflict had happened a generation earlier.
June heard it.
“Don't.”
Mara stopped.
June continued:
“I asked Emily for help.”
Silence.
Daniel closed his eyes.
There it was.
Again.
“Did Dad know?”
“No.”
“And when he found out?”
“He blamed Emily.”
“Did you correct him?”
June took time.
“Not enough.”
Mara sat down.
I watched her face.
This wasn't vindication.
It was horror at recognizing an inherited method.
Emily helped a wife imagine leaving.
The wife went back.
The helper became the problem.
Years later Mara helped Katherine.
Same shape.
Different names.
Daniel heard it too.
“Dad used to call Mara ‘another Emily.’”
Mara looked at him.
“What?”
“He said it after Noah.”
June whispered:
“I didn't know.”
Daniel stared toward the glass.
“Maybe Emily heard.”
Mara stood.
“Why would she care now?”
June answered:
“Because your father contacted her.”
Everyone stopped.
“When?” Daniel asked.
“Before he died.”
Three years ago.
Robert Hayes, older and sick, had apparently begun making calls.
Not reconciliation.
Not confession.
Something smaller.
“He wanted to apologize,” June said.
Mara laughed softly.
“To Emily.”
“Yes.”
“Not me.”
June said nothing.
The sentence hurt.
Daniel asked:
“Did he speak to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“I wasn't there.”
“Did she tell you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“He told me afterward.”
Not another secret letter.
A living memory.
Robert told June he had apologized for letting Emily carry blame for a decision June had asked her to help make.
“What did Emily say?”
June hesitated.
“That he should tell his children.”
Mara looked up.
“Did he?”
“No.”
Of course.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Why would Emily be here now?”
Mara stared at the old badge in the grainy frame.
“Maybe she found out I came back.”
“How?”
June said quietly:
“I called her.”
Mara's head snapped toward the phone.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
Daniel laughed in disbelief.
“Does anybody in this family keep a fact where it belongs?”
June ignored him.
“Mara's cousin told me she was back in Virginia. I panicked.”
Mara stared.
“So you called Emily.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know what to do.”
Mara laughed.
“You called the woman you once let Dad blame for helping you leave.”
“Yes.”
“And told her your daughter, who got blamed for helping another woman leave, was back.”
June sounded tired.
“When you say it like that—”
Mara stopped her.
“No. Don't use that sentence.”
June went silent.
Good.
Daniel asked:
“What did Emily say?”
June answered:
“That if Mara was coming home, we needed to stop telling Noah a story built out of everyone else's fear.”
I looked toward the dining room.
Noah had returned with Katherine.
He was drawing on a children's menu.
None of this belonged inside his head in this form.
I asked:
“Did Emily say she was coming here?”
“No.”
Mara stared at the reflection.
“I didn't invite her.”
Daniel looked at the hallway.
“But she followed you.”
“Yes.”
“And talked to Noah.”
“Yes.”
Mara’s expression hardened.
“She used me the way I used Claire.”
That was the first time she said it without being pushed.
Then Helen's desk phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Looked at us.
“There's a woman at the host stand asking for Claire Carter.”
Every head turned toward me.
I stared through the glass.
An older woman stood near the entrance.
Gray-streaked hair.
No uniform now.
Left hand resting on the host desk.
May you like
One finger bent slightly inward.
Emily Reed had finally stopped using reflections.
