The Love Book

by Nina Solomon

  It was rush hour and traffic on the Van Wyck was heavy. Duncan had gotten off the phone and was checking email. Emily moved closer to him. “My Observer article is online,” she said.

  “Really proud of you, Emily. We’re going to have to celebrate . . . Ah! Finally! I’m booked on Leonard Lopate. I meant to ask you, has anyone else RSVP’d to the book party?”

  “The reporter from the Times can’t make it.”

  “What about Liam?”

  “He hasn’t responded.”

  “Have you called his publicist?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll do it Monday when we get back.”

  “I’m a little on edge, that’s all. Let me know when you’re ready. I’d be happy to ask my agent’s assistant if she’ll take a look at your book. She’ll do anything for me.”

  At the airport, Duncan said he only had a hundred-dollar bill and would she mind paying the fare. Then he asked for a receipt, which he folded and slipped into his wallet. Just as they were about to take off, Emily got a text from Charles: We’re at the orthopedist. Zach’s wrist is broken.

  * * *

  The first thing Duncan did when they arrived at the Drake Hotel was call down to complain about the glare from the glass-topped desk. When Emily suggested he close the curtains, he said, “And work in a dungeon?”

  After he berated the manager for twenty minutes, they were upgraded to a suite and offered a complimentary dinner. Duncan ordered Caesar salads, no croutons, extra anchovies, even though she’d told him she hated anchovies, and grilled salmon.

  She changed into a new outfit she’d bought especially for the weekend. A tunic over gray skinny jeans (tighter than she remembered) tucked into boots. In the mirror she was finally able to get a glimpse of the Emily that Duncan had been trying to coax out of her with his tough love and, at times, difficult personality.

  She felt some cramping. Now? She’d been waiting weeks for her period to come so she could start her birth control. Did it have to be on a weekend when she and Duncan were trying to repair things, get things back on track?

  Duncan was rummaging through his suitcase. “Damn it! I forgot my lumbar pillow. I can’t work without it. I’ll get lumbago.”

  “I’m sure there’s a Brookstone in the mall.”

  “I just ordered room service.”

  “I can go,” she said. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

  “I’d go myself but I need to make some calls.” His gaze lingered in the deep V of her top. “Is that a new outfit?”

  She nodded.

  “You really should shop downtown. If you sapé-ed yourself in a more aguichante manner, you might get baisé-ed a little more often.”

  “Baisé-ed?”

  “I thought you spoke French,” he said. “I’ve never been with a woman who wasn’t at least bilingual.”

  She didn’t need Google Translate to know he wasn’t being complimentary. She had two choices: she could get defensive or be appreciative for the guidance. She chose the latter. It didn’t occur to her until later that there might be another choice.

  In the lobby, she stood next to a poster for the symposium with a blown-up photograph of Duncan, and called Zach’s cell phone again. For some reason she felt uncomfortable talking to him in Duncan’s presence. This time he answered.

  “How’s your wrist, sweetie?”

  “Fine. It doesn’t hurt at all. I got an orange cast. I can’t wait to show it to everyone when I go to Ben’s.”

  “Ben’s?”

  “I told you about it. Hold on, Mom, Daddy wants to talk to you.”

  “Bad news, Emily,” Charles said. “I have to go to Detroit tomorrow. On business.”

  “You said you’d take care of Zach while I was away.”

  “You think I want to go to Detroit?”

  “Where’s Zach going to stay?” she asked.

  “Clarissa said he could stay with her.”

  “Clarissa?” She was about to tell Charles off, but he’d put Zach back on.

  “Gotta go, Mom. The elevator’s here.”

  “Okay, see you Sunday. I love you.”

  “Right back at you.”

  Zach was fine. Then why did she feel sick to her stomach? All these weeks waiting for her period to come. Could she possibly be pregnant?

  Duncan was wearing noise-canceling headphones when she returned and slipped into the bathroom. Her hands trembled as she unwrapped the pregnancy test and waited for the results. Zach was ten; he’d be in high school in a few years and then off to college before she knew it. Three minutes later she went to tell Duncan the news. Would he be happy? Where was Yoda when she needed him?

  She waited until he looked up. “Duncan? Can I talk to you?”

  “Hold on, I’m in the middle of answering an email. Can it wait?”

  “Not really.”

  He took off his headphones. “Well? What is it?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Hmm. That’s a piece of news. Who’s the father?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Who’s the father? I always use a condom.”

  “Not every time,” she said.

  “Still, it hardly seems likely.”

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Duncan. You know that.”

  “Your ex-husband is living with you, you get mysterious midnight calls . . .”

  “Duncan, you can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am. Quite. Other women have tried to entrap me. Star-fuckers, every one of them.”

  Emily threw the lumbar pillow at him. She missed, unfortunately, but the remainder of his uneaten Caesar salad was now in his lap.

  * * *

  Several hours, a pair of shoes, and a deep-dish pizza later, Emily returned to the hotel to get her things. Duncan wrapped his arms around her when she walked in the door.

  “Emily, I’m an ass,” he said. “Forgive me?”

