“Say hi to Michelle for me,” she called as they walked out the door.
KATHLEEN WAS DOING laundry when the doorbell rang. She ran upstairs and, slightly out of breath, opened the door on Jimmy Parley. He was out of uniform, in a sports shirt and pressed jeans. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he apologized for interrupting. His face seemed flushed.
“What’s wrong, Jimmy? Is Buddy okay?”
“Yes. He’s fine. It’s nothing to do with your family. It’s your friend, Mrs. Tabachnik.”
“Oh my God. Has Joyce been in an accident?”
“No,” Jimmy said. “Look, there’s no good way to say this. Can I come in for a sec?”
Kathleen opened the screen door and Jimmy stepped into the foyer. He stood close to her and talked in a hushed rush, as though someone might walk in on them.
“There’s going to be a drug bust in Rockport within the hour. There’s a man we’ve been keeping under surveillance, and . . .” Jimmy took a breath. “Mrs. Tabachnik has been, uh, seeing him. I know she doesn’t have anything to do with his, uh, activities. But she could get caught in the middle of something.
“I shouldn’t even be here. I just found out, and, well, I’m just saying that you might want to go stop her. It might be too late to find her at home. You’ll have to go Rockport before she’s inside that apartment.
“If she goes, when she goes, she gets there at noon. So if you just happen to be around there a few minutes before then, you’ll catch her.”
He handed her a folded scrap of paper. Kathleen opened it and read an address.
“It’s behind that sub shop on Broad. The door’s in the back, off the parking lot. If she isn’t there by twelve-fifteen, you just leave, okay?”
Kathleen nodded.
“Like I said, I just found out it was today, and I had to decide. So I hope I did right by coming to you, Mrs. Levine.”
“You did right, Jimmy.” Kathleen thanked him, closed the door, and started looking for her car keys. It had been a while since she’d used them or even seen them. They weren’t in her purse. Or on the table in the foyer. Or in the junk drawer in the kitchen.
Oh, Lord.
She went to the closet and rummaged through the pockets of her raincoat, her jacket.
Oh, no.
She ran up to the bedroom and looked in her other purse, in her sweatshirt pockets.
“Please, please, please,” she muttered.
Feeling through the drawer in Buddy’s nightstand, she thought she heard something jingle. She dumped the contents onto the bed. Lots of change but no keys.
Then, remembering the spares, she ran to the back of the garage.
What would she have done if Hal had taken the car today? she thought, pulling out of the driveway. What would she have done if Jack had been home and wanted to know where she was going without brushing her hair or putting on shoes?
She raced out of her driveway and down the street, leaning forward, honking to get the car ahead of her to hurry up and pull out onto the highway.
Take it easy, she told herself. This is no time to get a ticket. She didn’t even have her license. No money, no watch even. The clock on the dashboard hadn’t worked for years.
She had time, didn’t she? Jimmy had come to the door — when was it, eleven-fifteen? Or was it later than that? How long had she wasted looking for the keys?
Her hands were sticky on the wheel, and she could feel her heart pounding, but not the way it did when she was on the bridge. She just had to get there before Joyce . . . What was Joyce doing at noon with a drug dealer?
“As if I didn’t know,” she muttered, grateful to find a parking spot only a few doors up from the sub shop. She retrieved a pair of Buddy’s thongs from the trunk and peered through the realty storefront window, looking for a clock. It was 11:48. She walked around to the back, clutching at the key in her pocket.
The parking lot was empty except for a rusty panel truck up on blocks. An open Dumpster buzzed with wasps. The midday sun raised welts of heat from the cracked macadam.
Kathleen caught sight of herself in the truck window. She was wearing her gardening pants, traces of dried mud on the knees. She hadn’t showered that morning or even pulled her hair back off her face. The thongs were far too big for her feet. She looked like a bag lady.
Hurry up, Joyce, she thought. We’ve got to get out of here. Hurry up.
A few long minutes later, Joyce appeared around the side of the building, her eyes focused on the two coffee cups she was carrying. She was smiling. Then she saw Kathleen.
