Little Comfort

by Edwin Hill

  A waiter swung by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Wendy’s famous crabbies!” Sam said.

  “Delicious,” Brennan said.

  They talked about Columbia, about dorms and the core curriculum.

  “Wendy mentioned you might know each other,” Felicia said.

  “Of course,” Brennan said. “I couldn’t forget Aaron!”

  Eventually one of the caterers whispered something in Felicia’s ear, and she said she’d be back in a moment.

  “Felicia’s a great girl,” Brennan said, in a way that meant anything but.

  “Sure is,” Sam said.

  “Were you in Geller’s Frontiers of Science?” Brennan asked.

  “I was,” Sam said.

  “Maybe that’s where I remember you from. Man, do you get to New York much? Harlem’s changed since we graduated. It used to be rough.”

  “I got held up my first week there,” Sam said. “Right on Riverside Drive!”

  *

  Later, Sam wandered into the ballroom, where he bid eight hundred dollars for a round of golf at the Country Club in Brookline.

  “Do you even own golf clubs?” Felicia asked, as she materialized out of nowhere again.

  “Nope,” Sam said. “It’s early in the evening, though. I doubt my bid will last, but it’ll help bring in more money.”

  “What if you win?”

  “We’ll figure it out if it happens. Come on. What are you going to bid on?”

  Sam led her to the next item, box seats for a Patriots game.

  “There is no way in hell I’m freezing my ass off at Gillette Stadium,” Felicia said.

  “How about this then,” Sam said, showing her a photo of a pair of sapphire earrings donated by a local artist that no one had bid on yet. “Those would go with your eyes.”

  “Fine,” Felicia said. “But I’m not going over two hundred bucks.” She jotted her name in the first slot on the list and starting the bidding at fifty dollars.

  “Let’s keep going,” Sam said. “It’s fun to pretend, isn’t it?”

  Wendy had donated the top-billed item, a trip on the Richards family’s yacht for a week-long stay in their Nantucket “cottage.” The minimum bid was ten thousand dollars. There were a photo and profile of Wendy and all the work she’d done to raise money for veterans, as well as an electronic picture frame with a slideshow of sun-dappled photos. The house sat right up on the cliffs in Siasconset. Its weather-worn shingles were covered in pink roses. It had a private beach, access to the yacht, and a helicopter pad.

  “Twelve bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms,” Sam read from the description. “A restaurant-quality kitchen. And a chef!”

  He touched the frame. The photo reminded him of the “camps” on the lake. “Have you been there?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Felicia said. “And you should stop counting your doubloons before Wendy catches on.”

  She stepped over to the next item, and Sam followed her. He stopped himself right before grabbing her arm. “What do you mean?” he whispered.

  “Oh, please. You’re practically drooling,” Felicia said, surprising Sam with a sudden burst of anger. “I thought you wanted to be my friend.”

  He glanced around the crowded room to see if anyone had heard, but the noise in the party had absorbed Felicia’s outburst. He touched her arm, gently, very gently, and led her to the side of the room. “I do,” he said.

  “Then you should act like you do. How about returning one of my texts?”

  “My phone was off.”

  “Okay, how about telling me when you’re getting here like I asked? Is that too much?”

  Sam paused for a moment. “We got off to a good start, don’t you think? But we’re still getting to know each other. Why don’t you tell me what has you so upset?”

  “Are you serious? It’s happening all over again.” Felicia bit her lip and seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to lose to Wendy. I always lose to her! Hero was my boyfriend, or at least he almost was. She has the money and the looks and the personality. I’m the sidekick, and no matter what I said earlier, I’m sick of it.”

  “Honey,” Sam said, “I’m not that interesting, and I’m certainly not worth getting this upset over.”

  Sam’s phone rang. He looked at the display and saw Wendy’s name. So did Felicia. “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’re on call. Like me.”

  Sam clicked the phone on. He glanced around till he found Wendy across the room. She smiled and waved. “I thought you might need rescuing,” she said. “Felicia’s on the warpath.”

