As Night Falls by Jenny Milchman Read Free Book Online Page A

every single thing you chose to say these days, I would be all talked out. I’d have no words left.”
    A curtain came down and Ivy’s eyes went dull and gray. “Okay, Mom,” she said. “Okay. I’d better let you save your breath. I’m not hungry anyway.”
    Sandy shut her own eyes for a moment. There were things she should do right now—she could feel them brushing against her like underwater fronds—but Sandy couldn’t settle on a single one. She pushed herself up off the bed.
    Ivy stood also, shifting Mac’s body over with her foot, and walked to the door. She held it ajar, gesturing for Sandy to leave.
    Sandy obeyed the invitation extended by her daughter’s outstretched arm, wondering how an open door could feel so much more final than a closed one.
    —
    In the hall, Sandy paused by a stack of clean folded towels that hadn’t made it to the linen closet. She chose to put the towels away mostly to allow herself one last peek at Ivy. These upstairs closets were connected by a run of narrow passages—Ben’s clever idea for extra storage space—and since Ivy’s own closet door usually stood ajar, Sandy could see into her room.
    Ivy didn’t seem to be reconsidering her dinner boycott. She’d flopped back down on her bed, reinserted her earbuds, and looked permanently affixed, like some kind of art installation.
Teenage girl, sulking.
She hadn’t turned on any lights, and the only illumination came from the roving dot of Ivy’s cell phone as she tapped out a text. After a moment or two, perhaps sensing Sandy’s presence, Ivy got up and closed her closet door with a firm
click.
    Sandy went back down the broad-planked staircase, hand trailing along the single spear of railing, to join Ben in the kitchen. He had drained the pasta, begun to heat up the sauce.
    Sandy lowered the flame, and Ben came up behind her. She could smell ash from the now crackling fire, feel the smoke of his breath.
    “Dinner for two tonight?” he said.
    Sandy turned around. “Well, Ivy does have a lot of homework—”
    “Hey,” Ben said, and she stopped.
    “What?”
    “Don’t do that.”
    Sandy frowned at him. “Don’t do what?”
    “Make excuses for her. She’s fifteen. She’s in a snit. Big deal. She’ll probably be in some mood or other for the next three years.” Ben leaned forward, cupping Sandy’s hand on the wooden spoon so he could sample its contents. “That is some sauce.”
    Sandy spoke dryly. “Tomato. I’m creative, I know.”
    She checked around for Mac, but he had stayed upstairs with Ivy. They’d always been diligent about not feeding him from the table, so mealtimes didn’t provide any particular lure.
    Ben took the spoon and laid it in the pot.
    “Ivy will be fine,” he said. “And you and Ivy will be fine, too. The two of you have always been close.” Only for a moment did Ben look away, past the shiny stainless appliances, the copper pot ring overhead, beyond the walls even, and out into the darkening night. “You know, I used to be jealous.”
    “What?” Sandy asked, though she thought she knew what he meant.
    Can’t we try for one more?
Ben used to say, over and over, during the years when Ivy was little.
It doesn’t matter what we get. I don’t even care if it’s a son.
And with that relinquishment, Sandy’s last excuse evaporated. Before that she’d been able to hold Ben off, take birth control pills with the fervor of an addict, saying that she knew he wanted a boy, and what if they didn’t have one? A boy would’ve completed their unit. Two matched sets, one parent to tag-team each child in public restrooms, during weekend sports and Scouts. But then Ben decided that what he really wanted was a second to raise, for Ivy not to be an only. While Sandy wouldn’t have had another baby unless a gun had been pressed to her head, and possibly not even then. She knew how hard it could be for parents to love more than one child.
    Ben was still talking. “Not because Ivy loved you