Julian preferred the Hamptons because he got carsick on the long drives to New England. But Daisy loved the Provincetown dunes. She said when she grew up she was going to become a New Englander, and read Yankee Magazine and Vermont Life and pronounce car as “caaah.” One time Julian got sun poisoning. Another time Daisy sliced her foot open on a clamshell. Still, they looked forward to those brief summer vacations as if to a return to Eden. Summer camp, everyone knew, was no substitute for paradise. But at least they could be together.
The Greenes’ house was filled with Daisy’s toys or animal drawings or art materials. The outside of the Cape Cod was painted a shade of purple halfway between lavender and lilac-gray, with darker gray shutters—but that was the color it had been when they bought it, and Nicole felt that they shouldn’t change it, as if it would insult the house to imply that anything was wrong. Even the inside walls were painted lilac. Ari wondered how Jay could stand it, living in a pale purple house with a wife and daughter. But he didn’t seem to mind, or even, for that matter, to notice. Some of the furniture was downright shabby; Jay’s study was little more than a closet stuffed with playbooks and soccer films, old basketball trophies, and his worn leather briefcase—yet he seemed content with all of that, too. “Cows are contented,” Ari’s mother used to say. “People are either happy or miserable.”
The secret, Ari thought, was that Jay adored his wife. Head over heels in love. He didn’t just admire her, or believe they formed a good team—which was how Ari felt in his marriage to Mimi. Jay practically worshipped the ground Nicole walked on. He had spotted her when they were both taking education classes in graduate school, and said he knew the moment he laid eyes on her that she was the one he’d always wanted. She was wearing high-waisted gray pants and a burgundy cashmere cardigan that almost matched the color of her hair.
But it wasn’t her beauty that first knocked him out—it was her voice. Soft and clear, a few notes lower than you expected. Like a song on the radio; her voice went on playing in his head long after she had stopped speaking. And she was quiet, so he had to pay close attention to make sure he didn’t miss a word. They’d only had the one class together—he was headed toward becoming a gym teacher or coach, she was about to start teaching third grade—so Jay had to act fast. And he did. He asked her out after the second class, and he asked her to marry him after their third date. Ari could imagine what it might feel like to be that dizzily in love with someone, especially somebody like Nicole. But as far as his own life went, it just didn’t apply.
Julian and Daisy went upstairs to see what Speedy Gonzales the turtle was up to—which would be nothing, as usual, but Julian liked feeding him from his round pink rubber dish; the turtle chewed his lettuce slowly, thoughtfully, like an old man bent over a salad.
Nicole rummaged around in the kitchen cupboard looking for cookies, wishing she had something fancier to offer than Oreos, and finally came up with a box of assorted Pepperidge Farm cookies. She saw the slight wince on Ari’s face, but Mimi said, “Oh, I love these!” and went straight for the Milanos. Nikki brewed some imported coffee she’d gotten as a gift.
The night had grown steadily cooler, despite the heat of the day, and the house felt chilly. Nicole asked, “Is anyone cold? I can turn up the heat. We have plenty of extra sweatshirts.”
Ari said, “Hey—that reminds me!” and left the house. They all heard the beep the BMW made every time he locked or unlocked it. He came back inside carrying an old Bendel’s shopping bag with something inside.
The kids wandered back into the kitchen. Like all children, Nicole thought, they had a preternatural sense of when a box of cookies was being opened. They sat happily on the kitchen stools, browsing through the assortment. Julian liked anything with chocolate. Daisy could take forever choosing between one cookie and another of the exact same kind, her small hand hovering back and forth over the box, as if she were making a life-and-death decision. Was one slightly rounder? One slightly larger?
“Hurry up and pick,” Julian moaned, his mouth full of cookie crumbs. Nicole set a bottle of cider and two plastic tumblers down in front of them. Daisy was still young enough that she dropped a glass at least once or twice a week.
When Ari came in holding the bag, looking strangely excited, Daisy said, “Is that a present for me?”
“Is it your birthday?” Ari asked her.