  Sam held a finger up to Felicia and mouthed that he’d be back in a minute.

  “Whatever,” Felicia said.

  Through the French doors and in the courtyard, ice sculptures of flowers glimmered beneath a canopy of tiny white lights. Music from the string quartet filtered into the night. “It was loud in there,” Sam said. “I’m outside now.”

  “Don’t go too far,” Wendy said. “There are some people I want you to meet. My friend Twig is here. Or at least she texted that she was here.”

  “I’ll come find you.”

  He clicked off and stood at the French doors looking through the glass into the ballroom at the crowd. He wanted a moment alone to cherish all of this. In front of him, a well-dressed couple stumbled off, his hand trailing down her ass. A pair of middle-aged men lit up cigars. Felicia stuck her fists into her ample hips. What could he do about her? His breath froze, and he wondered whether she could see him watching her. Sam wanted to stop time and fast forward all at once, to hold on to every second of every moment of this evening and still get to where he wanted to be. Tonight, he’d stand at Wendy’s side and when the moment was right, he’d make her wait that awkward second, make her believe that maybe it wouldn’t happen, before he pulled her in for a long kiss. He wanted to wake up beside her tomorrow and know that she wanted him to stay. He wanted to be Aaron.

  Someone touched his arm.

  “Excuse me,” a woman said. “Are you going inside?”

  He turned to see a young woman wearing an emerald green cocktail dress beneath a long overcoat. She’d pulled her blond hair into a ponytail and wore a string of pearls around her neck.

  “Oh, hello!” she said.

  “Hi,” Sam said.

  “Oh, my God,” the woman said. “I can’t believe it!”

  “Can’t believe what?” Sam asked, though a seed of anxiety had begun to take root in his stomach.

  “Laura Ambrose,” the woman said. “Some people call me Twig. From the lake. You used to clean our house. I’d recognize you anywhere. You’re Sam, right?”

  Sam caught himself before he nodded. “My name’s Aaron,” he said.

  It took longer than he’d have suspected for the panic to set in.

  CHAPTER 14

  The sound from the laugh track filled Gabe’s room, where he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He’d turned on the TV and smoked two pipes to drown out his thoughts, but he barely heard a single joke as the images flashed across the screen. He stood and went to the window, staring out into the night. Another visit to Hester’s apartment would be too risky, even as he imagined leaning in, waking her from a peaceful sleep, smelling her skin. He fumbled with his phone, punching in numbers, and then deleting them. He knew Lila’s number by heart. He typed it in all over again and listened as the phone rang. Did she have a land line, even now?

  “Hello?”

  He’d have recognized that voice anywhere. He remembered showing up at Lila’s door, night after night, the way she’d welcomed him inside for dinner, and he remembered walking into the kitchen one night, moonlight streaming in through a window, to find Lila with her robe pooled around her ankles, her breasts two glowing white orbs. He went to leave, but she pulled him in to her and put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell,” she whispered, and he couldn’t believe it was real.

  But mostly, he remembered the w
ay Lila had talked to Cheryl on that yellow phone, the receiver tucked under her chin. “Yeah, he’s here,” she said, while Sam and Gabe sat, joints lit, beer bottles strewn across the dining room table. “Can stay as long as he likes. Don’t worry about him.”

  Back then, she used to talk about taking him hunting in the fall, about the thrill of hitting a deer and seeing its knees buckle. She straddled him and took him inside her.

  Now, he waited for her to speak into the phone again.

  “I can hear the TV,” she said. “I know someone’s there. Is that you, Sam?”

  Did she live alone? Was the house falling in around her? Had she cut her braid? He’d looked her up plenty of times online to know she hadn’t married anyone yet.

  “Fuck you,” she said and hung up. A moment later, the phone rang, and her number flashed again. He picked it up before it went to voice mail, even though his voice mail message was a computer reciting his number.