“Come on,” Kathleen said softly, taking the cups from her. “We have to go.”
Joyce’s face was a mess of confusion and fear and mortification. “What?”
“Not now.” Kathleen guided her by the elbow out of the parking lot and back toward her car. She opened the passenger door for Joyce, who slid in meekly.
“I’m going to take you home,” Kathleen said as she pulled into the street.
“No,” Joyce groaned, looking down at her lap.
“What about coming to my house?”
“No.”
“All right. We’ll go to the beach.”
Joyce stared out the window. Kathleen stole glances at her and tried to think of ways to spare her feelings.
They didn’t speak the rest of the way. At Good Harbor, Joyce followed Kathleen to a spot near the tidal stream, as far from other people as they could get. A few children clambered nearby with nets and buckets. The sky was overcast but bright.
Joyce sat with her head bowed while Kathleen told her about Jimmy’s visit.
“Drugs,” said Joyce. “Boy, that explains a lot of things. What an idiot I am. What a total jerk.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not? I’ve been having a weird, kinky affair with a drug dealer, an addict, too, come to think of it. I’ve been sneaking around in the broad daylight, risking my life, my family. Nina! For God’s sake, I can’t even look at you. You must think I’m the scum of the earth. And I probably am.”
“No, Joyce. I’m not judging you. Believe me.”
“Why not? You have no idea how sleazy this whole thing was. I want to say it’s like I was a different person in that room, but that would be a lie. It was me, all right. Joyce Miller Tabachnik, moron. Bored suburban housewife. Empty-nest cliché. Oh, God, this is so awful.”
Kathleen put her hand on Joyce’s.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.
“Oh, stop it.” The anger in Kathleen’s voice startled Joyce. “What? Do you think you’re the only woman who ever made a mistake?”
“I suppose the divorce courts are full of women like me.”
“Are you and Frank getting a divorce?”
“Maybe we should.”
“I didn’t,” said Kathleen evenly.
“You didn’t what?”
“I didn’t get a divorce after my, after I . . .” Kathleen took a breath and continued, “I had an affair.”
“You?” Joyce looked Kathleen in the face for the first time.
“His name was Stan, and he was artist-in-residence in the Cape Ann schools. It was two years after Danny was born.” Kathleen paused between phrases, listening to herself say things she’d never said out loud. “He was from Hingham. He had a wife and kids. Three kids. He rented a room in Salem while he worked on the North Shore. I spent seven afternoons with him. I counted. Seven afternoons. Five in February, two in March.
“He was wonderful in the classroom. He had those children making the most beautiful, heartbreaking little paintings you can imagine. His own art wasn’t as good, I’m afraid. But, Lord, he could talk like an angel.”
“And you never told Buddy?”
“I never told anyone.”
“You don’t mean to say that I’m the first person, ever?”
“I never had a good reason to tell anyone until now. I don’t see why you should ruin your marriage and hurt your daughter just because you ne
ed to confess. You told me. You don’t have to tell anyone else.”
“I’m not sure that will work for me.”
“Well, you don’t have to do anything today, do you?” Kathleen said firmly. “Or tomorrow, for that matter. Wait awhile. Let things settle down.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“With Stan? I’m not sure.” Kathleen looked down at her hands in the sand. “He was exciting to be with. He made me feel smart. And at that moment in my life, I was sort of lost. Buddy was having a tough time in the store, but he wasn’t talking to me about it. I was exhausted, taking care of Hal and Danny, who still wasn’t sleeping through the night.
“And then my mother-in-law decided that I should get out of the house a few afternoons a week, so she watched the boys. I’m sure Mae thought of it as a gift, but I was completely at loose ends. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I volunteered at the school library just to have somewhere to go, and that’s where I met Stan.
“He turned my head. What an old-fashioned thing to say, but that was it. I was flattered. I was . . . infatuated.
