Page 44 of The Heartbreak Hotel

Thirty-Two

The first thing I see when I get back to the house is Joss’s car. I think about turning right back around and driving clear on to Nebraska, but make myself put the car in park. This is still my house—though for how much longer, I’m not sure.

The door to the garden is propped open. I move toward it like a ghost, half-real. Joss has her back to me, crouched over a bed of ivy in a down jacket; she’s trimming it back, piling snow-dusted leaves into a bag. When my sneakers land on the path next to her knee, she looks up at me.

“Hey, Lou.”

She looks more beautiful than ever: that Nordic blond hair, the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose. I picture her and Henry getting married, having Molly, sitting with her in a hospital room while their lives fall apart. I’m not mad at her—I’m devastated.

“I know about you and Henry,” I say. “There was an article in the paper.”

Joss is silent. She doesn’t even blink. But then she looks down at the bed, surveying her progress, and stands. She pulls her gloves off and puts them on top of her bag.

“I wish you’d told me.”

She lets out a breath that condenses in the space between us. “When could I have, though?”

I feel my head rear back and will myself to keep it together. “Literally anytime? In all the years I’ve lived here?”

“In all the years you’ve lived here, Henry was hardly in the picture.” She lifts her eyebrows. “It wasn’t until this fall, with the rentals, that he started coming around. It was a nonissue.”

“But we were friends,” I insist. Weren’t we? “It wasn’t a nonissue. He was part of your life.”

Joss studies me, speaking slowly. “Henry will always be a part of my past. But it’s been a long time since we’ve been involved with each other in any meaningful way.”

It sounds so similar to what Henry told me that I can’t help but wonder if they talked about this. “What about this fall?” I press. “When you told us all about your heartbreak, and how losing him even impacted your family?”

“I wasn’t talking about Henry,” Joss says. She looks surprised, like this hadn’t even occurred to her. “I was talking about Molly.”

I swallow. Feel her words as heat in my cheeks. Of course.

“But you own the house together?” I force out.

Joss shakes her head. “The house is Henry’s.

It’s been in his family forever—I just manage the garden, for Molly.

” When I don’t respond, she keeps talking.

“Henry told me he was inviting you to Thanksgiving.” This hits like whiplash, the memory of her in my kitchen just a few days ago, asking if I had a nice holiday.

She knew, even then. “Not that I need to be informed, and certainly not that I need to give permission. I didn’t know, before then, that you were involved.

” I look up at her, and she tucks her hands into her jacket pockets.

“And even if I had, how should I have told you? ‘By the way, I was married to your new boyfriend’?”

“Henry’s not—”

“It already felt too late,” Joss says. “Like by then, it was up to Henry to tell you, when he was ready.”

I shake my head. He could tell Joss about me , but not the other way around? “I don’t know if he would’ve ever been ready.”

“He’s a good person, Lou. So are you.” Joss gestures to herself. “Don’t hold this against him.”

I don’t know what to say to this. Of course Henry’s a good person. It gives me a stomachache, to think about how magnetic he is—about all the ways I want to be close to him.

“What were you fighting about?” I hear myself say. “I saw you in the garden, fighting. Twice.”

Joss’s eyebrows flicker up. “Oh,” she says.

When her eyes cast across the garden, landing on the new tree, I turn to look at it, too.

She clears her throat. “After Molly died, we talked about planting a pine tree for her. But then we were going through a divorce, and then you and Nate moved in, and it kind of just—” She glances back at me.

“Well, we stopped talking about it. But I’ve seen a lot more of Henry this fall than I have in a long time, with him at the house.

And I wanted to finally do it, and he didn’t think it was the right time, and it just—” She waves her hand in the air, trailing off.

“It just?” I prompt.

Joss looks at me. “He didn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to talk about her.”

You don’t say , I think.

“So I bought a tree anyway, and didn’t consult him on it, and then he was mad about that.”

