“Yeah. She never said who. Obviously, this could all be just dumb talk. Lee loves to exaggerate.” She shifted in her chair and regarded me with a steady gaze. “So I thought I’d mention all of this, since you went off on her . . . .”
As Maureen continued, exploring her wishes to protect me, I felt myself beginning to panic. Lee was after my daughter and me. And she was dangerous.
It was becoming hard to listen to my patient. My mind had started to spin. Maureen said that Lee bullied a girl who’d become suicidal and that she was the type to get even.
Rachel had already developed stomachaches and played hooky. What else was Lee planning, and how much lower would she go?
When Maureen’s session ended, I left Julie a voice mail, filling her in about the warning and last weekend’s game, asking when she could give me some peer supervision. Since Julie was also a licensed psychologist, consulting on cases was allowed as long as everything was above board—no names or identifying information.
I waited for a call back, breathing in to steady myself, trying to slow my mind. I’d left time between appointments to do paperwork, but that could wait. There were now more pressing concerns. Lee was only human (or so I assumed). Finding out about her might put me on a more equal footing and calm me down.
I opened my laptop and googled. The results were nothing out of the ordinary. Listed were charitable foundations, boards, and public works she and her husband had endowed, along with photos of the two of them, arm-in-arm at benefits and galas. I scrolled through the causes she supported: dolphins, political candidates, and orphans. I was about to close the laptop when I noticed something interesting on page seven: a photo of Lee and a bunch of women, all in navy sweatshirts emblazoned with a yellow M for University of Michigan, which was Colin’s alma mater. That was an odd coincidence.
Julie finally called.
“What’s up?”
“It’s too much, living here in small-town hell, being stuck in Westchester with Opie and Aunt Bee. When I inherited the house everything happened quickly. I didn’t look through my caseload or speak with each person about potential conflicts. Although I did make sure the principal didn’t put Rachel in a class with the children of patients. Since a woman I’ve been seeing for years has also recently moved out here, it’s only been a matter of weeks that any overlap has occurred.”
Julie was sympathetic, and offered to help me refer Maureen and Amy out, though we agreed that Amy was fragile and an immediate switch was fraught.
I was ready to hang up and go home, but she wasn’t letting me off so easily. “We need to talk about Lee. What the hell, Vic? I get that she’s an uber-bitch who has gone after Rachel, but you can’t antagonize the PTA president in public. It’ll tarnish your professional reputation. I think you should apologize.”
“What you don’t know is that a patient warned me not to start with Lee and told me Lee was accused of bullying a girl in another town. That kid was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts.”
Julie sucked in her breath. “That’s awful. But as far as Lee being a threat, you have no concrete proof. Even if she allows her daughter to exclude yours, this kind of thing happens—no matter how much it sucks. I think you should write her a quick note of apology. Please don’t make comments or antagonize her again, especially in public. You’ll only make things worse.” We hung up, agreeing to touch base the following week.
I sent a short email to Lee, apologizing for my comment at the basketball game. She responded immediately: “So glad to clear the air. Hoping Rachel is all right.” Give me a break. Our détente went no deeper than the characters on the screen, and I’d never trust a thing she said.
That night I slept fitfully, knowing Lee tended to get even and wondering what her next move would be.
It had been a trying week, and I couldn’t shake my fear that Lee would come after Rachel and me. The thought persisted into Friday evening. I tried to act normal, baking brownies and smiling when Rachel insisted on licking the mixing spoon, even though she’d refused to eat the chicken Alva had prepared.
After my daughter had gone into the living room to watch TV, I grabbed my slinkiest dress and strappiest shoes, and took the quickest shower in history. Alva was staying late, and Jim was taking me to a romantic place near his apartment, a restaurant housed in a building that had once been an old carriage house.
They seated us in a quiet corner and a server came by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“Escargot?” He extended a silver tray toward me. I smiled and shook my head, and he backed away.
“I don’t really like snails,” I whispered.
Jim was a head taller, even when we were sitting. He looked down at me and took my hand. I felt a familiar excitement in my chest as the server came back to ask if we had any questions about the menu. “Not yet, but please bring us a bottle of this,” Jim said pointing. I thought about how comfortable he was, ordering wine and asking for more time.
As we sipped rosé, Jim smiled at me and moved closer. I leaned in and started kissing his neck and earlobes, and he put down his glass and whispered, “If you keep that up I’ll never be able to stay long enough to order dinner.”
The wine was starting to make me giddy. “Promise?”
Just then another server arrived and began refilling our water glasses. After he moved away, Jim laughed: “That guy’s timing is the worst,” he said, grabbing my hand again. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, what do you think of Mayfair?”
“Believe it or not, some of the places are landmarked, and even older than this building. George Washington once stopped on our road so he could feed his horse and have some bread, or so the story goes.”
Jim bit into a roll and grimaced. “I think this piece came from the same loaf as George’s.” I giggled and had to bite my lip when our waiter came back to ask if we needed anything.
