The Promised World: A Novel

by Lisa Tucker

  CHAPTER NINE

  Patrick was halfway down the Garden State Parkway when his misgivings about what he was doing turned into full-fledged regret. He’d never believed the superstitious line that the universe punished you for making wrong choices, though it sure as hell felt like he was being punished when his car started bleeding oil. He managed to pull over to the side of the road without being killed, but that was the only good news. The bad news was that the engine of his old VW Rabbit appeared to have finally given up the ghost. And the really bad news was that his triple-A membership had lapsed sometime in the last month, another casualty of the stress of his life right now, meaning the cost to tow the car back to Philly would be astronomical. He could have it towed to the nearest town and hope he could find a mechanic who knew how to work on old Volkswagens, but even if he was successful, the cost to replace the motor would be far more than the car was worth. He’d have to get a new car, though obviously there was no rush. Lila’s Subaru was always available now. He should have taken her car today; it was nearly new and in perfect condition, but he kept thinking that as long as he left the Subaru in the apartment parking lot, there was at least a chance that Lila would get out of bed and go somewhere, anywhere, even the grocery store. That she never availed herself of this chance did nothing to his resolve to provide her with it. So he was stubborn as well as foolish.

  At least she would have to drive somewhere now, though this would be awkward, too. He’d have to explain why he was halfway through New Jersey rather than holding office hours on Wednesday afternoon like he usually did. He was still thinking about what he’d say when he got out his cell and started dialing. There was no choice. He couldn’t just sit on the side of the parkway for the rest of his life.

  He cursed several times when he realized that he was being stupid again. He knew full well that Lila never answered the phone anymore, not even for her lawyer. She’d probably taken sleeping pills this morning. Most likely, she couldn’t even hear the damn phone.

  Before he put it back in his pocket, he noticed he had a text message from his colleague Joyce, thanking him for lunch yesterday and adding, “If there’s anything I can do to help, call me, ok?” He might have felt guilty for talking to Joyce so extensively about his problems, but he was too busy being relieved that her number had a 609 area code. She’d mentioned something about living in New Jersey, hadn’t she? She probably lived in one of the suburbs of Philly, like Cherry Hill or Mount Holly, but she was still a lot closer to where he was now than anybody else he knew. And she didn’t teach on Wednesday or even come to campus; he knew this because she’d said she could have lunch any day except then. Her desire to help him seemed sincere enough, and this time he knew he could make it up to her, because she’d mentioned that she desperately needed advice on teaching the lower-level subjects. She was fresh out of grad school at Michigan, with no experience teaching the underprepared students who made up half of their student body.

  He dialed Joyce and she answered on the second ring. She said she’d be glad to pick him up. He told her he would have to have the car towed somewhere, a junkyard at least, and she said no problem, she’d google his location and find the nearest place. A few minutes later, she called back and said the tow truck was on the way and so was she. She’d pick him up at the gas station that promised to take both him and his Rabbit off the highway within the next fifteen minutes.

  It took more like a half hour, but the tow truck came and he only had to stand around in the gas station for another twenty minutes before Joyce arrived, too. She was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, and he felt bad for interrupting her day off, but she said, “Don’t be silly. It’s the least I can do for my only friend in the department.”

  Joyce was a mid-semester replacement, but Patrick hadn’t known until their lunch yesterday that she’d been feeling so adrift. He told her their colleagues were actually a friendly bunch, and they must not have known that she needed their help. What he didn’t say was that his department still wasn’t in the twenty-first century when it came to their treatment of female professors. They were cordial enough to the handful of women teaching with them, but they didn’t usually reach out to them the way they did to the other men.

  “What do you think of my geek mobile?” Joyce said. The back of her Toyota had been decked out with every math and computer bumper sticker he’d ever seen and some he hadn’t, like “Alcohol and Calculus Don’t Mix. Never Drink and Derive.”

  “Nice,” he said. He and Joyce had discussed being geeks at lunch yesterday. She said she’d always thought of herself that way, and they’d both agreed that their ability in math had been both a proof of and compensation for their outsider status in high school.

  “Geeks rule,” she said, laughing, and started the car. “So where to, Pat? Tell me where you were heading when your car breathed its last.”

  No one called him “Pat,” but he’d already corrected her yesterday and he didn’t want to embarrass her. “I was going to Cape May, but at this point I’m happy just to have a ride home.”

  “Is that one of the ocean towns?”

  “ ‘Shore’ they call it here, but yes. It’s about a half hour down the parkway, at the bottom of New Jersey. An interesting town, actually, mostly restored Victorian homes, but—”

  “It sounds great. Let’s go.”

  He thanked her, but said he couldn’t possibly let her do that. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

  “Really, it’s no problem, as long as I’m home by seven to do my grading.” When he still hesitated, she said, “It sounds like fun.” Her voice got quieter. “I could use some of that.”

  He could tell she was serious, which put him in something of a quandary. If he said no again, then he was being ungrateful, given how far she’d driven to come get him and how far she would have to drive to get him back home. But how could he say yes without telling her why he was going to Cape May in the first place? She’d have to drop him off at the house of the woman who claimed to be Lila’s mother. He could lie and say he was visiting an old friend, but then it might seem rude not to at least introduce Joyce to this old friend.

