it.”
“Maybe the only way for me to deal with it was to tell myself that it was the best thing for everyone.”
“No, Mom. You mean the best thing for you . That’s always been the test in our family.” Peyton turned away, silencing herself before it was too late. “I’m going to bed.”
On crutches she hurried down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door. The accident was no catharsis, but she felt one now. She hadn’t yelled at her mother that way since she’d been a teenager, having vowed long ago never to stir up the old, destructive anger. The loss of a child was all but guaranteed to take Peyton and her mother back to those dark days.
She leaned forward with both hands on the sink, staring into the basin, breathing deeply. Slowly, she raised her eyes and took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and she was on the verge of tears. For almost a week she’d toughed out the accident, the miscarriage. Somehow, she’d managed to contain her feelings and remain stoic. She’d canceled the appointment for Jamie’s first ultrasound, given one of her patients the prenatal vitamins she no longer needed, even donated to charity the maternity clothes she’d never gotten big enough to wear. All that, without having faltered in the least. Now, however, she felt deprived of the emotional release she’d obviously needed.
Her left eye started to twitch. It hadn’t given her much trouble since the injury, but it was suddenly painful. She squinted and leaned toward the mirror. A stabbing sensation emerged just below the lower lid. She blinked twice and noticed a minuscule drop of blood at the outside corner of her eye. She dabbed it with a tissue and realized what it was. A shard of shattered glass had worked its way out from somewhere beneath her skin. Clear and rigid, like a tiny frozen teardrop that had hardened deep inside her. She was suddenly cold, overwhelmed with sadness.
With that, the tears melted and finally began to flow.
15
“BREAKFAST IS READY,” HER MOTHER CALLED FROM THE KITCHEN.
Hearing those words was like a time warp for Peyton. So many times they had gone to bed angry at each other. They’d wake the next morning and try to pretend it had never happened. Neither of them was a very good actor.
“Just a sec,” said Peyton. She was in the bathroom, checking her eye in the mirror. It hadn’t bothered her further since expelling the tiny shard of glass last night. But, cosmetically, the skin around the eye wasn’t healing quite as smoothly as she had hoped. She tried not to dwell on it, but it was her face. The image came to mind of those ugly ducks along the Prado with all that bumpy extra skin around their eyes and beaks that resembled oozing lava. She knew she was only tormenting herself, but she leaned over the sink and pressed the injured side of her face flat against the mirror on the medicine cabinet. She angled it perfectly so that half her face—the good half—reflected from the medicine cabinet to the mirror on the wall, to the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and then back to the other half of the medicine cabinet. In the reflection of the reflections, she was able to create a whole face from the unscarred half, smooth and beautiful. It wasn’t exactly the way she used to look (on any face, the right and left sides were always different), but the little game made her wonder if she would ever be pretty again. Every day Kevin told her she was still breathtaking, but did he really mean it?
As much as she tried not to think about it, she wondered, too, if she was prettier than the woman Kevin had lunched with yesterday.
“Toast is getting cold,” her mother called again.
Peyton mounted her crutches and headed for the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the counter, reading the morning paper and sipping coffee. Peyton took the seat across from her, where toast and juice were waiting on the table.
Her mother never looked up from the paper.
“Maybe the only way for me to deal with it was to tell myself that it was the best thing for everyone.”
“No, Mom. You mean the best thing for you . That’s always been the test in our family.” Peyton turned away, silencing herself before it was too late. “I’m going to bed.”
On crutches she hurried down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door. The accident was no catharsis, but she felt one now. She hadn’t yelled at her mother that way since she’d been a teenager, having vowed long ago never to stir up the old, destructive anger. The loss of a child was all but guaranteed to take Peyton and her mother back to those dark days.
She leaned forward with both hands on the sink, staring into the basin, breathing deeply. Slowly, she raised her eyes and took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and she was on the verge of tears. For almost a week she’d toughed out the accident, the miscarriage. Somehow, she’d managed to contain her feelings and remain stoic. She’d canceled the appointment for Jamie’s first ultrasound, given one of her patients the prenatal vitamins she no longer needed, even donated to charity the maternity clothes she’d never gotten big enough to wear. All that, without having faltered in the least. Now, however, she felt deprived of the emotional release she’d obviously needed.
Her left eye started to twitch. It hadn’t given her much trouble since the injury, but it was suddenly painful. She squinted and leaned toward the mirror. A stabbing sensation emerged just below the lower lid. She blinked twice and noticed a minuscule drop of blood at the outside corner of her eye. She dabbed it with a tissue and realized what it was. A shard of shattered glass had worked its way out from somewhere beneath her skin. Clear and rigid, like a tiny frozen teardrop that had hardened deep inside her. She was suddenly cold, overwhelmed with sadness.
With that, the tears melted and finally began to flow.
15
“BREAKFAST IS READY,” HER MOTHER CALLED FROM THE KITCHEN.
Hearing those words was like a time warp for Peyton. So many times they had gone to bed angry at each other. They’d wake the next morning and try to pretend it had never happened. Neither of them was a very good actor.
“Just a sec,” said Peyton. She was in the bathroom, checking her eye in the mirror. It hadn’t bothered her further since expelling the tiny shard of glass last night. But, cosmetically, the skin around the eye wasn’t healing quite as smoothly as she had hoped. She tried not to dwell on it, but it was her face. The image came to mind of those ugly ducks along the Prado with all that bumpy extra skin around their eyes and beaks that resembled oozing lava. She knew she was only tormenting herself, but she leaned over the sink and pressed the injured side of her face flat against the mirror on the medicine cabinet. She angled it perfectly so that half her face—the good half—reflected from the medicine cabinet to the mirror on the wall, to the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and then back to the other half of the medicine cabinet. In the reflection of the reflections, she was able to create a whole face from the unscarred half, smooth and beautiful. It wasn’t exactly the way she used to look (on any face, the right and left sides were always different), but the little game made her wonder if she would ever be pretty again. Every day Kevin told her she was still breathtaking, but did he really mean it?
As much as she tried not to think about it, she wondered, too, if she was prettier than the woman Kevin had lunched with yesterday.
“Toast is getting cold,” her mother called again.
Peyton mounted her crutches and headed for the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the counter, reading the morning paper and sipping coffee. Peyton took the seat across from her, where toast and juice were waiting on the table.
Her mother never looked up from the paper.
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