The Best of Us

by Sarah Pekkanen

  “I’ll mention it to Pauline,” he’d said.

  Allie had swallowed a surprised You haven’t yet?

  How could Dwight fail to discuss something so important with his wife? she wondered, then immediately felt a rush of recognition. She’d done the exact same thing to Ryan. Instead of confiding in her husband, she’d taken her deepest worries to another man.

  When she and Dwight had finally risen from their chairs by the pool, the house was completely silent and the sky had turned a shade or two lighter. She’d reached out her arms and they’d hugged for a long time. It had felt even more intimate than their kiss on the beach.

  Now Allie continued walking around the pool, thinking about how she could get Dwight alone, to tell him she needed him by her side when she finally called the genetic counselor. Maybe he could take off work for a day when they got back home, and he could come over and hold her while she dialed the number. She could do it, if Dwight was there with her.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that kiss?

  Allie picked up her jogging shoes and was about to go into the house when she heard a car coming down the road, spitting up gravel as it turned in to the driveway. She watched as a gleaming black sedan stopped and Pauline stepped out. The driver hurried to open the trunk and handed Pauline her overnight case, which she took without a word.

  Pauline looked . . . different, Allie thought. Her blond hair was up in a ponytail, with some pieces trailing out to the side in a way that looked sloppy instead of artful. She wore jeans and a simple cotton shirt.

  Allie watched Pauline pay the driver. But instead of going into the house, Pauline walked toward the pool as Allie shrank behind a pillar. Allie felt as if she should look away—as if she was witnessing something private—but she couldn’t.

  She kept watching as Pauline sank into the chair Allie had just vacated, and stared into space. A moment later, something strange happened: Rain began pouring down, even though the sky was still mostly clear. It rained hard for about two minutes, then it stopped abruptly and the sun burst into view again. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Allie could see Pauline’s wet hair and damp clothes, Allie might have worried she’d imagined it all—the abrupt turn in the weather, the sudden absence of light, and the thin blond woman making no effort to shield herself against the downpour.

  * * *

  “So, we had a little excitement last night,” Savannah said, leaning back in her chair at the dining room table toward the end of lunch. “There was shrimp in the clambake.”

  Pauline looked at Savannah, but her expression didn’t change.

  “Remember, I’m allergic to shrimp?” Savannah prompted. “We talked about it on the plane?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pauline said.

  Clearly Savannah had expected a different reaction—a shocked exclamation, maybe, followed by an effusive apology. But Pauline just kept looking at her. It seemed to throw Savannah, who sat up straighter.

  “Luckily Tina found my EpiPen before my throat completely closed up,” she said, a note of pique running through her voice.

  “The old chef must’ve forgotten to tell the new chef about your allergy.” Pauline lifted a shoulder, as if dismissing the incident. “But you’re obviously okay now.”

  “Well, yes, but only because Tina’s a nurse and she knew what to do!” Savannah said.

  There was another pause, the perfect space for Pauline to apologize. But she simply took an unhurried sip of her coffee. Tina studied her from across the table, wondering if Pauline was trying to get under Savannah’s skin. But it seemed as if Pauline was truly out of it—almost as if she’d heard Savannah’s words without understanding their meaning. Tina hid a little smile; Savannah loved being the center of attention, and it was kind of funny to see her denied that role, especially since she actually deserved it in this case.

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, Pauline?” Tina asked after a moment. “A little pasta salad, maybe?”

  Pauline turned to look at Tina. “I’m fine,” she said.

  Maybe that was how she stayed so skinny, Tina thought as she spooned another helping of the salad onto her plate. Nothing had passed Pauline’s lips during this meal but three or four cups of coffee. You’d expect her to be jittery, but the caffeine seemed to be having the opposite effect on her. Her movements were a beat slower than normal, as if she were underwater.