“No,” she said, disappointed.
“Is it Christmas?”
“Hanukkah,” she corrected him.
“Is it either one?”
“No,” Daisy said.
“Actually,” Ari said. “I just thought of it because your mother happened to mention sweatshirts. I’ve had this around forever, and wasn’t sure what to do with it.”
He drew something out of the shopping bag. Only Julian seemed to know what it was. “Gross!” he yelled. “Get rid of it!”
“What is it?” Mimi asked, puzzled. She reached with one hand as if to touch the vintage child-size sweatshirt, then paused, with her hand in midair.
“It’s that gross sweatshirt from when the dog attacked Aunt Nicole. It’s got her old blood all over it. Dad once showed it to me like it was a treasure or something.”
“Is that my mom’s blood?” Daisy asked, interested. “Can I see it?”
Ari kept it close to his side, one fist around the small sweatshirt. “I just wasn’t sure what to do with it,” he said.
“Get rid of it,” Mimi said.
“I don’t want to look at it,” Julian said. He swung around in a half circle, and deliberately kept his back turned.
Only Nicole’s voice was gentle. “It’s sort of a piece of family history,” she said.
“Yes! That’s exactly what it is!” Ari said. “I knew you’d understand. You saved our dogs’ lives that day.”
“Dude,” said Jay. “Why would you keep such a weird artifact? Just throw it in the trash can around back.”
Ari smiled, but the smile was twisted sideways. “I can dispose of it properly,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure no one objected.”
“No, I don’t,” Nicole said. “I don’t need to keep it.”
“I want to see my mother’s blood!” Daisy insisted.
“No,” Jay said, stepping in front of her. “Jeez.”
“Why would you keep a weird thing like that?” Julian demanded, his back still turned, his arms folded.
Ari folded his arms, too, one hand still clutching the sweatshirt. “I kept it,” Ari said, “to remind myself. That was a key moment in my childhood, and I vowed that if I ever had the chance I would never be a coward again.”
“Well, you aren’t one,” Nicole said, smiling. “I don’t think you ever were.”
“Just get rid of it,” Mimi said, shaking her head.
“Please,” Julian added. “Before I throw up.” Everyone laughed.
But Ari had already turned back to the door, carrying the shopping bag, into which he had hastily stuffed the old bloodstained sweatshirt. “I’m going,” he said. Watching him go, his shoulders slumped, Nicole thought he looked like an old man. He shuffled out the door. Again they heard the beep of the BMW as the door unlocked and relocked.
“I wish we could shut that thing off,” Mimi said, “It’s impossible to sneak up on someone.”
“Is that why my mom has that scar on her wrist?” Daisy said. “Because of the bad dog?”
“Yes,” said Julian. “She was totally brave. My dad was a wuss.”
“He carried me inside,” Nicole reminded him.
Julian snorted. “Big deal.”
“It’s my family’s blood,” Daisy said. “I think I should get to keep the shirt.”
“Shh,” Nicole said, stroking her daughter’s long hair. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Daisy’s hair felt like strands of silk, the way it would get tangled up under your fingers. If you sat with Daisy in your lap at the movies—and she almost always ended up in your lap, something scary was bound to happen at som
e point—it was like sitting there with a mouthful of thread. “Hey, Julian, what are you planning to be for Halloween this year?”
“I’m choosing between the Tramp and Wolverine,” Julian said.
“Who’s the Tramp?” Daisy said. “I’m going to be Captain Hook.”
“Captain Hook is a guy, dummy,” said Julian.
So by the time Ari came back from the car without the bag, they had changed the subject and moved on to lighter things.
Nicole always hugged Mimi good-bye, and she never let Julian go home without a good-night kiss, but she was shy when it came to embracing other men—even her cousin. This night, though, she walked straight up to Ari and wrapped her arms around his waist. He smelled like her childhood, of pine and salt water. She tilted back her head to look at him—he was a good five inches taller than she was. “I’ve always looked up to you,” she said quietly, only half kidding. She tried standing on her tiptoes, to demonstrate.
