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Teddy looks back and smiles, waiting for me to elaborate.
“The pictures you left on my porch.”
“Of the goblins?”
“No, Teddy, the pictures of Anya being buried. They’re really well done. Did someone help you?”
Now he looks confused—like I’ve abruptly changed the rules of the game without telling him.
“I don’t draw Anya anymore.”
“It’s okay. I’m not upset.”
“But I didn’t do it.”
“You left them on my porch. Under a rock.”
He throws up his hands in exasperation. “Can we just play regular Enchanted Forest? Please? I don’t like this other way.”
“Sure.”
I realize that maybe I’ve introduced the subject at the wrong time. But after we head back to the house for lunch, I don’t want to bring it up anymore. I make us some chicken nuggets and Teddy goes upstairs for Quiet Time. I wait a little while, and then I follow him upstairs and put my ear to his bedroom door. And I can hear the whisper of his pencil moving across the page, scritch scritch scritch.
* * *
Later that afternoon Russell calls and invites me to dinner. I’m still tired from the night before so I suggest pushing it off, but Russell says he’s leaving for a two-week vacation—it has to be tonight. “I found a restaurant near your house. A Cheesecake Factory.”
I almost laugh because Russell is such a stickler for healthful eating. His diet is almost entirely plants and proteins—no added sugars or carbs, just occasional spoonfuls of carob chips and organic honey.
“Cheesecake? You’re serious?”
“I already booked a table. Seven thirty.”
So after Caroline goes home, I shower and put on a dress and on my way out of the cottage I reach for the pile of Teddy’s latest drawings. And then I stop in the doorway, hesitating. After sharing the whole story with Adrian at the bookstore, I know I’d need an hour to get through everything. And so I decide to leave the drawings at home. I want Russell to feel proud of me. I want to project the image of a strong, capable woman thriving in recovery. I don’t want to burden him with all my worries. So I stash the drawings in my nightstand.
The restaurant is big, crowded, thrumming with energy—a typical Cheesecake Factory. The hostess leads me to a table where Russell is waiting. He’s dressed in a navy-blue tracksuit and his favorite HOKA sneakers, the ones he wore in the New York City Marathon. “There she is!” He gives me a hug, then looks me up and down. “What happened, Quinn? You look wiped out.”
“Thanks, Coach. You look good, too.”
We settle down in our seats, and I order a seltzer.
“I’m serious,” he says. “Are you sleeping okay?”
“I’m fine. The cottage is a little noisy at night. But I’m managing.”
“Have you told the Maxwells? Maybe they can do something.”
“They offered me a room in the main house. But I told you, I’m fine.”
“You can’t train if you’re not resting.”
“It was just one bad night. I swear.”
I try changing the subject to the menu, which has calorie counts and nutritional information under every entrée. “Did you see the Pasta Napolitano? It’s twenty-five hundred calories.”
Russell orders a tossed green salad with grilled chicken and vinaigrette dressing on the side. I get the Glamburger with a side of sweet potato fries. We talk a bit about his upcoming vacation—two weeks in Las Vegas with his lady friend, Doreen, a personal trainer at his YMCA. But I can tell he’s still troubled. After we’ve finished eating, he steers the conversation back to me.
“So how’s Spring Brook? How are the NA meetings?”