  But on the other hand, he’d come this far and canceled his office hours to get convincing proof that this Barbara person was not Lila’s mother. If he went home now, he’d be right where he started, with nothing he could use to change Ashley’s mind. Just as important, he’d be stuck where he was: desperate to dismiss the incomprehensible idea that his wife had lied to him, but unable to do so no matter how hard he tried. The last few days had been some of the worst in his marriage. He had always trusted Lila, but if her claim about losing her parents had been an outright deception… Well, he didn’t know what he would do, but he was ninety-nine percent sure it wouldn’t come to that. All he needed was enough proof to convince the other one percent.

  He finally told Joyce he’d be grateful if she took him to Cape May. She put the car in gear and said, “Excellent!”

  She was a very enthusiastic person; he’d noticed that about her at lunch. She also asked a lot of questions. When she asked why he’d come to New Jersey today, he decided to tell her part of the truth. He said he was looking for Lila’s mother, but he left out the fact that Lila claimed her mother was dead. She seemed to be appalled that Lila was going through the loss of her twin without her mother’s help. “It must be so hard on her,” Joyce said. “My mother has always been my biggest supporter. She never lost faith that I would find a teaching position, and you know how much that means when you’re on the job market.”

  “Absolutely,” Patrick said.

  “I’m sure your mother was the same,” Joyce said. She put her window halfway down. It was warm in the car with the sun shining through the windshield. “The market must have been terrible when you graduated. Even worse than it is now.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, glad that the mother talk was already over. “Why do you think so?”

  “Coming from Princeton as you
did, and ending up at Dannerson College. That can’t have been what you expected.”

  “I like Dannerson,” Patrick said. “I think you’ll grow to like it, too. But you’re right, it wasn’t what I expected. Like everybody, I expected a job at a first-rate university where I would teach the occasional class of grad students and do my research. Unfortunately, geography intruded. I had to be in the Philly area, for Lila, and Dannerson was the only place I could find.”

  Joyce assumed that Lila had wanted to live in Philadelphia for work reasons and mentioned how impressive it was that he’d subordinated his career to his wife’s. Patrick thanked her, but said Lila’s job was only part of it. The other part was Lila’s brother and his family.

  “Well, that’s even more impressive,” Joyce said. She touched his arm and turned in his direction. She was wearing sunglasses; he couldn’t tell if she was looking in his eyes. “Your wife is very lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick said, but he grew silent because that slight brush of her fingers on his arm had unnerved him. Colleagues usually didn’t touch each other unless they were at the annual Christmas party and the wine had been pouring for a while, and even then, it was only a slap on the back that punctuated a good joke or an amusing story about the administration. And no one in the department had ever said Lila was lucky to have him. But he’d already told Joyce more, at yesterday’s lunch, than he’d told anyone he worked with. He still wasn’t sure how it happened; usually he was a listener, not a talker, but Joyce had seemed so interested and finally he’d found himself disclosing far more than he was comfortable with. He had no idea why she’d cared, unless she was simply trying hard to be friends.

  He stayed quiet until they crossed the bridge that meant they were entering Cape May. Then he pulled out the MapQuest directions he’d printed this morning.

  The house was easy to find: only a few blocks from the beach, one of the most imposing-looking places in the best neighborhood in town. “I think I may have the wrong address,” he said to Joyce. He hadn’t written it down, but he thought he remembered it from the envelope he’d seen at Ashley’s. But this place was all wrong. It hardly looked like the kind of home a fraud would come from, and more important, whoever lived here could not be related to Lila and Billy, because they had grown up without enough money for college. This was one thing he was positive about. Lila had gotten a combination of scholarships and financial aid that never would have been awarded to someone whose mother could afford a seven-or eight-bedroom mansion like this.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Joyce said. “See if it’s wrong?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” He was positive he had the street right. If necessary, he could walk up and down knocking on doors until he found this Barbara person. “Go on to the beach. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

  Right before he got out of the car, he told her, again, that he appreciated her taking him here. She smiled. “I’m glad I could do it, Pat. I wish I could make this easier for you.”

  He wished she could, too. He was looking at the broad wooden porch and the door, realizing he hadn’t thought of what he was going to say. As impossible as it seemed that the owner of this house could be trying to hook into Billy’s family for whatever money they might have, if this was the right place, he wanted to make sure Barbara understood that there wasn’t any money to scam. Billy’s life insurance didn’t cover death by suicide, much less death by violence. He’d left his family with a surprisingly large savings account, but Ashley would need every penny of that to raise three children on her salary.

  He was on the porch, still thinking, when the front door opened to reveal a red-haired man in sloppy jeans and a T-shirt. Patrick must have looked startled, because the man said, “I heard you walk up.”

  “I’m looking for Barbara Duval.” The full name on the envelope. “But I may have the wrong—”

  “That’s my girlfriend. Just a minute,” he said and disappeared up the stairs.

