“Overwhelmed. There was too much work. For you. I know, baby. I know.”
“Will you?”
“Tell Daddy?” Her mother shook her head. “Not right now. But I can’t make forever. Promises. We have to talk. A lot.”
“I know.” Emma smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Come to the couch. And bring a brush.”
• • •
“So. Besides your upset. Stomach. Bad night?” her mother asked as she settled next to Gracie. “Emma had a bad something. Maybe Zach’s mother’s cooking.”
“Zach is an idiot.” Emma sat on the floor in front of her mother and unplaited her braid.
“What did he do?”
“Oh, I can’t even describe it. His parents are so . . .” She grimaced. “His father even grilled me about my grades!”
“Poor Emma,” Gracie said.
“And they asked me things about being Jewish!” Emma added. She shook out her long hair, spreading it over her shoulders.
“Like what?”
Emma put the brush in her mother’s hand and leaned back. “Like who was Jewish—you or Daddy. And like they gave me some big prize by saying that since you’re Jewish, I’m Jewish.”
Calmness enveloped her as her mother brushed her hair. For the first time since the accident, Emma felt almost happy.
“That’s why I’m. Glad. I married Daddy.”
“Because he’s not Jewish?” Gracie asked.
“No. Because it didn’t matter. Like that. Like Zach’s family. Like just being born. One way. Makes you special. Or better.”
“Is that why you never took us to temple?” Emma asked. “Or had us bar mitzvahed?”
“Bat mitvah. For a girl.” Emma turned and saw her mother’s sweet smile. “I got. Lots of presents. It felt like. I was being welcomed. Into a club. Where only some people. Could join. I never liked that.”
“You didn’t like being Jewish?” Gracie asked.
“That’s not it. I love it. Especially the food.” Her mother rubbed Emma’s temples in soothing circles. “But people fight. Religion. Makes people mean. Or lonely. Like they’re not. In the club. Or their club. Is wrong.”
Her mother took a breath after the long speech. She bent over and kissed the top of Emma’s head and then continued. “So Daddy and I never. Joined. Anything. Maybe. We were wrong. Did you miss it?”
Emma wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to hurt her mother. “It was fine.”
Gracie fingered the angel on her collar. “Should I take this off?”
“No!” her mother said. “In fact, I think. I want one. Prayers can be answered. But they should never. Be called. To hurt. As though. You have. The only answer.”
“What do you think the answer is, Mom?” Being able to ask her mother for guidance made Emma want to hug the world.
Her mother answered with slow surety. “Your deeds. An open heart.”
“Oh, I really love you, Mom.” Emma reached up and took her mother’s hands. “God, Zach wasn’t even embarrassed by his parents.”
Emma paused. “Mom? Do you think Daddy hates me?”
“Daddy loves you.”
“But he blames me, right?”
“For what?”
“For telling you. And making him move out.”
Her mother squeezed her hand. “Emma. I told Daddy to leave.”
“Because of what I said. Because I said he was so mad that he hurt you.” Emma slid back down and tugged her mother’s hand back to her hair, hungry for her touch.
“No. Because of what. He did. Because he didn’t tell.” Her mother reached for Emma’s hand. “You told the truth. That’s good.”
“But now you and Daddy are getting a divorce.” Tears thickened Gracie’s already cold-clogged voice. “I don’t want that.”
“I know,” her mother said.
“Daddy would come back if you said so,” Gracie said. “Please let him come back.”
Emma wanted to beg right along with Gracie.
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please bring my father home.
CHAPTER 38
Ben
Maddy, Emma, and Gracie were curled up together, asleep on the couch, when Ben returned with Caleb from the Celtics game. The eleven o’clock news showed a raging fire in East Boston.
“Why is everyone sleeping?” Caleb asked.
“Shh. It’s late, that’s why,” Ben whispered to his son. “Come on, buddy. Bedtime.”
“I’m up,” Maddy said softly.