“He was totally different from Buddy,” Kathleen said, glancing up to meet Joyce’s unswerving, sympathetic gaze. “Buddy was never much of a reader, and also” — Kathleen cleared her throat — “well, Buddy was the only man I’d ever been with before.
“But I think I always knew that I wouldn’t leave Buddy. From the very start, even. I didn’t trust Stan the way I trusted Buddy. Stan was cheating on his wife, wasn’t he?”
Joyce shook her head sadly.
“I ended it. I couldn’t stand the sneaking around.”
“And you never told Buddy?”
“I almost told him a thousand times. For weeks afterward, months, but it didn’t make sense to me. Why hurt him like that? I made an awful mistake, but then I put a stop to it. It was over.”
“You never told your sister?”
“Heavens, no” Kathleen shook her head. “Her good opinion meant too much to me. And besides, how could she possibly understand? She was a nun.”
“How does it feel now? To have told someone.”
“Not as bad as I thought it would. Besides, it worked, didn’t it? You’re not going to tell Frank right away, are you?”
“I don’t have to do anything today. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Or tomorrow.”
“But I can tell you, right?” Joyce said. “I met him at Halibut Point, at dawn.”
“Oh, dear. Just like I told you.”
“Now that I think about it, he was probably there signaling to a drug boat or something.
“We never actually, uh, did it, you know, consummated. He wouldn’t or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe because of the drugs. I mean, he never took off his pants. It drove me crazy, but now I’m grateful. I guess I was lucky.”
Joyce pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as she could. “I was going to end it today. I know that sounds like a lie. I should have done it over the phone, but when he called, I just wanted to say good-bye in person. Or maybe I was kidding myself. I would have probably jumped in bed with him again. I don’t know.
“I’ve been such a rotten wife. Frank came up, finally. It’s been weeks and weeks since he was here, you know? He came to tell me that he’s totally miserable at work. He’s hated his job for years, and I hardly noticed. Why didn’t he tell me? And then he apologizes for losing his job.” Joyce groaned. “Meanwhile, I’m cheating on him. Poor Frank.”
Kathleen sighed. “I think he left you in the lurch this summer. And now it also sounds like he needs your support, a lot.”
“I know,” Joyce said. They sat quietly. “But, Kathleen?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I need a bathroom. And there are way too many people around here for us to have another peeing contest.”
Kathleen stood up and reached her hand out to Joyce. “Let’s go to your house.”
THE PHONE WAS ringing as they walked through the door. Joyce pointed to the answering machine and put her finger to her lips. What if it was Patrick? What if the police hadn’t raided the place? What if they had arrested him, and he wanted her to bail him out?
“Joyce?” Frank sounded frantic. “Where the hell are you?”
She picked up the phone and Kathleen turned away to give her some privacy, but turned back when she heard Joyce say, “Oh, God. Is she okay? . . .
“No. I just walked in the door. I didn’t . . . When? When did it happen? . . .
“Yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can. . . . Yes,” said Joyce. “Hanover. The medical center. Is she really going to be okay? . . . Yes Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll find you. I’m leaving now.”
“What happened?” Kathleen asked, trying to sound calm.
“Nina fell out of a tree.”
“What?”
“She was climbing a tree near her cabin this morning. She broke her collarbone. Frank’s been calling for hours. She lost consciousness for a minute, which means there was a concussion, so they took her to Dartmouth-Hitchcock for observation. Frank says there’s a map in the car.
“Oh, shit,” Joyce shouted. “My car is in Rockport.”
“Don’t be silly, I’m driving. Go use the bathroom, loan me a pair of sandals, and we’ll leave.”
As Kathleen eased the car into the first traffic rotary, she said, “Now tell me exactly what Frank said.”
Joyce ran through the few details she knew. “The break was on her left side, and she regained consciousness quickly, which is good. But I have no idea what she was doing up in a tree. Was she there on a dare? Was it an accident? Was she trying to, I don’t know, hurt herself?”
“That’s way too big an assumption,” Kathleen interrupted. “Kids do lots of stupid things for no reason at all.”
“I guess. But Nina doesn’t. Or she hasn’t.”