  Tina sighed and closed her lips around tender farfalle, mixed with grilled asparagus, feta, and toasted pine nuts. She didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty because she knew it was real fuel for her body, not like the empty calories she usually consumed. The problem was, she was so busy at home that she tended to gobble anything that could be held in one hand—usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or, shamefully, a sleeve of cookies on some days. Sometimes she even ate off a paper towel when she couldn’t bear the thought of creating more dirty dishes.

  She used to love to cook, though. She’d enjoyed layering meat and cheese in perfect proportions into a lasagna, baking it until it was golden and just the slightest bit crusty on top. She’d liked to simmer a stew and let the aroma fill the entire house, sneaking a taste now and then to determine if it needed another dash of pepper or thyme. But everything had changed when her second child had arrived, squalling and delicate of stomach and equipped with the world’s pickiest taste buds. Angela hated everything but the blandest dishes—mac and cheese, rice, pizza with no toppings, toast and bananas. Present the kid with a burrito and she’d recoil as if it were a tarantula.

  Paolo, Tina’s oldest, liked pretty much everything—but he was the only kid in America who refused to eat rice. As an added bonus, he was allergic to dairy. And so it became easier for Tina to find the lowest common denominator, to cook the simplest foods that would please everyone. She usually made something like a roasted chicken and a bowl of mac and cheese for dinner, and tossed it on the table alongside fruit and bread and maybe a tray of baby carrots and cut-up cucumbers, if she were feeling especially guilty about her family’s dysfunctional relationship with the food pyramid.

  And of course she always went straight for the mac and cheese. It was easy and soothing and filling, something she could shovel in between leaping up to fill water glasses and admonishing the kids to use their napkins instead of their shirts. Sometimes she was gripped with a passion to change things—to wait until Gio came home to eat a proper meal with him, something involving candles and a nice salad with grilled fish. But invariably, by the time she finished baths and homework supervision and bedtime stories, she was too wiped out to do anything but cover a plate of leftovers in Saran Wrap and leave it on the counter for him. It made her feel like a failure in both wife and mother categories.

  Tina felt unexpected tears prick her eyes. Going on a vacation was supposed to relax you, not make you realize how stressful your life had become.

  “So what’s the plan for today, Pauline?” Savannah was saying.

  Tina glanced up when their hostess didn’t answer immediately.

  “We can watch a movie, or . . . read on the beach,” Pauline finally said. She sounded as if she couldn’t have cared less.

  “That sounds good,” Allie said. “I think an afternoon of reading is just what I need.”

  “Great,” Tina said. She was feeling a little low, and a few hours of lighthearted fiction did sound nice. She took a closer look at Pauline. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and despite all the time in the sun, her skin looked even paler than usual. Could she be coming down with something?

  “Would you excuse me?” Pauline asked.

  She stood up without waiting for an answer and walked in the direction of her bedroom. Everyone at the table watched her go.

  “Well, that was odd,” Savannah said. “She doesn’t have anything lined up for the afternoon? Not that I’m complaining; she just had so much planned for the beginning of the trip.”

  “She’s probably tired,” Allie said. “All that flying . . .”r />
  “I’ll bring her a cup of tea,” Dwight said, standing. “She loves tea.”

  “I feel like a little bodysurfing,” Gio said as Dwight left. “The waves are getting really good.”

  “I’m in,” Ryan said. “Allie? How about you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just going to hang out by the pool. I might come down to the beach later.”

  “Me, too,” Tina said. “The weather’s kind of weird anyway. It keeps raining for a few minutes, then stopping.”

  “It’s weather bands from the approaching storm,” Gio said. “But there’s still plenty of sun. I saw a bunch of boogie boards by the tiki bar, so let’s hit it. Tell Dwight to meet us down at the water if he wants.”

  Everyone got up and split in different directions, with Tina heading into her room and shutting the door behind her. She was glad Gio was going down to the beach with the guys. She was suddenly craving solitude and felt desperate to try to stockpile it while she had the chance. She’d choose a book from the shelf downstairs and curl up and read, then drift off into a nap. Her belly was full of good, rich food, and her bed was so comfortable—she’d been right when she imagined the sheets and comforters would be snowy white.