  She pushed him away and started packing. She had a friend in Wicker Park who said she could stay with her.

  “Please, Emily. I’m thrilled by the news. Come, sit. Let’s talk about all the wonderful things we’re going to do. Snowsuits! The zoo! Bedtime stories!”

  She stopped at the word snowsuit. He helped her off with her coat and led her to the bed.

  “You’re so beautiful. You’re going to be the sexiest pregnant woman I’ve ever been with.”

  She let the comment go; she didn’t want to be her mother. She and Duncan were together. He was on board. There was no competition.

  “I’ve been under a lot of stress,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse.

  Then his cell phone rang. He looked at the number, raised his hand as if to say it was important. “I’m with someone, Lara. Yes, I know. I’ll see you in a bit. Twenty minutes, probably. At the bar.” He ended the call. “Now, where were we?”

  Emily sat up, folding her arms across her chest. “Lara’s here?”

  “There are hundreds of people here. Why shouldn’t she be here? She’s interested in the subject.”

  “Did you invite her?”

  “To have a drink?” he asked. “Since when is there anything wrong with my research assistant and I having a drink?”

  “I mean to the symposium,” Emily clarified.

  “I refuse to have this conversation. You’re making me regret giving you a second chance.”

  Emily began to feel panicky, shaky. Her tongue was dry. She was having trouble swallowing. “I’m really thirsty.”

  Duncan brought her a glass of ice water from the room service tray. “You’re probably dehydrated from the flight,” he said soothingly. He sat with her on the edge of the bed while she drank it down. “Better?”

  She nodded. “I’m really sorry, Duncan. I don’t know what got into me. It must be the hormones.”

  “Emily, ma petite.”

  She looked down. “Not for long.”

  He laughed. “You’ll still b
e ma petite, even when you’re a fat cow at nine months.”

  She started to cry. Duncan pulled her close. “How can I reassure you? Do you want to talk about snowsuits again? How about we go dancing?”

  She put her head on his shoulder. “Please, just forget I said anything.”

  “Done. I’m glad you decided to be rational. We both let things get out of hand.” He kissed the top of her head. “For all I know I invited her when you and I were on a break.”

  “When were we on a break?” she asked.

  “Emily, don’t start. I meant it when I said this is a make-it-or-break-it weekend.”

  “In other words, I’m on probation?” she asked.

  “Your word, not mine,” Duncan said.

  “What word would you use for a cheat?”

  Duncan got up and began pacing. “You have no right to act like a jealous girlfriend. You’re the one who can’t be trusted!”

  The static electricity from the pile carpeting was making his hair stand up on end. She’d never noticed the tufts of hair sprouting from his ears. She barely recognized the man ranting and raving in this palatial hotel suite. This wasn’t the charismatic man who’d charmed her at the literary salon.

  She was waiting for a lull in the invective so she could reason with him, trying to ignore the fact that he had just called her a cunt-head whore, when she realized the only rational explanation for why she was still listening to him was that she must be a glutton for punishment. But she didn’t need Duncan for that. She’d been punishing herself for years. For ending her marriage, for wanting attention from another man, any man, even her own father when she was a young girl and her mother resented anyone taking attention away from her, especially her own daughter. Maybe it had to do with the child she was carrying, or something else, but she felt protective, the way she did with Zach. If she was going to be anyone’s mother, love another human being, she had a responsibility to protect herself, even from her own self-destructiveness.

  “Look, Emily, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, especially offering to host the book party. But this is abusive.”

  One of Cathy’s inspirational emails sprang to mind: You cannot let go of anything if you cannot notice that you are holding it. All at once she realized that the axis she had been clinging to like a buoy in the ocean was nothing more than a wet noodle.

  “A lack of self-esteem doesn’t entitle you to behave any way you please, even if you actually are pregnant.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I have no self-esteem. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be here listening to your bullshit.”

  * * *

  The moment the plane touched ground at LaGuardia the next day, Emily thanked God and the entire universe that she’d landed safely, and vowed to always put Zach first. No one would ever come between them again. Her phone vibrated. She had five messages, all from Clarissa.

  “Zach went to Ben’s scavenger hunt party. He and Sasha are lost in Grand Central.”

  A wave of nausea flooded her body. She pushed her way off the plane. Passengers looked at her as if she was crazy. She needed air. She could barely see the numbers as she dialed Clarissa’s cell.

  Clarissa met her at Grand Central. The police had been alerted and were searching the station. Ben’s mother looked like she’d been up for days.

  “Any word?” Emily asked.

  Ben’s mother shook her head. “I should never have let him talk me into this. I knew they were too young.”

  Clarissa looked like she was about to spit fire. Emily had been on the receiving end of Clarissa’s venom too many times to count and braced herself.

  “You got that right,” Clarissa said. “They’re ten! A person would have to be a freaking moron to let kids go off by themselves in this city.”

  Emily turned to her. “Stay out of this, Clarissa, he’s not your son.”