“Well, doing stupid things is part of adolescence, I’m afraid.”
They were past the second rotary and starting over the bridge. Kathleen gripped the wheel, anticipating panic. But there was nothing.
Exactly what had scared her so much about doing this? It was a twenty-degree rise up to the crest of the bridge, if that. And the whole span took two minutes, at most. Where was her terror?
“Kathleen?” Joyce’s voice was trembling. “Would you keep talking? It’s probably irrational, but I’m so afraid of what I’m going to find at the hospital, I’ll go nuts if I don’t have something else to think about. Or maybe it’s that I’m afraid to face Frank after what just happened. Could you keep talking to me? Would you mind?”
Starting with the first thing that came into her head, Kathleen described in elaborate detail a meal Jack had cooked the other night, including a mouthwatering pasta dish made with cabbage, of all things. The smell had gotten her remembering her grandmother’s house, which seemed saturated with the smell of cabbage, which made her think about how much Pat hated cabbage. When Pat announced that she was going to take vows, she said, “I asked them if I could have an exemption written into the vow of obedience if they ever put cabbage on my plate.”
“I felt like I was losing her when she went into the convent,” Kathleen said. “It felt like a repudiation of us, of our relationship. Like she was choosing those Sisters over me. I’m glad I never told her that, because it wasn’t so. We stayed close, even though we lived in different cities.
“We worked at it, you know, with letters, and phone calls. She came here every summer for her two-week vacation. Pat was devoted to Buddy and the boys. But I’m afraid I always compared other friendships to hers, which was unfair. But that’s how it is. Your family makes you who you are. And then she died.”
“How long ago was that?” Joyce asked.
“Fourteen years. I felt so helpless during her illness, especially at the end. All the nursing Sisters bustled around, bringing her medications, changing the bed, bathing her. I just sat there and held her hand, weeping. She sent me away the night she
died. She told me to go rest. And then she slipped away, so I wouldn’t have to watch. She was taking care of me, even at the end.”
Kathleen took a deep breath. “At her funeral I felt so strange, so out of place. The Sisters and the priest kept talking about how she was in a better place. They were all smiles — big, heartfelt smiles. But I was sobbing. I could barely stand up, much less smile back at them. I felt there was something terribly wrong with me, but Buddy told me that I was just being Jewish, and there’s just no pie in the sky like that for us.”
Kathleen shook her head. “After she died, I figured I’d get breast cancer, too. Every mammogram, I thought, this time it’ll be my turn. That first biopsy, I thought for sure, this is it. But it wasn’t. And this time, well, I got off easy.”
“Wait a minute.”
“I know,” Kathleen corrected herself. “It sucks. But it’s true that I’m not going to die from this — at least, it’s not likely. I’m going to be around for a while. I’m grateful. I am lucky. I know it.”
Joyce nodded and leaned back into the headrest. Her eyes were fixed on Kathleen as she talked on and on, telling stories about Pat. Her boldness as a girl. How she liked Buddy right off the bat. How she’d stood by Kathleen’s side, under the bridal canopy at their wedding, which had been a small affair at her in-laws’ house.
After they crossed the border into New Hampshire, Kathleen stopped for gas and coffee. Back on the road, she started talking about her sons. Hal’s shyness, his childhood terror of bugs, his science honors in high school. Jack’s outgoing nature, his fearlessness in the water, his trophies for swimming, for wrestling, and track. The way the boys used to fight over their toys, and the way they looked, side by side, walking out to the car the other night, on their way to temple.
And then, Kathleen found herself telling stories about Danny. He loved trucks. He was pigeon-toed. He fought sleep, even when he was exhausted. When he got his first tooth, he bit Hal’s finger so hard he broke the skin.
There were hundreds of people at Danny’s funeral. People Kathleen had never seen before: customers from the store, acquaintances of Mae and Irv’s. Louisa Bendix had stayed home to look after Hal. “The coffin was tiny. Obscene. It was small enough that just one man from the funeral home could carry it.”
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