“Mommy!” Caleb ran to the couch. “Did we wake you up?”
“Ouch. You got me in the stomach, idiot,” Emma yelled.
Caleb dove between Emma and Maddy until Emma finally said, “I give up,” and slid to the floor, dragging a pillow with her.
“Guess what? The Celtics won! Daddy bought me food and candy, and Uncle Andrew got me this.” He waved a green hat in front of Maddy’s face. “He said since he didn’t have a son, I could be his onray son so he had someone to go to games with. What’s onray? Is it like X-ray? Can he see through me?”
“Uncle Andrew meant honorary, stupid,” Emma said.
“Don’t call him stupid,” Maddy said.
Caleb stuck his tongue out at Emma. “I’m not stupid. I’m brain-injured.”
Ben watching for Maddy’s reaction.
“You’re not brain-injured.” Maddy tickled Caleb’s stomach. “You’re tummy-injured. Because Daddy. Put so much. Junk in there.”
Emma groaned. “Mom, don’t encourage him.”
“Why not? He’s special.” Maddy showered Caleb’s face with kisses.
“Special needs, maybe,” Emma said. “Probably caught it from Mom.”
Ben caught Emma’s eyes and laughed. His chest tightened when she smiled back. He turned to Maddy, trying to share the moment, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“We should. All go to sleep,” she said. “Emma? Help the kids into bed?”
“I can do it myself,” Gracie mumbled, her eyes closed.
Emma tugged at Gracie’s arm until she stumbled up; she put out her other hand toward Caleb.
“Daddy? Will you come up and kiss us?” Gracie asked.
“Right up, sweet pea.” The air turned sour the moment the kids left. “Did Emma have a good time at Zach’s house?” Ben asked. “We should probably invite him over here now, right?” He walked around the room, picking up books, a doll, a sweatshirt.
“There’s no ‘we.’ ” Maddy walked over and took everything from his arms and dumped it on the couch. “Leave that stuff. Go kiss Gracie. And Emma. She needs you.”
• • •
Ben wasn’t surprised when he found Gracie’s room empty. He opened the door to his bedroom—Maddy’s bedroom—and saw his younger daughter sprawled across the cover. Everything in the room looked spotless. Perfect. Anne’s touch was all over the house. He despised it.
“You have to go to your bed, sweet pea,” Ben said.
He led her toward her own bed. “Emma thinks you hate her,” she murmured as he bent to kiss her. “She told Mommy.”
Ben took an afghan from the foot of the bed and tucked it around her. “I love Emma very much. And you. And Caleb.”
“Do you love Mommy?”
“I loved Mommy before I ever loved anyone else in the world.”
“But you loved Grandma and Grandpa Illica first, right?”
Ben paused. He screwed his kids up enough. “Sure. I meant in the falling-in-love romantic way.”
“Do you still love Mommy that way?”
He bent over and kissed her. “More than ever.”
In the hall, a light came from Emma’s room. “Honey,” he called softly through the door.
“What?” Her tone was neutral.
“Can I come in?” Ben pushed the door and peeked in. Emma sat on the floor, her laptop on her knees. “What are you doing?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“How was your night with Zach’s
parents?”
Her scowl told him not so good. She shrugged again, her eyes still on the computer. “He’s an idiot. I think I’m breaking up with him. Maybe I already did.”
“Are you upset?” he asked.
“Only a little about him.” Emma turned and looked sadder than she’d been in her whole life. “A lot about us. Everything is my fault.”
He sat beside her. “Nothing is your fault. I told you that.”
“You had to leave because of me.”
“That’s not true, Em.” Ben clutched her hand. “I was wrong. I should have told your mother how the accident happened. And then I got so mad . . . you were forced into telling her.”
It was true. He’d made his daughter begin to uncover his sins, and then he made sure Maddy found out the rest all by herself. What a coward he’d turned out to be.