  Clarissa looked stunned. Emily might have sat for a moment with the feeling of power she derived from finally standing up to Clarissa, if she hadn’t been so worried about Zach. She looked up at the large four-faced opal clock, trying to fight off tears. The seconds ticked like a metronome. Everything around her seemed to be in slow motion. Her knees started to give out. “Zach, where are you?” she asked, but all she heard back was static. She was a terrible mother. She shouldn’t have gone away this weekend. Why hadn’t she listened to Zach in the taxi? She’d made so many mistakes. She’d do things differently with this child, but what about now? Zach was lost.

  And then, as if the dial on a radio had been tuned, the signal was suddenly clear and she knew where Zach and Sasha were. She led the way downstairs to the Oyster Bar. There they were, standing under the vaulted tiled ceiling at opposite corners of the Whispering Wall, just as she and Charles had fourteen years ago.

  Sasha’s mother ran to her daughter and lifted her into her arms. Emily stood under the arch and whispered, “Zach, get your butt over here.”

  Zach’s voice echoed back: “Mom?”

  She ran to him and hugged him tight. “You had us all worried. You can’t run off like that without telling someone where you’re going.”

  Tears were brimming in his eyes. “The limos left without us. I did what you told me to do if I ever get lost. Go to a landmark and wait. Did I do the right thing?”

  “Yes, Zach, sweetie,” she said, wiping away his tears. “You did exactly the right thing.”

  “You weren’t really worried about me, were you, Mom?”

  “No, honey,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

  Clarissa was standing near the entrance of the Oyster Bar, her teal-blue coat wrapped tightly around her. Without makeup and her usual three-inch heels, she looked almost childlike, not much taller than Sasha. Emily thought about the mix-up with the pharmacy about Clarissa’s fertility treatments. She remembered the fear of never being able to conceive after a succession of miscarriages, before she got pregnant with Zach.

  “I think someone else was worried about you, though,” she said.

  “Clarissa?” he said quietly.

  She nodded.

  Zach hesitated the way he had the first day of kindergarten, as if waiting for a sign from her that they would both be fine. It had taken every ounce of restraint for Emily not to run into the classroom and snatch him back. As she watched Zach walk toward Clarissa, she still had the urge to shout, Come back! but she didn’t want him to bear the burden of her fears. Now she was carrying another child, the child of a man she didn’t care to ever see again. How could she protect this unborn baby from those feelings?

  Zach gave Clarissa a high five. At first Clarissa looked as if she wasn’t sure how to react, then just as quickly she let her Balenciaga bag fall to the ground and opened her arms wide. Emily’s heart felt like it was going to burst open in a million directions like a million dandelions scattered in the wind, off to a million destinations.

  Her phone rang. “Yes, Charles, everything’s fine now. We’re all together.”

  So this was what it felt like to let go without fear.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  GRACEFUL EXITS

  THE WEEK AFTER GETTING BACK from Montana, things went from bad to worse. First Cathy’s basement flooded; then Mrs. Beasley had to have emergency dental surgery; her car battery died; 20 percent of the teachers in her school district were being furloughed; and she and Beatrice still weren’t speaking. The lemon squares she’d sent with a Hummel card had gone unanswered. And to top it off, her stylist convinced her to get Zooey Deschanel bangs. As she was driving home from the salon, her cell phone rang. She wouldn’t have answered it at all, but it was her father.

  “Hey, Dad, everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, Princess.”

  “Oh good,” she said, relieved.

  “I’m just calling about Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh! I’m making a double recipe of spaghetti casserole. That way we can have leftovers. It’s always better the next day, don’
t you think?”

  “Listen, kitten,” he said, “I’m not going to be at Thanksgiving this year.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going to the Dominican Republic with Mary,” he said.

  “Who’s Mary?” Cathy asked.

  “You met her the other day.”

  “Your home care nurse?” she asked, nearly running a red light.

  “Yes, Mary. She has family down there. Two daughters and five grandchildren. I’m sure Teresa and Mike will have room for you.”

  Thanksgiving was their tradition. Promise me you’ll always be my princess, her father had said after her mother died. Cathy was sixteen. The promise she’d made to him had been carved in stone. She’d never let anything or anyone come between them.

  “Kitten, I found someone I care about. I want to enjoy every precious day I have on this earth and I want that for you too. You’re going to love Mary, once you get to know her.”

  “I’m sure all her male patients do,” she said.

  “Just give her a chance.”

  Cathy grunted. She wasn’t planning on getting to know Mary. She’d already seen enough of her. She felt like she was about to detonate, the way she had at the fire safety assembly, except she couldn’t blame it on the turnout gear.

  “Princess, come on. Life goes on.”

  “I’m aware,” she said. But her life didn’t feel like it was going anywhere. Maybe Veronica was right: she had no life. “Go, have a great time.” She didn’t mean it, and she hoped he could tell.

  For the first time she could remember, she hung up without telling her father she loved him. She felt abandoned. She’d never imagined that one of the ties she’d ever have to renegotiate would be to her own father.

  Her car seemed to be vibrating and driving at a snail’s pace. Considering the kind of week she’d been having, it didn’t surprise her. And just her luck, Lawrence was pulling into his driveway at the exact moment she was. All she wanted was to get inside, try to fix her hair, and hide under the covers with Mrs. Beasley.