  “Who is this?” she said and waited, and when he didn’t answer she added, “Stop calling me!” and hung up again. Was she worried someone was outside looking in? Did she hear noises in the winter night and wonder what was lurking beyond the dark?

  For the first time that day, he relaxed. He lay in the pillows and turned the sound up on the TV. He closed his eyes, all thoughts of Lila or Bobby Englewood or Cheryl Jenkins, or those hands groping at him, long gone. As his eyes grew heavy, he imagined her again. Not Lila. Hester. An August night. Crickets chirping. A game of Wiffle ball. Air that hung with honeysuckle. Lightning bugs flashing. The dog racing across grass. Shrieks of joy. Peace.

  *

  Gabe jolted awake. His phone rang. He nearly let the call go to voice mail, but he peeked at the display only to see that it was Sam this time, not Lila.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Sam said.

  Gabe was in a pair of jeans and a sweater without even having remembered getting out of bed. “Where are you?” he said, and Sam gasped into the phone about the lake and someone named Twig and having to get away.

  “It’s bad,” Sam said. “Really, really bad. It’s all over. It’s all coming to an end.”

  “Don’t move,” Gabe said. “Don’t do anything. Stay exactly where you are. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  He hung up, took a few moments to gather supplies, and then left the apartment. Outside, the cold took his breath away. He stepped over a snowbank and yanked open the creaky door on their ancient navy blue Nissan. He drove toward Boston, at the speed limit, stopping for yellow lights. He let pedestrians pass on crosswalks and there seemed to be mobs of pedestrians out on a cold night in December. He came to the Mass Ave Bridge, which passed over the Charles River and led right into the heart of the city. The whole Boston skyline was lit up in front of him.

  Gabe never felt more alive than he did on nights like this one.

  *

  Sam clicked his phone off. He looked around the Public Garden. There was a full moon tonight, and the sky was clear and filled with stars. Over in Copley Square, the bells on Trinity Church rang eleven times. He crossed the path to where Laura Ambrose—Twig—sat on a park bench.

  “I talked to Wendy,” he said, his breath freezing in thick, white clouds. “Told her we bumped into each other. Thanks for waiting!”

  “Happy to,” Twig said with a smile. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

  Back at Wendy’s house, even after Sam had told her that his name was Aaron, Twig had insisted that she’d known him from the lake. “I wouldn’t forget your face,” she said. “Not in a million years. And you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “I was going for a walk to get some air,” Sam said quickly. Too quickly. He stopped himself. He stepped toward Twig. He took control.

  Twig caught his eye. “I should go in,” she said. “Wendy’s waiting. Find me!”

  “It’s hot in there. And someone’s smoking a cigar.”

  Twig glanced over her shoulder through the French doors. Beyond the glass, Felicia still glared toward them with fists on her hips. “Wendy’s helper must be pissed at me,” Twig said. “I was supposed to be here two hours ago.”

  “Come,” Sam said. “I’m just going around the corner.” He grinned. The grin he practiced in the mirror. Confident and sure. He grinned to cover his panic. “It’ll be good to catch up. And let Felicia stew in her own misery!”

  And then he walked away, convinced that Twig would follow. And she did. Down the side of the house, onto the sidewalk, and away from the party. Don’t look at her, he told himself. Walk like strangers. Pretend that you have someplace to go. Get away. From Wendy. From Felicia. From everything and everyone. He moved to a narrow side street. Why hadn’t he thought this through? He should have known he’d bump into someone from the lake eventually, especially here in Boston. He should have known that Wendy, in her circle of rich friends, would know the rich fuckheads who owned the houses on the lake. But why had it happened on a night that meant so much?

  They walked in silence till they got to the Public Garden a few blocks away. Here behind the gates, in the cold and dark, surrounded by shrubs and ancient trees, it felt like they were the only two people in the city. They walked to the edge of the pond, where in the summer, tourists rode the swan boats in a circle.

  “Wendy told me you were coming,” Sam had said to Twig. “But I didn’t know it was you. Let me give her a quick call. Tell her we’ll be back in a minute.”