He returned the hug but quickly stepped back, his hands at his sides. “I don’t see why,” he said. “There’s not that much to admire.”
“Oh, yes there is,” she said.
He shrugged but half smiled back at her, and gave her a little salute—an old childhood gesture she had forgotten. “Keep your nose clean,” he said—something his father used to say.
“Don’t go out with a wet head,” she said, echoing her mother. They both laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Mimi called over.
“Nothing,” Ari said. “It’s an inside joke.”
“Why is everybody leaving?” Daisy said plaintively. “Look. It’s still light out.” There was the faintest glimmer of blue still left shimmering in the night sky.
“It’s way past your bedtime,” Jay said, scooping her up and walking back into the house.
Nicole stood in the driveway and waved while Ari put his BMW in reverse and honked lightly, two times, as he pulled away—an old, old farewell signal, as familiar and far away as the whistle of the Long Island Railroad.
Nicole went for a walk after the company had gone home. For the first time in a long time, something in her chest felt lighter, looser—she realized it was the absence of panic, the beginning of hope. It gave her more energy, and instead of creeping into bed like a wounded animal, she felt well enough to stroll around the neighborhood. She headed downhill to be closer to Huntington Bay, close enough to smell the brine in the air.
Summer evenings were louder than any other time of year. People played music with their windows open. Teenagers stayed up late, talking in packs near their cars. Cars seemed to pass more noisily. And always, there was the sound of laughter in summer, brighter and sharper. Did people just have more to laugh about when the weather turned sweet? Nicole wondered. Maybe it was just that all the kids were out of school, playing Manhunt after dark. Teenagers who laughed raucously the way that peacocks spread their tail feathers—who laughed the most easily. Who laughed the longest.
Summer roses bloomed luxuriantly, climbing up neighbors’ front gates, shining under streetlights. The air smelled fresh and sweet—a mixture of honeysuckle and the faint salty smell of the sea that pervades the edges of Long Island. Nicole stopped for a moment, with one hand on her chest. It was a smell of childhood. Yes, she was breathing more easily. She heard glass chimes clinking together on a porch. Thank you, God, she thought. Thank you for this second chance.
AUGUST 2011
A Change of Plan
Julian woke in the middle of the hot summer night, calling hoarsely for a glass of water. He had not done this for years, and when Mimi touched his forehead, it felt burning to the touch, his skin dry and sandy.
He drank the water, wincing. “My throat hurts, Mom.”
Mimi hurried to the bathroom and rummaged around in the cupboard, looking for the thermometer. Why were the simplest things impossible to find when you needed them most?—Bactine, Band-Aids, hydrogen peroxide. In front of the cupboard sat eight different kinds of moisturizing cream, suntan lotion, at least a dozen different shampoos and conditioners. If she were a good mother, prepared, she’d have a first-aid kit ready for moments like these. She’d be the kind of woman who memorized the contents of her medicine cabinet—or at least organized them. She called, “One minute, sweetie!” Julian coughed in response.
Two bottles of mouthwash fell off the shelves, waking Ari, who came out of the bedroom like a rumpled lion, in plaid Brooks Brothers pajamas. His hair stuck out wildly in all directions. He put his hands on the thermometer in ten seconds, and shooed Mimi back to bed. He reappeared in the doorway five minutes later, clutching the glass thermometer, waving it as if conducting some terrifying phrase of music. “His fever’s over a hundred and four,” he announced. “I’m calling Dr. Martin. Meanwhile, I gave him Tylenol and adjusted the air conditioning. How does the baby seem?”
“Rianna? Rianna’s fine.” It had not yet occurred to Mimi to check on the baby. But Ari was already off into the nursery. He came back, smiling grimly. “She seems all right for now,” he said. “Her forehead was cool to the touch. I didn’t want to wake her. Whatever it is, I hope she doesn’t catch it.”
“Should we take him to the emergency room?” Mimi asked. In these family situations, she often felt like a spectator rather than someone involved. It was as if she were watching television, asking herself, I wonder if they’ll go to the ER now? She could guess, she might even have an opinion, but Ari ran the show. Always.
