Emily fought a smile. “Her tree is perfectly safe. The pond doesn’t have rats, and neither do the LeJeunes. What they have is an exterminator who does his preventative thing every three months. His truck is shaped like a rat. Myra jumps to conclusions.”
She let the smile come then, because Brian was smiling, and it was impossible not to catch his good mood.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I came looking for you earlier. Julia and I were going for a walk in the woods. I was going to make you come so we wouldn’t get lost.”
“Obviously, you didn’t. Get lost, that is.” Though she would have loved to have gone. “Is Julia sleeping?”
“Soundly. The exercise wore her out.”
“Sweet.”
“She is.”
Emily liked feeling happy. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
She gestured him into the house, pulled two bottles from Doug’s stock in the fridge, and handed him one. “This is my husband’s last vestige of an earlier life. When we were young and poor, we preferred beer to cheap wine. Doug is into better wine now, but when he’s watching a football game, he still wants a beer.”
“When’s he due back?”
“Friday.”
“For the weekend?”
“Longer, I hope,” she said in a nonchalant way that made her almost believe it. And why not? She had been making believe for years. “Let’s go outside. We can sit in back and hear Julia if she cries.” She grabbed the phone on the way out and led him to a shady spot beneath a gnarled oak. It was wide enough for both of their backs, with space to spare.
“This is nice,” he said, settling against the bark. “Different from where I was. We had Central Park, but it wasn’t like this.”
“Did you take Julia for walks there?”
“Sometimes. Gayle did it more than me. The nanny did it more than Gayle.” He snorted. “Was I ever a lousy father.”
“Your work kept you busy,” Emily offered.
“Yeah, well, that sounds good, and it was the truth, but it didn’t have to be. I pulled my share of overtime. I didn’t need to do that.”
“You were conscientious.”
“About work, sure. But what about Julia? My priorities were screwed up.”
Emily shrugged. “Tradition says that since you’re the man, you’re the breadwinner, rather than the child-rearer.”
“So, look at me now.”
She was doing just that. “You look pretty together to me.”
“Right now, sure. I’m sitting here with the baby asleep and a beer in my hand and a beautiful woman beside me, but pretty soon the baby’ll wake up and I’ll have to find something for her to do.”
“Why? She has toys to play with,” Emily said, though she might have dwelt longer on the beautiful woman part. She was starved for comments like that.
“Toys aren’t enough. You have to do things with kids.”
“Uh-huh. Show them how to play with those toys. Read to them. Take them to the park. Mostly be with them. You could do whatever you’d normally do on a Sunday, and take Julia right along.”
“She wouldn’t appreciate the Mets.”
“Well. Maybe not. But you could take her along for most else.”
He was looking like he wanted to believe her. “What about kids’ things. Like ballet.”
Emily tried not to smile, he was so serious. “She has a while to go yet.”
“But what’ll I do when the time comes? I don’t know anything about ballet. I wouldn’t know the first thing about putting her in a tutu. I wouldn’t know the first thing about buying one.”
“There’s a ballet store in town. They’ll answer your questions.”
He was frowning at the grass, then at her. “I don’t know the first thing about buying her clothes, period. Okay, she’s set for now, but pretty soon she’ll be outgrowing the things she has. I haven’t ever bought her clothes before.”
“It’s easy.”
“Fine for you to say. You’re a woman. You’ve been through it all. But it won’t be easy for me. I have enough trouble buying my own clothes.”
“Brian,” she insisted, “It’s easy. You’ll drive to the nearest department store, go to the children’s section, and tell the salesperson what Julia needs.”
He was skeptical. “How will I know what she needs?”
“You’ll know. When winter sets in, you’ll know that she needs something warm, so you’ll look at the snow-suits, and the one-piece suits are going to look much easier to put on.”
“What if Julia doesn’t like it?”
“Tough,” Emily said gently. “She’ll wear it anyway. By the time she’s older, the two of you will walk into the store, and she’ll tell you which one she likes. Before you know it, she’ll be shopping for herself.”
“What about her hair?”
“Most snowsuits have hoods.”
“I mean, what about haircuts and braids and bows and other things little girls like?”
“I’ve seen your bows. They’re good.”
He made a doubtful sound and looked off.
She touched his arm. “You’ll do fine. Look how far you’ve come. Look at all you’re doing for Julia that you weren’t doing a few months ago.”
“Necessity is the father of invention.”
“Isn’t most of life that way? When it gets so that you can’t do anything with Julia’s hair, you’ll go to a hair shop and have it cut. When you start having to cram her feet into her shoes, you’ll go to a shoe store and get her new ones. When her teeth start rotting and falling out—” He shot her a horrified look. She squeezed his arm. “Just kidding.”
“When do I have to start with the dentist?” he asked weakly.
“When she’s three.”
“What about toilet training?”
Emily sat back. “That depends. Jill was ready when she was eighteen months. Daniel couldn’t have been bothered even at two.” Thought of Daniel brought an old, familiar ache. More quietly, she added, “Maybe he was punishing me ahead of time for leaving him alone in that car.”