Jim told me about work, and I entertained him with a story about my commute the day before, how a train conductor had argued with a drunken passenger. He poured some more wine and we nibbled on the bread. All I could think about was that I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Jim played with my hand, holding my fingers as he curled and uncurled his grip. And before I realized what was happening, he’d left the servers some money, grabbed his jacket, and steered me down the street. We were at his building.
The elevator ride took forever, but as soon as the door to the apartment closed, we embraced and found ourselves in a tangle of arms, legs, and skin. I couldn’t see much in the dark—bookshelves, an area rug, and large leather sofa—not that I cared.
Jim scooped me up and brought me to his bedroom. With anyone else I would have said that carrying me over the threshold bordered on cliché, but in this case I hardly noticed.
He kissed me slowly at first, then more insistently, before depositing me gently on the bed. As he cupped my chin in his hands and raised my lips toward his, I felt a slow heat spread across my chest and down into the rest of my body.
We kissed over and over, until Jim reached for my thong, rolling the fabric between his fingers. I moved his hand and snapped the lace gently, smiling as he groaned.
We moved together quickly and deliberately, and time stood still. We were lost in each other, and I knew then that nothing would ever be the same again.
After we’d made love, I touched the crinkles around his eyes, tracing each tiny line softly, following a gentle path to his temples.
“When we’re together, it’s like an electric current,” Jim said, kissing me again.
I knew what he meant. I was falling for him, and didn’t even try to stop myself.
We kissed again slowly. After a few minutes, he turned on the nighttable light and said, “So tell me about your new house.” He was leaning on an elbow and looking down at me.
“It’s fine. The extra rooms are great, and the yard is nice for Rachel.” Noticing that his apartment was small, I was uncomfortable talking about the home’s large proportions
, and felt myself freezing up.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Note to self: never play poker. “Not at all,” I kissed his cheek. “I’m censoring my X-rated thoughts.”
He pulled me in close. “X-rated is good. But I was interested. How do you really like Mayfair?”
It was too soon to go into the school situation. “It’s convenient and the schools’ academics are great, overall a very nice town. Do you know it?”
“Actually, I grew up there.”
As Jim adjusted his posture, I searched his face, wondering if he’d say more.
We lay quietly on the bed, Jim leaning on one elbow, looking down on me. I snuggled next to him. “So, how about you. Do you like living in Northfield?” He nodded slightly, and I barreled on. “What made you choose it?”
“You know,” he shrugged, “all the usual reasons.”
I resisted the impulse to ask additional questions, like did winding up in the apartment have something to do with his ex, and what was it like growing up in a small Westchester town? But he had a few for me. “You always tell me about Rachel, and often mention your aunt. What about your parents?”
I exhaled. “I lost them when I was a teenager.”
Jim stroked my cheek. “That’s terrible. It must have been very hard.”
“It was awful, but my aunt saved me in every way. And you? How long since you broke up with your ex?”
He shifted slightly and began kissing my neck. I was excited, floating, but aware my questions still hung in the air. He slid down on the bed, kissing my thigh, and working his way across my hip and up over my waist, before looking up.
“Evasive maneuvers?” I asked, being sure to keep my tone light.
Jim laughed. “Okay. You got me. My ex, the apartment, those are fifth date stories. So I guess we’ll have to go out a couple more times.”
We hugged and kissed until my watch buzzed, breaking the mood. I didn’t want to leave—though I was eager to chew on his fifth date comment. After another buzz of the wrist, I groaned. “It’s after nine thirty. I have to leave now. Babysitter’s rules.”
He kissed me again while I was grabbing my clothing from the floor by the bed. I felt a familiar tingle, and could barely shake off my excitement, the intrigue of the entire night. I pulled on my clothes. He wrapped himself in a towel, and hid behind the door as I opened it. I allowed myself to be drawn back one last time when he pulled me close. My watch sounded again. I’d never have made it out of the apartment if the thing hadn’t gone off.
When I was about to start the car, Rachel texted: “When will you be home?”
“Soon! What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She went silent, probably resuming whatever activity she’d been involved in. I tried a little back and forth when the cars in front of me stopped at a clogged intersection: “How was school?” But she signed off. “Fine. Biiiii.”
I used the rest of the ride home to consider my romantic situation: hot, smart, funny guy who seemed really into me, and I definitely liked him. Great sex, too. Our relationship was picking up steam, and that was terrifying. Caring and getting attached meant being vulnerable, which I definitely was.
I was really into Jim, but he seemed guarded about his past.
There was definitely something he wasn’t telling me.
Twelve
Pilgrim’s Progress
The three-hundred-year-old canoe was long and intricately carved. The fifth graders stood on tiptoe, staring at the markings, a few reaching to touch the ancient wood. They’d been energized all morning, bouncing from one exhibit to another, laughing and jostling as they made their way through several of the great halls to the displays depicting life during the earliest settlements.
But it was the whale that had mesmerized them. We were making our way through the main floor, passing rows of cases that contained preserved animals: cheetahs, lions, other big cats. The kids were looking up at the crustaceans dangling from above, when they spotted it, and all conversation stopped. We were descending the steps into the dark hall of ocean life. I shivered. The room was dark and deep like the middle of the Atlantic. We marched ahead, staring into the blowhole of an enormous blue whale that had been suspended from above. I was enjoying myself. I hadn’t been to this museum in years.