“That’s stupid,” I say, and Joss snorts a laugh.

“I was taking your advice.” Her smile softens into a line, her lips tucking in between her teeth. Like she’s nervous to tell me this, like she doesn’t want me to be angry. “Putting my oxygen mask on. Doing what I needed to, to heal.”

I think of what she said, back in my living room this fall. Everyone has feelings, and you sort of have to navigate them. Of Henry, his lips at my throat on his own living room floor. That tattoo tracing a line over his chest.

“He won’t talk to me about her.”

Joss nods. When she looks down at her boots, I nearly apologize—I shouldn’t be talking about this with her. But then she says, “I’m glad that he told you about Molly at all. He has a tough time about her.”

A cluster of pine needles floats through the air, landing on Joss’s sleeve. “I’m sure you do, too,” I say, and she looks up at me.

She shrugs, one-shouldered. “Of course.” For a moment, we regard each other in silence.

I don’t know what to do now, what could make this better.

I have the sharp, sinking feeling that the answer is nothing.

Joss reaches forward and touches my arm—when I look down, I realize I still have Henry’s jacket on, and feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

“Look, Lou,” she says. “I’m not going to tell you not to be mad at him.

I know you’ve been through a lot, and he has, too.

But for what it’s worth—” She draws a deep breath, her hand falling from my arm.

“Henry and I went through the worst possible thing together. We weren’t right for each other, in the end, but I’m always going to be glad it was him, in that with me.

” A cloud moves overhead, sending sunlight straight into her eyes.

“He’s who you want, when everything goes to shit.

He makes mistakes.” She shrugs. “But he’s who you want. ”

I’m walking Joss to her truck a few minutes later when Mei’s car pulls into the driveway. When she sees me she throws her hands up in the air, like I’ve completely exasperated her.

“Did you drop your phone into a sinkhole?” she says, stepping out onto the gravel. “I’ve been trying you for the last hour.”

“So you just—” I dig into my pocket for my phone, clocking six missed calls and as many text messages from Mei. And, even more ominously, a handful from Goldie. “Drove here?”

“Yes!” Mei cries, slamming her car door. “I thought you were in crisis.”

I glance at Joss, who’s piling lawn bags into her flatbed. Mei follows my gaze and seems to realize, for the first time, that we aren’t alone out here.

“Hey, Mei,” Joss says, casually. She’s maybe the most self-possessed person I’ve ever met.

“Uh,” Mei says, glancing at me. “Hi?”

“It’s fine,” I say, tucking my phone back into my pocket and moving toward her for a hug. “We’re mad at Henry, not Joss.”

Mei squeezes me. “Okay, noted.”

“Take care of yourself,” Joss says, looking at me as she pulls open her truck door. “Okay?”

I nod, and lift my hand in a wave. Mei and I watch Joss roll down the street. Then Mei looks at me. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “What the fuck .”

“Did you talk to Henry? What did Joss say? Are you okay?”

“Come inside.” I hook my arm through hers. “I’m freezing.”

“What is this coat?” Mei asks, angling away from me to get a better look at it as we move up the front steps. “I don’t hate it, but it’s big on you.”

“It’s Henry’s,” I mumble. “We were talking outside, and I was cold.”

“Hm,” Mei says. “A liar and a gentleman.”

“Indeed.”

“Well?” Nan’s voice greets us the moment we open the front door. She’s standing next to Pauline in the entryway, both of them holding mugs of tea and looking at me expectantly. “What happened?”

“Nan!” Mei says, stepping toward her for a hug. “You’re still here!”

“Leave Lou?” Nan says, smiling at me over Mei’s shoulder. “I don’t think so. Now come in the living room and tell us what happened with that Henry.”

It feels like a soft landing place, here with Mei and Nan and Pauline. The way they usher me to the couch and drop a blanket over me and busy themselves gathering tea and pillows. But I’m talked out—and when my phone rings again, I find myself grateful for the distraction.