Emma threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry you’re not here.”
Ben squeezed her hand. “Me too,” he said.
• • •
Ben wondered if the waitress thought he was pathetic, sitting at the table in Zaftigs restaurant for so long. He’d finished his eggs, bacon, home fries, and fruit, drunk four cups of coffee, read every article in the Boston Globe and New York Times, and it was still only ten a.m. He could think of no way to fill the empty day ahead of him except by going to work. Hey, he could work in jeans—that almost made the day festive, right?
Driving downtown, he detoured to see his father—a sudden decision, which he confirmed as a good decision when he got a parking spot only five houses from his parents’ brick townhouse. They lived in a particularly dense antique street in Beacon Hill, a neighborhood noted for gaslights, brick sidewalks, and old money.
“What are you doing here?” his father asked when he opened the door.
“Are you going to ask me in?” Ben asked.
“Your mother’s not here,” said the Judge.
“I know.” Saturday morning. Choir practice.
His father stepped away—reluctantly, it seemed—giving him room to enter.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” his father said. “I’m seated in the library.”
Ben filled a cup and carried it carefully. When he entered the study, his father seemed to have forgotten Ben’s presence. Finally, he looked up, neatly folded the New York Times along its original crease line, and placed it on top of an inlaid side table.
“What brings you here?” the Judge asked.
Ben stared into his father’s eyes. “Maddy’s kicked me out.”
“Because of the accident?”
“And other things.”
“Such as?”
Ben examined the pattern in the Oriental rug, counting the numbers of boxes within boxes.
“Don’t want to say?” His father lifted his white china cup, took a sip, and set it down with a sigh. “I’m limited to one a day now. Can you believe it? It hardly seems worthwhile to wake up. Sometimes, when your mother isn’t looking, I sneak an extra one. Of course, who am I fooling? So who did you sleep with?”
“Who doesn’t matter. It was back when Maddy was in the hospital.”
“Do you love her?”
“The girl? Don’t be ridiculous.” Ben leaned his elbows on the leather arms of the club chair and steepled his fingers. “I need help.”
“I can’t remember the last time I heard you admit that.”
“Don’t make this any harder for me than it is,” Ben said.
“Why shouldn’t it be hard for you? You did a damn foolish thing.” His father stood and began pacing. “I did many stupid things in my day, but I was always loyal to your mother.”
Sarcastic remarks almost slipped from Ben, but he caught himself. His father should be proud of his faithfulness. Ben wanted that for his parents.
“Anyway, this is about much more than that,” his father said. “Your behavior throughout your marriage has been abominable. All that yelling and screaming.”
Ben stared at his father as though seeing an apparition.
“Did you think we didn’t notice? Your family is our family.” The Judge placed his large hands on his knees. “It shamed us.”
Ben formed words to lash out and then swallowed them. “How come you never stopped me?”
“How come you never stopped yourself?” His father’s face sagged. “Perhaps you blamed me? Perhaps we made our home too restricted, too silent, and once you had freedom you took it too far. Or perhaps you simply caught that penchant for anger from your grandfather.”
“Grandpa Charlie?”
“You knew him when he became mellow. Your mother grew up with glasses whizzing past her head. When I proposed, she made me promise to always keep myself in check.”
Ben thought of the quiet cool house in which he was raised—apparently it was a haven for his mother.
“You always had a temper. Remember how we fined you each time you raised your voice? I wish we’d gotten it all out of you. You loved the sound of your own loudness.”
Awareness chilled him, thinking of the relief brought on by his tirades.
“What are you planning?”
“I’m trying to get her to forgive me. I think she still loves me.”
“Love. You say it as though it solves everything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
His father fixed his eyes on Ben. “If you’re out of the house, you better start thinking about a lawyer, Ben.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “Another one.”
Ben drew himself up. “We’re nowhere near that level of acrimony.”
