City Mouse

by Lender, Stacey;

  “So the boy was diving down and getting the fish and on one dive his arm somehow got caught in a drain in the deep end and he couldn’t get it out. He tried to shake it free but his arm was stuck and he got trapped under the water. The nanny jumped in and tried and tried to get his arm out but the suction in the drain was so strong she couldn’t and the other little boy was standing on the side of the pool screaming and screaming and she told him to run next door and get the neighbor to help and the neighbor ran over and managed to turn off the drain pump but it was too late—in less than five minutes the boy had drowned, he actually drowned right there on a Tuesday afternoon in the pool in his own backyard.”

  “Oh my god, that’s awful!” I said, getting the chills even with the hot water all around me.

  “The whole town’s a fucking mess, they can’t get over it,” Tami said, and took the last sip of her drink. “I think the parents are going to sue the pool company.”

  I looked down from our hot tub perch at Aaron and Chris chasing Phoebe and Aidan, playing sharks-and-minnows in the shiny blue water. “I’m gonna get you!” Aaron teased Phoebe and lunged toward her; she let out a happy scream and splashed to the side of the pool. “Base!” she cried out, but Aaron grabbed her anyway and raised her high above his head, ready to throw. “Stop it, Daddy, stop it!” she yelled, flailing her arms, her little pink floaties like swollen jelly beans. “I mean it!” she screamed. “You can’t get me, Daddy, I was on base!”

  I closed my eyes and took a calming breath. That delighted splashing could so quickly lead to stuck, submerged, drowned, dead, still, suspended forever. Who by fire and who by water, who in his time and who too early—the annual holiday chant ran like a ticker through my head.

  “I’ll bet that mom will never forgive herself for letting her nanny watch the kids in the pool,” Alyson said. “I never let the kids swim while Priya’s here.”

  “But it could have happened even with a parent watching,” Tami said. “Accidents happen.”

  They happen, I thought, but not like that.

  “Do you really think so?” Alyson said, pulling herself out of the water to sit on the side. “We don’t know the whole story—maybe the nanny went inside for an extra towel or to pee or check the charger on her cell phone. Maybe she turned her back for a second or two or three.

  “A parent would have been watching,” she continued, louder. “A parent would have jumped in faster and dove down quicker, pulled his arm harder, maybe even broken it in order to save his life. There is no way he would have died that day if a parent had been watching. Don’t you think, Jessica?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Alyson was right—leaving your five-year-old to swim under a nanny’s watch seemed like a huge mistake. But Tami was right too: accidents happen all the time. Kids climb on rock walls in the summer when their parents are away and Grandma’s sleeping over; they slice their hands open on broken green glass and have neighbors drive them to the hospital for a line of six neat stitches down the middle of their palm. We had been lucky so far: no stitches yet for Phoebe. But I knew it was bound to happen one day, under my watch or not, although preferably under mine, a slip and cut or even a break and we’d rush through tears to the doctor and get it fixed, a story to tell Daddy at home that night with a new stuffed animal and a kiss good night on her Barbie Band-Aid. But the thought of a truly serious accident, of Phoebe falling, crashing, drowning, dying, god forbid, wasn’t a place I ever let my brain go. I couldn’t imagine how that mother could go on after getting the call that her son was dead.

  They were both staring at me, waiting for my answer. “The whole thing’s terrible, what an awful story,” I said, not wanting to have to choose a side.

  Every summer there was a story on the news about the danger of pools. Watch your kids in the pool, you idiots, the newscasters say with serious faces. We’re warning you, it happens. And the drowning story would get passed like the flu from backyard to backyard, a friend-of-a-friend reminder to stay vigilant, or else.

  “The shark’s got you!” Aaron shouted, and threw Phoebe high up in the air, too high I thought, her arms and legs splayed in an aerial jumping jack, and then she landed with a splash, so hard she went under even with the floaties, but then she popped up laughing and fine, forgetting to be mad about the base. “Again!” she said.

  I shuddered. Things I never had to worry about in the city—sharks-and-minnows, nannies checking chargers, and death by suction drain—all now present and at the front of my mind.

  * * *

  In the fading daylight, Madison lay across my lap, finishing the last of her bottle. I knew I should start to wean her off and get her to a sippy cup like the pediatrician had directed last week at her twelve-month check-up. But she loved it so much, especially when she was tired. She held the bottle with one hand and with the other played with a long blond curl next to her ear. She was my baby; I didn’t have the heart to take her bottle away yet. Maybe next week. Or before the end of the summer.

  A few families were still scattered around the backyard, older kids taking turns jumping off the diving board, throwing around a Nerf football on the grass. I hadn’t seen Aaron and Phoebe for a while; last I’d noticed they were on their way to the basement playroom, following Jeff who was talking about the refurbished original Space Invaders game he had bought from an arcade, no quarters necessary. When I asked Alyson what Jeff did for a living, she said he had an electrical contracting business, with something about deals with the MTA and Tishman Speyer and some other monolith builder. They certainly seemed to have the means. And from bouncing on the trampoline to driving behind the wheel in one of the mini electric cars in the driveway, Jeff seemed even more excited than the kids to be playing with the toys.

