CHAPTER 9Laurel
It went on for months. The hour and a half she spent sorting food before the break was an eternity. Twice the volunteer at the end of the table who tied off the packs reprimanded her for forgetting the can of sauce or the powdered milk. Laurel rarely caught Kent looking at her now—“I’ve got to keep up appearances, darling,” he had told her—but she knew that when it was time for the break, he would be waiting for her downstairs, fumbling with her skirt as soon as she stepped inside. She stopped wearing underwear on Saturdays.
Somehow, she got through the days between. She nursed the baby and changed her diapers. She read Jessie books without focusing on the words, so that when her daughter asked her questions—“Why Mommy?” or “Who’s that?”—she had to struggle to understand.
