The Hazards of Sleeping Alone Read Online Free PDF Page A

concerned, Walter’s name was his most winning trait. But as she opened her mouth to explain, she was stopped by the expression on her daughter’s face. Emily looked so excited, so expectant, her eyes bright, shining, as if lit from behind. She’s in love, Charlotte thought. She’s in
love.
    â€œYes,” Charlotte answered, and forced a smile. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
    The next morning, driving to the Super Fresh, Charlotte is humming. The sun is shining. She is right on schedule. Emily is on her way. She reviews her mental Emily checklist: lettuce, tomatoes, bell peppers (red, green), grapes, Boca Burgers, soy milk. She assumes Emily won’t be here for lunch; New Hampshire is a good six hours away. Still, it’s possible she could arrive by midafternoon. It would mean leaving New Hampshire by dawn, probably—but who knows. Maybe they’re early risers. They’re nature types, after all. A happy vegetarian family living in the wilds of New Hampshire.
    Charlotte gives her head a shake, airing out the cynicism. She wants to be home by noon regardless, in case Emily calls from the road. She might be running late, or lost. The condo is only about fifteen minutes from the house on Dunleavy Street, but still, Emily’s never been there. Charlotte doesn’t have an answeringmachine (a point Emily argued with her about regularly) but maintains she doesn’t need one. “Anyone who really needs to reach me will call me back,” is her defense. She won’t admit the real reason: she doesn’t want to record an outgoing message because she hates the sound of her voice on tape.
    She is humming the
Today Show
theme—pitch perfect, she thinks—when, two blocks from the Super Fresh, traffic stops. Charlotte cranes to see around the massive back of an SUV and glimpses a long line of taillights. R OADWORK A HEAD, says the sign propped tiredly in the breakdown lane. The car behind her lets out a long honk. Charlotte’s fingers tighten on the wheel. She feels her temples start to pound, her careful itinerary unspool. She can hear the phone ringing inside her empty condo as she sits here, hour upon hour, in a clot of giant, overheating SUVs. She imagines herself standing on the hood of her Toyota, shouting: “My daughter is coming! I must be let through!” at which point the traffic will part and a squad car will arrive, siren wailing, to escort her to the Super Fresh like a pregnant woman in labor.
    The car behind her honks again. Charlotte glances into the rearview mirror. It’s a woman in a tailored blouse, talking agitatedly on her cell phone. A businesswoman, Charlotte thinks, and feels a pinch of guilt for what Emily calls her “life of leisure.” Charlotte has never worked full-time. When she was married, Joe worked, and she stayed home with Emily. Then when Emily was starting third grade, a year after Joe left, Charlotte’s mother died—two years after her father, neatly bracketing Joe’s departure—leaving behind not only life insurance but a surprisingly large savings account. She’d never known her parents had that kind of money; they’d always scrimped and saved like they were on the brink of ruin. At the time it had seemed like a sign: workwasn’t financially necessary, so she should stay at home and be with Emily. But deep down, as Charlotte grieved for her parents, sifted through their house, packed up her father’s books she’d never read but couldn’t bear to give away, guilt gnawed at her insides. Because she knew it was her parents’ deaths, and their lifetime of frugality, that freed her to do what she really wanted: stay home, take care of her child, and avoid the world.
    She stares hard at the bumper sticker in front of her: PROUD PARENT OF AN HONORS STUDENT AT MHS! Mentally, she recites all the things she still has to do before Emily’s arrival: make egg salad, make