It’s Goldie, of course. I pick up against my better judgment.

“Hi,” I say, and Goldie starts talking a mile a minute, her words rushing into each other.

“Lou, it’s Mom. I don’t know exactly what happened but her rent didn’t get paid and she’s out of her place; Mark called me and said she’s ‘flown off the handle’—his words—he doesn’t want her staying with him; this has all unraveled in the last twenty-four hours and I think we need to go out there and sort it. To Ohio. Right away.”

I’ve sat up straighter on the couch with every one of her sentences. Nan, Pauline, and Mei have all stopped what they’re doing to look at me.

“But I sent her the money,” I say dumbly. Like that hasn’t backfired before; like I’m incapable of learning my own stupid lesson. “Enough to cover—”

“Mark said something about being late on her insurance, didn’t you say that was drawing this fall? So maybe it went to that, or maybe she blew it all on something else, Lou, I mean—does it matter? This is the situation. This is—”

“It does matter.” It’s Henry’s money. It’s Comeback Inn money. I should never, ever, ever have let him get involved in this.

“It doesn’t,” Goldie says. “She’s doing what she always does, Lou—when she has enough money, she spends it on something stupid. We know this. We know this.”

She’s mad at herself—I can hear it in her voice. But she’s mad at me, too.

“I called her and she just blew the whole thing off,” Goldie says. “It’s impossible to get her to talk it through. We need to be there—I mean, Mark’s going to kick her out. She’ll be on the street.”

I notice the we. That my sister isn’t asking me to handle this; she’s suggesting we do it together. But even still, the dread is like a blanket. Going home—to Ohio, to our mother—is the last thing I want to do. But I know, even before I respond, that I’ll go. Of course I will.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll look at flights.”

“Right,” Goldie says. “I’m going to try—I mean, I don’t think I can get Quinn ready today, it’s already four—maybe first thing in the morning? I’ll look at tickets and text you? We can stay at that place near the old high school—with the pool Quinn likes?”

“Yeah.” My voice is soft, trailing away. I close my eyes. “Sounds good.”

The line clicks off. I leave my eyes closed.

“Lou?” It’s Mei, hesitant. “What’s going on?”

I sniff, opening my eyes and stuffing myself away. All the pain of this morning; Henry’s anguished eyes on mine; his hand dropping from my arm. I put myself in fix-it mode. The thing I’m best at.

“My mom’s sick,” I say. “I need to go to Ohio.”

Behind Mei, Nan and Pauline look at each other. “Pauline,” I say, standing, “I’m so sorry. I promise it’s not always such a mess here—today’s just been…I mean.” I wave a hand in the air and look at Mei. “I’m going to have to close.”

“Close?” Nan says, talking a step toward me. “The inn?”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry. I just—I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” I’m processing in real time, saying the words in the exact moment I think them. “There won’t be anyone to tend to the house, who knows where everything is. I’m leaving in the morning, I think—”

“I’m coming with you,” Mei says. When I open my mouth to protest, she holds up a hand. “When Andy left, you helped me. It’s my turn. I’ll be your chauffeur, or babysit Quinn so you and Goldie can handle shit, or whatever you need. I’ll email work. It’ll be fine.”

I don’t know what to say. The thought of Mei there with me makes it all so much more bearable that I could burst into tears on the spot.

“And I’ll manage things here,” Nan says. I shoot her a wet-eyed smile, shaking my head.

“Nan, no, I can’t ask you to—”

“I know who you can ask,” Mei says. We regard each other in silence. Like an underscore, her eyebrows lift.

Henry answers on the first ring.

“Thank god,” he says, but I can’t sink into him. I think of Joss, in the garden: He’s who you want, when everything goes to shit. Of Henry, in his living room: You know I’m not doing this for her.

“Henry,” I say. And then I ask for the one thing I’ve always been so awful at accepting. “I need help.”