The Last September: A Novel

“So, have you talked to Charlie?” Maxine asked. She and I had met a few years before at the antique shop where she worked in the summer, making her the only person I knew in Saturday Cove whose original connection wasn’t to my husband’s family. Or Ladd’s.

“He hasn’t called yet. I’ll call him in a bit if I don’t hear from him.”

Maxine nodded. “It must be so hard,” she said. “The whole thing with Eli.”

“It’s the worst,” I said, taking an especially deep sip of wine. A book Charlie and I had read, Surviving Schizophrenia, called it “the death of a living relative.” The phrase had seemed exactly apt until the day Eli read the same book and held out the page where I’d underlined that sentence, his face wounded and broken. Brett, he’d said. I’m right here. I’m very much alive.

“Do you think Eli’s dangerous?” Maxine asked.

“No,” I said, then paused. Because it sounded dishonest. If I didn’t think Eli was dangerous, what was I doing here?

“It’s all . . .” I put down my glass, gathering the right words in my head. And there were no right words, really, for the heartbreaking and complicated mess of it. I settled on saying, “It’s just not something for a child to be around.”

Maxine nodded and put her hand over mine. Despite the conversation topic, it felt so nice, just sitting in someone else’s clean house, someone else’s uncomplicated life, talking to a friend, drinking a glass of wine. Funny how Sarah always seemed so paramount, and then the rare moments without her could feel like the most natural thing in the world. As if on cue, a disgruntled moan peeped through the monitor. Maxine and I stared at it, holding our breath, to see if it would evolve into a full-on wail.

Which it did. I took the steps two at a time to reach Sarah before she could roll over the cushions and onto the hardwood floor.

I MEANT TO GO back to Maxine and my wine. But it took so long to calm Sarah from waking up alone in a strange place. And she felt so plush and loving—warm insistence on wrapping her little body into mine. At some point I lulled down along with her. When I opened my eyes, the bedside clock read eleven, and it took a moment for memory to catch up with my anxiety.

Maxine must have already gone to bed. I got up and tiptoed to the landing, but downstairs was dark. I pictured her, hours earlier, rinsing out my wine glass before turning out the lights. I went back to the guest room and checked my phone. No messages. I pressed 1 on my speed dial.

“Hey,” I said, when Charlie’s voice mail picked up. “It’s me. Call right back, okay?” I hung up and waited a few seconds, then dialed again. “Charlie,” I said. “You said you would call. So please call as soon as you get this. Okay?”

My phone lay silent in my hand. Beside me on the bed, Sarah slept on her back, her arms spread wide as if she’d been making snow angels. I thought about calling back and leaving another, nicer message. Maybe he and Eli had gone out together. The idea of Eli well enough to socialize cheered me and at the same time riddled me with self-doubt for abandoning both of them. I crawled back under the covers.

SARAH WOKE THREE TIMES that night, and each time after I calmed her back to sleep, I tried to call Charlie. He must be sleeping, I told myself after the second call. But the phone didn’t go straight to voice mail. It rang. Charlie usually turned off his phone before he went to sleep.

Three a.m. Even if they had gone out, all the bars and restaurants were closed now. What could be keeping him from answering, from calling? I tried dialing the home phone. The old answering machine didn’t pick up, and I just lay there, listening to the endless ringing and watching the first strands of sun reach through the linen curtains.

“I HOPE EVERYTHING’S ALL right,” I said to Maxine while she ate breakfast. I couldn’t stomach any food. Sarah perched on my knee, chewing on a toasted bagel.

“Maybe he’s sleeping in,” Maxine said. “Or maybe Eli’s really bad and he doesn’t want to tell you.”