“Her father will hire her one in a New York minute.” His father snapped his fingers. “A sharpie, that’s for sure. They’ll take every cent you have.”
“Back up, Dad.”
“Don’t be a fool—wouldn’t you give the same advice to Caleb, if you were in my shoes?”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d wonder why Caleb had screwed up so royally and how to help him get his family back.”
His father stopped pacing. “If you can get your wife back, fine and dandy, although she probably deserves far better than you. Nevertheless, you’d best start worrying about protecting what’s yours. Without a lawyer, your bank account will become a leaky faucet. And don’t tell me you can do it yourself—because in that case you’ll have the stupidest lawyer of all.”
What had Ben been thinking, coming here for help? How sad that even after turning forty, he still thought that somehow his father held wisdom that Ben himself lacked.
• • •
On Sunday, Ben woke early, made a crummy cup of coffee in his hotel room, laced up his sneakers, and drove to Jamaica Pond before breakfast. The boathouse, the bathrooms, everything was locked up. The cracked cement fountain was dry, the water turned off for the winter. The pure blue morning light depressed him. Gray clouds would afford some cover, some comfort.
An elderly man approached, so bundled Ben knew his age only by his gait. A large collie bounded past. Two women deep in conversation came toward him. Like lovers, they only had eyes for each other. One woman listened, rewrapping a fleecy pink scarf around her neck as she nodded and laughed. The other almost skipped as she related what must be good news. Scarf woman hugged her friend and shrieked with delight.
“July twenty-second—I can’t believe it!”
What couldn’t she believe? A baby? A wedding? Europe? Whatever it was, she seemed thrilled.
They seemed like best friends. Ben always thought he and Maddy were best friends. Yes, they fought. His fault, no doubt. But he wouldn’t dream of leaving her—not before, not after, not now. This is for life, Mad, he’d said when he gave her the engagement ring. Not pretend forever. He’d meant it. Richer, poorer, better, worse, sickness, health. Hadn’t he proved his commitment—done his part? Time for her to keep up her end of the bargain.
Running now, Ben stripped off his gloves. What was she thinking? Wh
o’d take care of her and the kids? She could barely read. Was she planning to move back with her parents and let Anne and Jake raise his children? Over his dead body.
His footsteps matched the hammering in his temples. Despite chastising his father, he thought of smart lawyers, ways around this. He could have Maddy declared incompetent, be appointed her guardian ad litem.
Ben stopped, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, tried to figure out how to grab back his life as it slipped through his fingers.
He wanted his best friend back. He needed her.
She needed him, for God’s sake.
• • •
“I went to my father. For advice,” Ben told Maddy as she unpacked the groceries he’d brought. He’d gone from the pond to Whole Foods, buying every expensive organic piece of produce he thought Maddy might like. Runny cheese. Crackers thick with seeds. Canned goods branded with smiling fish and vegetables. He hoped his own smile appeared endearing and not the grimace it felt like.
Maddy sat on the floor in front of the cabinet where they kept the cans, pulling them out and then putting them back, using some system that Ben didn’t understand and Maddy wouldn’t remember tomorrow.
“Impressive. Or stupid. Not sure. Don’t care.” She measured cans of chickpeas and string beans next to each other.
“Nothing my father said was the least bit helpful,” Ben pressed on. “Yet somehow he helped simply by being him.”
Maddy looked over at him. “Stop being devious. Say what you want. To say.”
He knelt next to her. “Maybe I’m more like my father than I ever knew. It’s always about me, right? All the time. Even when you were hurt, I still worried about me. I think I’m finally getting a clue.”
She held a can of wild salmon, waiting. The floor gleamed.
“But I realized today—just now, as I ran at the pond—that it’s about you. You were hurt. You were the one damaged, and it’s your life that’s . . .” He stopped.
“You’re just finding out. Now?”
“Of course not. But finally, it’s in my bones. And I know that you need me. I can help.” He ran a hand over his cheek. “You still love me.”
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