Brian faced her. “Did you know that, statistically speaking, there are more abductions in small towns than large ones? People in small towns live and breathe trust. It may not be wise, but what’s the alternative? We can’t live like we’re under siege. Hell, that’s why I left New York and came here. You weren’t remiss, Emily. My guess is you were a better mother than most.” He sighed. “No parent is perfect. You sure have answers to things that drive me to a cold sweat in the middle of the night, and I’ve seen you with Julia. You’re a natural.”
He seemed genuine—not at all patronizing, like Doug had always been. She had never completely believed Doug’s denials. Brian, she did believe. She figured it had to do with his being a cop. And an impartial observer. And having eyes with an eerie power.
They were truly stunning eyes—shiny in the way of steel, without the hardness—and, yes, otherworldly. If he said she hadn’t done wrong, she hadn’t.
“Maybe I should open a day-care center,” she said only half in jest. She knew Doug wouldn’t hear of it, much less guarantee a loan. “I was counting on the apartment taking several months of my time. But it’s done now, and the work I want to do in the house won’t take long. So, who will I be then?”
“You’re a writer.”
“That book was a once in a lifetime thing.”
“Did you enjoy doing it?”
“Yes. It was therapeutic. Writing’s always been that for me.” She studied the grass. “I kept notes after Daniel was taken. They kept me sane.” She tugged at the sleek green blades. “Maybe I’ll do more writing for the Sun. Or for friends at the college.” Doug didn’t have to know about either. “Of course, Jill will be home in three and a half weeks, then for Thanksgiving, then again in December, and it’ll be for a whole month then. And long before that I’ll have Doug.”
“Next weekend.”
“Uh-huh. That’s righ
t.”
Doug had little to say. He arrived Friday evening, professing to have eaten on the plane, and after briefly allowing for Emily’s questions about London, left to work out at the health club in town. When he returned, he sank down in front of the television, where he stayed until after she had fallen asleep waiting for him. When she awoke in the morning, he was the one who was asleep.
She studied his face, looking for softness, familiarity, hope, but felt distanced. She didn’t know why. In sleep, certainly, his features were no different from before.
She tried to put herself back several years, lying like this, looking at him when things had been better between them, but the only such memories she had went back to the time when they were newly married. And, perhaps, when Daniel was a baby. She remembered the three of them lying in bed, remembered looking from Daniel to Doug and back, marveling at how lucky she was.
She couldn’t remember lying in bed with Doug and Jill. But Jill had come after Daniel. Emily had done far less lying around feeling lucky and far more running around—trying to please Doug, wanting to mother Jill, needing to compensate for her one tragic lapse, which they never, ever discussed. She had learned to follow Doug’s example and keep her thoughts to herself, about Daniel and, increasingly, about the rest of Doug’s life.
She assumed that was the distance she felt now. She wished she were imagining it, but as the weekend passed, it became more and more clear. She and Doug rarely discussed anything. Nor did she confront him on it. He was home for such a short time that she didn’t want any unpleasantness. So she watched him push aside his orange juice, saying that he preferred pineapple juice, and she nodded sweetly when he asked if his shirts would be ironed on time, and when she suggested going out to dinner on Saturday night and he opted for a movie instead, she didn’t argue.
Something inside her snapped, though, when she saw him with Brian. She had been wanting them to meet. But the juxtaposition was too much, the differences between them too stark. There was Brian—wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and no shoes, carrying Julia, who was dressed the same—talking with Doug, who wore pleated pants, a pressed shirt, and polished loafers. Brian smiled more, skillfully directing the conversation from the apartment, which he took Doug to see, to the fiscal management of Grannick, to the horsepower of Doug’s precious car.
Beside Brian, Doug looked one dimensional and stodgy. Brian looked warmer and kinder and far more attractive to her. And that infuriated Emily. She was angry at Doug for being so strange and superior and aloof, and angry at herself for making the comparison to Brian. Excusing herself, she fled into the house.
Minutes later, Doug joined her and said with enthusiasm, “He’s a nice guy. I’m glad you have someone like him here with you, while I’m away. I worry about your being alone.”
She gave him a sharp look. “I’ve been here alone for years, and you’ve never worried.”
“You’ve always had Jill.”
“Jill’s my daughter. It’s not the same as having you around.”
He stared at her, then at the wall. “Don’t start in.”
“What’s happening, Doug? We see less and less of each other at a time when we should be seeing more and more.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ve been through this before.”
“But I don’t understand it. You talk like the money you may make tomorrow will be the difference between staying afloat and going under, but it doesn’t make sense. Your business is thriving—and yes, we have bills,” she said before he could, “but they aren’t any greater than anyone else’s.”
“I have a child in college.”
“So do millions of other people, and they survive. We aren’t spendthrifts. We lead frugal lives. At least, I do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“All it means,” she said with a sigh, “is that we should have more than enough money to keep us comfortable, college tuition and all, so why can’t you stay home more? You did, before Jill left.”