It was a surprise when Ms. Franklin called to say she’d be delighted to have me chaperone. On the morning of the trip, she immediately pressed me into service on the traffic circle, recruiting me to help students find buddies, form a line and assign numbers to each pair, then count as everyone boarded the bus. When I wasn’t telling kids to turn off their cell phones, I was stealing glances at Lee and Jess, who were also along for the ride.
Collette’s voice floated through an open window, “You have to move.”
“No saving seats,” Ms. Franklin announced from the front row.
It was too late. Rachel and Maya were already standing up. I watched from the curb as they shuffled up the aisle and situated themselves closer to the front. We moms boarded last. I sat near the teacher, while Jess and Lee climbed in back with the cool kids.
As the kids were leaving the area with the canoe, they asked the guide about the carvings and wanted to know how the vessel was able to float. The guide chatted about this as we walked to the dioramas that depicted life in native America. While the class was studying the TV-size displays, one of the boys raised his hand. “I heard they didn’t really eat turkey.”
“Correct, Dylan. They were mostly vegetarians.” Ms. Franklin smiled her approval.
As the class chatted about the earliest settlers, Rachel and Maya stared at a scene: a group of men in pelts rushing at a group of Europeans wearing dark-colored pants, white shirts, and buckled shoes. A young warrior led the charge, bow raised and arrow pointed.
“What did the Indians do when they captured someone?” the same boy was now asking.
The museum guide made a stop motion with one hand. “Native Americans would be a better term.” He had the adults step to the side so all the kids could gather in the front of the largest display, asking them to imagine life back then. “The Native Americans had been on the land for centuries, taking care of it, not overusing resources. How do you think they felt when these new people came along?” the guide asked, pointing to the scene of a group of men hunting bison.
I felt Lee’s eyes on me. She’d been standing to my left, regarding me with amusement.
Collette raised her hand and the guide called on her. “They probably didn’t like having new people bother them. It was their turf.”
Lee was smirking now.
“And what did the natives do when the European newcomers arrived?” the guide was asking as Ms. Franklin sped off towarda group of boys who’d taken out their phones and began drifting across the room.
Lee whispered for my benefit only: “Why they scalped them, of course.”
I raised my hand. “Actually, I read that the earliest settlers and Native Americans coexisted peacefully and learned from one another. It was their descendants who were thought to be the troublemakers,” I said as the kids tittered at my use of the word. “Guess they raised their children to be unwelcoming.”
The guide nodded. “What you say is true. The pilgrims were welcomed with open arms.” Now it was my turn to smirk. A tiny victory was better than none at all.
As we rode back to school, Alva texted that she had the flu and would be out for the next few days. Sitting on the bus, I couldn’t shake the thought that even though I’d put Lee in her place, something was about to go wrong.
My fears nagged me into the weekend, receding only when Jim took me to the batting cages he liked to visit. “This is a test,” he teased, as we passed through the glass entrance into the reception area.
“Should I be nervous?” I asked.
Actually, I wasn’t. I had played softball in high school, and didn’t mind the airport hangar-size facility or its high-testosterone patrons.
“I’d b
e if I were you. I only date women who hit .300 or better.”
I was about to make a joke about my knuckleball, when the owner approached us. “So this is where you bring a girl? And they say romance is dead.” He punched Jim in the arm.
I laughed as Jim blanched. “Victoria, this is Rocco. Rocco, Victoria.”
We shook hands, and Rocco walked off to deal with a broken vending machine.
“I like it here,” I told Jim, as we headed toward the cages.
“Me too. I’m helping out while we hire someone to coach, keeping the kids’ skills up all winter so they will be ready when official practices start this spring. I’ve been bringing the school team here to practice on Saturdays.”
Aww. He spends time with the kids on the weekends too.
He set the machine to pitch at 35mph. I managed to hit a couple, and did a little palms-up celebratory dance.
“We could use you on the team,” he laughed.
“I played girls’ softball growing up, but not competitively.” I swung my hips as I waited for the next pitch.
“Now that’s distracting,” Jim was grinning at me. “I probably shouldn’t reveal all my secrets, but whenever I get all hot and bothered at the wrong times, the best way to clear my head is to think about baseball.” He leaned on his bat. “It’ll be hard to forget the image of you wiggling around in your jeans like that, so this little outing may have killed the baseball strategy for me.”
My pulse sped up, and I jumped out of the cage as the next pitch flew out of the mechanical arm. Baseball could wait. Jim’s flirting was the only contact sport I needed. “Does this mean that you’ll always think of me as the one who ruined the MLB for you?” I asked, taking off the batting helmet and moving to stand near him. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
He grabbed my hand. “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. It’s always interesting.” I smiled at him. “Does Rachel like sports too?”
“Yes, she’s a good softball player.” I pointed a finger at him. “Hey,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “I know what’s going on here, so quit stalling. It’s your turn. Come on, let me see that swing.”
Barbarians at the PTA Page 11