  She sighed in relief as she unsnapped her shorts, which had been a bit tight even before lunch. She slipped off her clothes, then put on the soft terry bathrobe that was hanging on the back of their bathroom door. Maybe she’d take a long soak in the Jacuzzi before napping, she thought.

  But first she reached for her cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

  “Hi, Louise,” she said when Allie’s mom answered. “I thought I’d check in . . .”

  “Oh, Tina! Funny you called just now.”

  Tina caught her breath. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine, fine,” Louise said. “It’s just that Sammy came down with a little bug this morning. His stomach hurts, so I was going to run him to the doctor.”

  “Does he have a fever?” Tina asked.

  “Not really,” Louise said. “It’s a touch above normal. But mostly it’s the stomach pain he’s complaining about.”

  “Which side of his stomach? Is the pain coming from below his belly button?”

  “I’m not sure,” Louise said. “Should I ask him?”

  “Um . . . actually, can you put him on?” Tina asked.

  “Sure,” Louise said.

  She could hear voices in the background, then the sound of heavy breathing into the phone.

  “Sammy?”

  “Mama?”

  She bit her lower lip as her eyes grew wet. Her baby was sick, and she was hundreds of miles away.

  “Hi, little bunny,” she said. “Louise told me your tummy hurts.”

  “Mmn-hmm,” Sammy said.

  “Below your belly button, Sammy? Is that where it hurts?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Please don’t let it be his appendix, Tina thought.

  “Is it above your belly button, too?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And my feet.”

  She should’ve known better than to try to diagnose a two-and-a-half-year-old over the phone. She glanced out the window and saw the weather had turned again; the rain was coming down, hard.

  “I miss you,” she said. “But Louise is going to take good care of you.”

  “Come home, Mama,” he said. His voice was small.

  “Oh, baby,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m coming soon . . .”

  “Now?” he asked.

  Tina pictured Sammy standing there, holding the phone to his ear with his chubby little hands, his poor sore belly sticking out from the bottom of his T-shirt, wanting a hug from his mama. She felt horrible.

  Then a traitorous thought wormed into her mind: Damn it, don’t I deserve a break for once?

  For just a moment, she felt angry at Sammy. Not at Sammy, she told herself, feeling ashamed. What kind of mother would be mad at her child for getting sick? She was angry at the situation, that was all.

  “I can’t come home now,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Louise is going to take you to the doctor. Remember you get stickers every time you go? You can pick a Thomas the Train sticker if you want. And then you can call me right afterward, okay?”

  More heavy breathing, then Louise picked up again.

  “Tina? I’m afraid we have to go . . . the doctor’s squeezing us in.”

  “Can you make sure the doctor checks his appendix?” Tina blurted.

  “Of course,” Louise said, her voice reassuring. “But I’m sure it’s just a stomachache. That’s why I didn’t call you . . .”

  “I know,” Tina said, holding back a sigh. She’d specifically asked Louise to call her if any of the kids became sick. Maybe Louise was waiting for the official report from the doctor, but Tina still wished she’d phoned earlier.

  “Could you call me after you see the doctor?” Tina asked.

  “It’s a deal,” Louise said. “But don’t let it ruin your day . . . There’s no sense in you worrying. I’ll call you as soon as we get back.”

  “Okay,” Tina said. “And thanks for taking care of him.”

  She hung up and plopped down heavily on the bed. Sammy was fine; he’d had tummy aches before. Every kid in the world got them. He’d take a bit of medicine and watch some TV and he’d be all better by morning.

  Still, reading a book held no appeal now; she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. And she no longer felt like being alone.

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It would take at least an hour for Louise to get to the doctor, have Sammy checked out, and arrive home. In the meantime, Tina was going to force herself to enjoy Jamaica.

