Page 127 of Atmosphere

“They are eating turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce. But there the two of you go, making it seem worse than it is. She’s being a manipulative brat. And I’m surprised you’re falling for it. But you always do. You’re such a mark, Joan, honestly.”

Joan could not control the ferocity that came out of her. “What is the matter with you?” she yelled.

“What do you want from me?” Barbara shouted.

“I want you to take care of your daughter!”

“I am! She has a roof over her head and food to eat and a good education!”

“She’s alone!”

“Joan, what am I supposed to do? Daniel has never wanted kids, but he said he was happy to try to be a stepdad. And he tried. He really tried. She made it impossible!”

“Why would you marry a man who doesn’t want kids? You have a kid!”

“I am doing my best! Before I met Daniel, I spent most nights crying myself to sleep because I was so lonely and so tired. Do you know how hard it was just trying to take care of her and make enough money to keep us eating canned beans? You think this world is easy on a single mother with no college degree?”

“I could have lent you money.”

“I didn’t want your money! I wanted a life! I want a life with aman who loves me and pays the bills and provides a beautiful home and makes sure my kid gets an incredible education so that she never ends up like me! That’s what I want, Joan! I don’t want your charity.”

“And so that’s it? You’re shipping her off—and she’s never allowed to come home—because you picked a guy who doesn’t know how to deal with her?”

“Idon’t know how to deal with her! She’s insufferable!”

“She’s hurting!”

“Well, I don’t want to deal with her anymore!”

Joan pulled back. Barbara blinked a few times and then she sank down on the sofa and sobbed. Joan stared at her, shocked that she had the audacity to cry.

Joan marveled at how easy Barbara’s inner life must be. How entirely undemanding of yourself it was to believe that everything happenedto you.And everything wasabout you.And thatyourfeelings were the only ones that mattered. Worse yet, to afford yourself the role of the victim always—regardless of how grotesquely it required you to twist reality—so that you never had to look in the mirror and admit you were the perpetrator.

“She’s your daughter,” Joan said, finally.

“I know,” Barbara said as she continued to cry. She buried her face in her hands. Joan refused to comfort her.

“You are going to find a way to fix it,” Joan said.

“I can’t. Daniel doesn’t want her here after the way she’s acted.”

“Well, tell him that’s not realistic. Even if she stays at school the rest of the semester, what are you going to do? Not have her come home at Christmas?”

Barbara pulled a tissue from her pocket to dry her eyes. “Daniel wants to stay in Europe for a little while.”

“What?”

“Copenhagen for Christmas, Paris for New Year’s. He has a few meetings in London at the top of the year, so we’d stay until then.”

Joan dropped her head. She was so stupid. So incredibly stupid not to see what had really been going on. But it was hard to admit justhow low your own sister could go. Joan’s own moral code had felt so innate as to be genetic, intrinsic to the DNA they both shared. And perhaps that’s why, until now, she had been unable to see just how little they had in common. “What kind of meetings?” Joan said finally.

“What?”

“What kind of meetings does he have in London, Barbara?”

Barbara looked away. “They are transferring him there. In the spring.”

Joan shook her head and then closed her eyes. She stared at darkness and then opened her eyes and her mouth at the same time. “Please tell me you’re making this up.”

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