“They have nothing but quacks in the ER,” he said. “Most of the doctors don’t even speak English. I wouldn’t trust my kid to any of them. Let’s see if I can reach Dr. Martin. Then if Julian takes a turn for the worse, we can go to urgent care as a last resort.”
“That sounds good,” Mimi said, but Ari had already turned and plunged downstairs to the living room. His heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs. Mimi heard Ari’s low voice below, making one call, then another.
Mimi called into Julian’s room, “Sweetie? You okay?” but there was no answer, so she assumed he had fallen asleep again, and the next thing she knew it was early morning and Ari was dressed for work, nudging her awake. Normally he dropped Julian off at camp on his way to the real estate office. But there was no Julian poking his owlish face behind Ari’s to say good-bye or to ask her a question. Ari spoke softly.
“Dr. Martin wasn’t on call last night,” he said. “I didn’t want to deal with an unknown. We have an appointment at one o’clock—Julian can miss a day of camp. It’s not like he’s missing school.”
“I’ll take him,” Mimi said.
“One o’clock, right?”
“No,” said Ari. “I’ll take him myself. That’s why I’m heading in early this morning. I’ll cancel my afternoon appointments.”
“That’s silly,” Mimi said. “I can take care of this.”
Ari didn’t smile; he didn’t even look at her. “No,” he said. “I’m doing this. He’s my son.”
“He’s my son, too,” she said quietly.
Ari just ran his hand through his hair. He frowned. Ari, the lion. Then he tried to soften his tone. “I’ll feel better hearing everything from Dr. Martin myself.” He leaned down and brushed her forehead with his lips. “Try to keep a close eye on Arianna today, right? Keep checking on her.”
“I will,” she said. She felt an accusation in his request, but it was too slippery or deep for her to grasp. “So I’ll see you around one?” she said.
“I’ll be here by noon,” Ari said. He put one broad hand up as if stopping her next question. “You always have to allow for the goddamn traffic around here. Nothing is as easy as it seems.”
“No,” she agreed. “Nothing ever is.”
Ari sat beside his son in Dr. Martin’s waiting room again a few days after he woke with his throat hurting. Julian felt better now, just the remnants of a sore throat, and the swollen glands that hadn’t entirely gone away for some reason.
Ari wished he could sit Julian on his lap the way he ha
d when his son was a little boy during pediatrics appointments, but Julian had his head down, rereading one of his Harry Potter books, and he would have been horrified had Ari done so much as touch his hand. Ari settled for resting his palm on the back of his boy’s neck. It no longer felt hot to the touch. Julian shifted a little in his chair, but didn’t shake the hand off. In fact, he looked up and smiled through those beautiful myopic brown eyes, at the same instant that Ari’s name was called.
Ari stood at once, laying down the magazine he’d been halfheartedly skimming. “Me and Julian, or—” He pointed to himself, and the nurse nodded.
“Just you this time,” she said cheerily.
“Be right back,” Ari told Julian.
“Mm-hmm.” Julian’s attention was refocused on the book in his lap.
“What’s going on?” Ari asked the nurse, but she led him quickly into Dr. Martin’s office, the one with the swivel chairs and the desk, not an examining room. “Dr. Martin will be with you shortly,” she said. She flashed him a smile and was off, shutting the door, and his questions in with him.
Dr. Martin was not smiling when he came in. He was holding Julian’s folder in one hand, and X-rays in the other.
“I’m not sure how to say this,” said Dr. Martin. “And I don’t want you to overreact. I know you.”
Ari was already on his feet. Whatever the news, he was not going to take it sitting down. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“There’s a very slight chance Julian may have Hodgkin’s disease,” said the doctor. “I want to rule it out, I’m just being conservative. His blood count is off. And there’s this. You remember we took some X-rays.” He slapped them up against a white screen, and flipped on a light. He pointed at something in the neck area. Julian’s neck. “I don’t like the look of this lump, I’d like to biopsy it.”
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