  Patrick felt like laughing at how stupid he’d been to doubt Lila. This man was several years younger than Patrick. He could not be dating her mother. Patrick was so sure of this that when an older woman walked down the stairs, he kept looking behind her to see who else was coming. He was still looking when she said, “I’m Barbara Duval,” and stopped at the bottom of the landing.

  She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top and had sweatbands on her wrists and around her head. She was wiping sweat off her neck with a towel.

  “Obviously, you caught me in the middle of my morning workout,” she said. He realized he was staring at her, but he couldn’t make himself stop. After a moment, she said, “And you must be Patrick. Lila’s husband.”

  Before he could respond, she turned around, but motioned for him to follow her into the spacious living room. It was decorated with dark, expensive-looking furniture; nothing like the bright colors and wicker accents of an ordinary beach house. The only sign that this house was by the ocean was an oar and netting above the fireplace.

  After Barbara sat on the large gray chair next to the window, he said, “How did you know who I am?”

  “How could I not know? Despite what Lila may have told you, I love my children. I’ve followed their lives for years.”

  Patrick finally sat down across from her, on one of the leather couches. But he still couldn’t force himself to look away from Barbara’s face. The resemblance to his wife was unmistakable: in the penetrating eyes, the high cheekbones, the almost-too-soft chin, even the blond hair, though he supposed Barbara Duval’s had to be dyed. She had to be in her late fifties if not sixty, though the only wrinkles were on her neck, her arms, and her hands. The skin on her face was unlined but looked older because it seemed strangely too tight, which made him think of the dean’s wife, who was notorious for her addiction to plastic surgery. Her body seemed to be in good shape: maybe plastic surgery, maybe exercise, probably a combination.

  His hands were shaking as he took a glass of water the young guy—Barbara’s boyfriend—offered before disappearing again.

  “I gather this is a shock for you,” Barbara said. “Did she tell you I was dead or just a witch? A dead witch, perhaps?”

  “She never said you were a witch. She said she loved you.”

  “So she only said I was dead. Well, I suppose that’s more efficient. She’s always been quite the liar. This way she could lie about loving me and not have to act like it.”

  “Lila is not a liar.”

  “Touching, I’m sure, but as I’m alive and well and sweating in front of you, I think you might want to reassess that opinion.”

  He sat his glass on the coffee table. “Thanks for the water, but I have to get going. It was nice meeting—”

  “Don’t run off yet. You just got here.”

  “I really have to—”

  “Will you stay if I promise not to say another disparaging word about Lila? I’d really like to know how my daughter is doing. Please.”

  Patrick would have kept making excuses if it hadn’t been for the shift in Barbara’s tone as she said the word “please.” As if she really were pleading with him to stay, though he wasn’t sure why.

  “I suspect you’re wondering how I can claim to love Lila in light of my remarks about her honesty or lack thereof?”

  He sat back and crossed his arms. “It does seem inconsistent.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t play the Hallmark card game. To me, love demands seeing someone as they are. Myself, for example. I know I’m a sixty-one-year-old woman who is vain about her appearance, greedy about her appetites, and a variety of other less-than-flattering characteristics. But I undoubtedly love myself. I give myself everything I want: from this house to flings with the occasional younger man.” She smiled and lowered her voice. “It’s all right. If they’re only in it for the money, I’m only it in for the sex.”

  Patrick felt the blood rush to his face, as though he were a child who’d overheard the secret talk of grown-ups. H
e flashed to a time, years ago, when Billy had called him naïve. Maybe his brother-in-law had been right about that.

  He took a breath, hoping to calm down, and let his gaze wander around the room. On the sideboard over by the staircase were dozens of photographs, many of children. He pointed in that direction. “Are some of those pictures of Lila and Billy?”

  She nodded. “Have a look, be my guest.”

  He wandered over, trying to buy time before he talked about Lila. He knew he had to say something, but he also wanted to protect his wife’s privacy.

  He pointed at a silver-framed photograph of Lila and Billy flanking the sides of a tree in front of a large brick house that had to be over a hundred years old. “Was this the house they grew up in?”

  She nodded. “It’s been in the family for generations. It was originally built for my grandfather, a brilliant judge who was seriously considered for the Supreme Court. I can’t bring myself to part with it, though I don’t spend much time there anymore. Being near the ocean is far preferable to being in the countryside of central Pennsylvania.”

  Pennsylvania? Both Lila and Billy had said they’d grown up in North Carolina. Lila had described the town she was from in great detail. She’d even told him about the summer when she and Billy had imitated the journalists’ voices on NPR, hoping to get rid of their Southern accents and sound more “cosmopolitan” before she went off to college. And she seemed to know very little about Pennsylvania when she and Patrick moved there. Why would she lie about this? But then, why would her mother? His mouth felt dry, but he managed, “How long have you been here?”

  “I bought this house about ten years ago. I’d always wanted to live by the water, and I considered San Diego and several places in Florida, but in the end, I decided on Cape May.” She glanced at him. “It’s a lovely town, and of course, it was closer to Lila and Billy.”

  Before he could wonder why she would want to be close to children she never saw, he noticed another photograph in the back row. Barbara was standing next to a very unhappy-looking man. Patrick picked it up and stared at it, unable to believe what he was looking at.