  She almost laughed, realizing how ridiculous that thought sounded. “You can do it,” she said aloud, giving herself a mock pep talk. “Make yourself lie down by the private pool. Try to choke down a gourmet dinner. Then work your way up to sleeping in!”

  She looked out the window and saw the weather was still freaky; the rain had abruptly stopped—not just tapered off but halted so suddenly it was as if the drops had evaporated between the clouds and the ground. The sun was edging back out.

  Tina stood up and flung open the door. “Allie? Van? Where is everybody?”

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  Therese

  EVERY TIME PAULINE CLOSED her eyes, she was back in the hospital.

  When she walked through the door of Therese’s room, her gaze was instantly drawn to the small figure lying on a bed. Therese was dressed in a thin cotton gown, and a blue blanket covered her lower body. Her eyes were shut.

  Okay, Pauline thought. I can do this.

  There were two chairs by Therese’s bed, and Pauline took the one farther away. The room was stark white and sterile, as hospital rooms tended to be, but there was something different about this one. After a moment Pauline realized what it was. Every other time she’d visited a patient, they’d been surrounded by personal belongings: family photographs, a pretty bathrobe draped on the end of the bed, greeting cards. Therese wasn’t.

  She forced herself to look at her sister’s face, scanning her wide forehead, her full cheeks, and her small nose. With a start, Pauline realized Therese had a few tiny lines around her eyes. How strange that her body’s aging process had continued to march relentlessly ahead while her mind had remained locked in its earliest stage.

  Pauline shifted in her chair. She wondered what was happening in Jamaica. Maybe everyone was getting ready to head to the beach . . .

  She stole another glance at Therese. Her sister was slightly pudgy—no, that was the wrong word. She looked . . . soft. Her skin was a creamy white, and her hands were almost dainty. Pauline blinked and looked again.

  Someone had painted Therese’s nails. They’d been filed into smooth ovals and covered with a light pink polish.

  It must’ve been one of her aides, Pauline thought, leaning forward in her chair to get a better view. Care had
been taken to coat Therese’s nails smoothly and evenly. To make them look pretty. It wasn’t the sort of job that would be required, and Pauline wondered why someone had done it.

  A sudden, awful sound made her flinch: Therese coughing. Her lungs seemed to be losing the battle to suck in enough air.

  Pauline leapt to her feet to get help, but before she could reach the door, a middle-aged nurse hurried into the room. “You can give her some oxygen,” the nurse said, reaching for a clear mask that was attached to a machine by thin tubes. She demonstrated how to hold the mask an inch or two away from Therese’s face, and soon the raspy-sounding coughing ceased.

  “Thank you,” Pauline’s mother said, reaching for the mask. “Should we hold it all the time? Or just when she needs it?”

  “When she needs it,” the nurse said. Her expression was compassionate, but her manner was rushed. “And she’ll begin to require it more frequently.” She checked one of the machines near Therese—there weren’t as many as Pauline had expected; just two, including the one supplying oxygen—then left the room.

  Pauline and her mother sat together in silence for a while. Now and then, Therese coughed, but the oxygen always eased her breathing.

  After a while, someone knocked on the door. Pauline and her mother looked at each other.

  “Come in,” Pauline finally called.

  A man who looked to be in his midfifties stepped in. He wore jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt with white sneakers.

  “I’m Carlos,” he said, extending his hand.

  Pauline’s mother rose and reached out to clasp his hand with her own. “Of course,” she said. “We met last month, I believe. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m Therese’s aide,” the man said to Pauline. She nodded a greeting and hid her surprise. Her mother hadn’t mentioned going to visit Therese last month. She would’ve gone, too, if she’d known, but she’d been so busy with the charity auction, and planning the vacation . . .

  Carlos moved closer to Therese. He was standing on the other side of the bed, and Pauline could see his face clearly. He stared down at Therese for a moment, then closed his eyes. His lips moved, but he didn’t make any sound.