He put his hands on his hips and faced her. “Business has picked up.”
“Turn some down. Take time off.”
“But I like the direction my business is going.”
“You like being on the road five days a week? Six, sometimes? You don’t want to spend time at home? Ever? Or will you just do it when Jill is home? For show.”
He sighed. “What are you suggesting now?”
For a split second she considered backing off, but she had come too far and was too upset. Her sole concession was to lower her voice. “What do you want from our marriage?”
“A place to come home to.” He looked around. “This house, this town, you, Jill.”
“What do I do for you, besides wash your clothes?”
“You’re my wife.”
“Do you like being with me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Eight days a month.”
“Emily, what is wrong with you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, touched her forehead, shook her head. Maybe it was her. Straightening, she dropped her hand. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing or where I’m supposed to be going. How am I supposed to fill my time? I can only fiddle around the house so much. After a while everything’s done, and then what?”
“You want to work.” He threw his hands in the air. “Christ, Emily, we’ve been through this one, too. You’re not qualified to do anything. All you’ll do is bring in a piddling amount that will raise our taxes and make a mountain of paperwork for me.” He headed for the door. “Why can’t you just—just watch television?”
She went after him. “I am not unqualified to do anything. I got my degree.”
“Yeah. In English. That degree, plus two bits, won’t buy you a cup of coffee.”
She reeled, but only for a minute. Then she was following him up the stairs. “That isn’t true, Doug. There are lots of things I could do. But you don’t want me to work.”
“For reasons I’ve explained a dozen times. Why don’t they sink in?”
“Because they don’t make sense. And they aren’t fair.”
He swore under his breath and turned into the bedroom.
She hung on the doorjamb. “I need to do something. I can’t just sit around here.”
“Why not? My mother did.”
“She had a husband.”
He glared at her. “Her husband didn’t do the kind of work I do—or make what I do.”
Finally, an acknowledgement that he wasn’t on the verge of bankruptcy. “But what good is the money, if we’re not happy?”
“I’m happy. I’m perfectly happy. At least, I am when you’re not on my back.” He shot her a withering look. “Ease up, huh?”
Emily did draw back then. She went outside to the pond, and stayed there until Doug came out to say goodbye. Nothing had been solved. She felt worse than before.
But she feared that if she pushed he wouldn’t come home at all, and if he didn’t, her marriage would be well and truly over, and if it was, Jill would be hurt.
That worried her most—which was interesting, since there were so many other things that should worry her, too, like what would become of the house if her marriage ended, how she would pay for food and clothes, what in the devil she would do when her failing car fell apart.
Only then, sitting by the pond with Doug off and gone again, and the whole of her future looming ahead, did she realize just how dependent she was.
nine
EMILY SAT BY THE POND UNTIL IT GREW DARK. For the first time, she wasn’t concerned about missing a call from Jill. She didn’t know what she would say if Jill did call. Lying about having a lovely weekend with Doug was growing harder, and Jill, bless her, always asked.
Jill was Emily’s best friend. They could hug each other. They could cry on each other’s shoulders. Emily was desperately in need of both a hug and a cry just then. But she couldn’t tell Jill what was happening.
She thought of cal
ling Kay or Celeste. They came in second to Jill in the best-friend category, and she was sure they would be wondering how the weekend had gone. But she didn’t call them. She felt too bottled up, even for that.
For the first time in years, she wished she had a mother who would come and hold her and not demand a word. That was what Emily did for Jill when something upset her too much for talk. The holding helped loosen the congestion inside, and the talk inevitably came.
But Emily’s mother had been dead for a long time, and even in life, she had been cold. Widowed early, she’d had to work to support herself and her daughter. She never let Emily forget it.
Emily had no siblings. Contact had long since been lost with what few aunts, uncles, and cousins there were. There was no one at all to call.
So she sat for a while in the dark. When the night air cooled, she went inside and made a cup of tea. Then she sat in the dark again, this time in the living room with the haze of a smoky clarinet rising from the stereo.
The phone rang several times, once from Jill, once from Celeste. She let the machine take both and didn’t move, other than to curl more tightly into herself.
The music was long done when she finally rose and went upstairs. From the bedroom door, she studied the remains of Doug’s stay. The closet and a bureau drawer were open. A shirt was thrown over the arm of the chair, a stray sock lay on the floor by the bed. Miscellaneous change was on the nightstand, mostly pennies.
Like a tip! A lousy tip!
Wheeling away, she raced down the stairs, threw on a jacket, and slammed out the door. She hit the sidewalk at a savage pace, kept it up to the end of China Pond Road, down Walker, down Sycamore, and onto LaGrange at the Berlo estate. She didn’t see much of what she passed. Her mind roiled with anger at Doug.
Don’t start in—when she said she wanted him home more. What is wrong with you—when she tried to pin him down about his feelings. You’re not qualified to do anything—when she broached the topic of work. And when he was tired of talking—Ease up, huh?
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