  He’d stepped away and made the hurried call to Gabe. Now, despite what Gabe had said, Sam had to get Twig away from here. As far away as he could.

  She pulled her overcoat in close but still shivered. “I almost didn’t come tonight. I broke up with my boyfriend a few weeks ago and haven’t been in the holiday spirit, but then I told myself to buck up and get out and meet someone, and here you are. It’s such luck.”

  What luck, Sam thought. “What luck!” he said. “When did you get to the party?”

  “A few moments ago. I was about to drop my things in Wendy’s house and saw you standing there.”

  “Did you come with anyone?”

  “No,” Twig said with a shrug. “You were the first person I saw.”

  “How do you know Wendy?”

  “We went to high school together! College too. I’m on the board for her foundation.”

  “Wendy and I are dating,” Sam said, and when Twig’s face fell, he added, “But it’s casual,” to give her some hope. She wanted him. She had to want him.

  Twig dug in her bag. “I have to take a photo!” she said. “Susannah won’t believe I ran into you! You remember my sister, right? We both had such a crush on you! Do you remember that day we took you out on the boat? We talked about that for the rest of the summer.”

  Sam did remember. It had been a perfect day, with clear skies and blue water and endless hope. But he put a gloved hand out to stop her. “Let’s take a photo later. Inside. Where the light’s better. Do you still have the lake house?”

  “Of course! I’d die if we ever sold it. It’s the most special place in the world.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Sam said. “It would be good to catch up. I’d love to hear what Susannah is doing as well. We could grab a drink around the corner, then head to the party.”

  “It’s freezing out,” Twig said.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said, draping his coat over her shoulders. “It’s not far. Besides, I’ll keep you warm.”

  Twig glanced down, and then up, her eyes shining in the light from the moon. “I’d like that.”

  Sam’s phone beeped. It was a text from Felicia. Whered you go? she asked. He clicked the phone off and stuffed it in his pocket. He’d deal with Felicia later. He smiled at Twig. His high from the past few days was gone. Everything with Wendy had been too easy, too simple, and he should have known it would unravel, that it could disappear as quickly as it had come. He should have known that this time would turn out like all the others. He offered his arm and led Twig farther into the garden, to a dim
ly lit path. She looked over her shoulder, back toward the street, but he put a reassuring hand over hers. He remembered her and her sister, in their bikinis, lounging on the deck of their Chris Craft. He remembered them watching him lug the cleaning supplies into their camp, and how they’d whispered and called him onto the deck. Twig asked him to come out with them on the boat to go water skiing, and her sister giggled and suggested skinny dipping before slapping a hand over her mouth to squelch a laugh. Now he imagined being on that boat again, back in New Hampshire, the roar of the engine beneath them. The boat hurtled forward, across the lake, as water sprayed over them and cooled the summer air. But you couldn’t ignore connections to the past. You remembered how much you had to lose, and that not losing meant no one here could ever meet Sam Blaine. And you knew, as unfortunate and distasteful as it was, and no matter what you’d promised yourself, that this was inevitable.

  “Where are we going?” Twig asked, glancing over her shoulder once more.

  “To the Taj,” Sam said. “It’s over there. On the other side of the park.”

  They crossed beneath a lamp, the slivers of ice crunching under their feet. And then they tripped forward. Into the dark. She leaned into him, flirting, letting her head fall to his shoulder. “You’re what I needed tonight,” she said without a hint of doubt to what would happen next. “It’s been a rough month.”

  “We’re alone,” Sam said. The path was lined with trees.

  “We are,” she said.

  He felt her. Pressed into his body. The kiss surprised her, but she snaked a hand inside his coat and pulled his waist toward her. “I could tell you worked out,” she said.

  She was aggressive too, her other hand reaching into his crotch and stroking. “We can do better than that,” she said. “You said it’s casual with Wendy, right? She’s one of my best friends. So we’ll keep this between us.”