  It had been a good day. A long day. Alyson and Jeff had introduced us around to their seemingly endless stream of friends, and I’d never imagined a day of poolside meet-and-greets could be so exhausting. Smile, Nice to meet you . . . Yes, right next door . . . A few weeks ago . . . Hold on a sec to catch the kids running in two different directions. Have you seen Phoebe? There she was on her way to the swing set holding hands with Emmy, the fast new BFFs.

  But I could barely remember any of their friends’ names, how embarrassing. Dayna and Rob? Brian and Laurie? The one with her hair up in a ponytail who grew up in Bergen County . . . Heather? I had some serious homework to do, studying my new chart.

  Madison shifted in my lap to tilt her bottle to get to the last drop of milk and curled her toes into the crook of my elbow. She barely fit, she was getting so big, walking, running, now a toddler, not a baby anymore. And those busy little feet were certainly filthy: bath time. I put her down on the chair and started gathering our towels when Alyson came over and said, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “We’ll probably have to get going pretty soon,” I replied. “Although I may never get Aaron and Phoebe out of your game room. I can’t thank you enough for having us.”

  “You can’t go yet—you’ll miss the make-your-own-sundaes coming up for the kids and of course watching the fireworks later, around nine.” She bit her lower lip. “Tami and Chris are staying, and Ivy and the Wagmans and the Ryans said they’re going to stop by. Why don’t you run home and grab the kids’ pajamas and stay? We’re going to turn on Toy Story in the living room and have our nanny Priya watch the kids so we can hang.” She stood, waiting expectantly for my answer.

  There wasn’t any particular reason why we had to leave—it wasn’t like Aaron and I had any big plans for our Saturday night, and even though I was tired I didn’t want to shun Alyson’s hospitality. “Sure, why not?” I said. “I’ll find Aaron and let him know.”

  * * *

  I ran home to bathe Madison and put her in pajamas, and while I was there I threw on a sundress, grabbed a sweater, and freshened up my face. An hour later, Madison was sleeping in her stroller and Phoebe was zoned out in front of the movie with Emmy and a group of other kids. Aaron and I sat out on t
he deck in the warm evening air with Tami and Chris and a few other couples who had also stayed for the party’s extension.

  “More wine?” Alyson asked, and I said, “Sure,” as she poured me another full glass of pinot grigio. Over the course of the day, I must have had six, maybe seven drinks. More than I usually consumed in a whole week. The booze was certainly flowing—probably because it was free. If everyone was paying twelve bucks a pop like in the city, people would likely be drinking a lot less. But all those drinks spread out over the whole day, I barely felt tipsy. Next time we’ll bring a bottle of Absolut, I thought. That sun tea kit gift idea had been stupid; when we arrived I saw she already had one out on the deck for the guests.

  I leaned back on their comfortable outdoor couch, glad to have the chance to relax with adult-only company after a long kid-filled day, picking at the remnants of my red, white, and blue vanilla bean cupcake and watching Alyson walk around refilling people’s wineglasses, looking relaxed despite a long day of hostessing. It all seemed so effortless for her.

  I wondered when we’d finally be ready to throw our first party. After we bought more furniture. After we installed our shiny, new, mortgage-requiring grill.

  “You play hoops?” Jeff asked Aaron. “A bunch of us have a run Tuesday nights down at the middle school.”

  Aaron had been telling me how much he missed his pickup game in the city. “I haven’t played in a while, but yeah, I’d love to join,” Aaron said. In the light of the citronella candle I could see his cheeks were red—red from sunburn, or maybe too much wine? Whatever it was, I could tell he was having fun. I reached over and squeezed his knee and he put his hand on top of mine and squeezed back.

  Alyson’s friend Ivy was sitting on a love seat across from us, chatting with Tami. She was wearing a low-cut halter dress and looked younger than everyone else by a good five years, with not even the hint of an eye wrinkle when she smiled. How to remember her name. Long dark hair, long like ivy; black hair, blue eyes, the combo I’d always wished I’d been born with. We’d met her husband when they walked in earlier, something with a D . . . David, Daryl, Dan . . . Drew. He was short and thick like a bull with kind of a square-shaped body, and a hairline just about ready to recede. I wondered what had brought them together.

  I overheard her say, “And on the weekends we’d hop on the train and be in Paris, or in Brussels.”

  “What were you doing in London?” I asked.

  “Drew’s at JPMorgan and they asked him to go over to start up a UK trading desk. At first I didn’t want to go, with the kids being so little and everything. Tanner was barely two and Ruby just a baby. And London! I hadn’t ever traveled overseas before. The whole experience feels like it was a dream but it’s sooo good to be back. Being here tonight, it’s weird, it kind of feels like we never left. But enough about me. How are you settling into Suffern so far?”

  Jeff walked over with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of Avión Silver. “Where’s Drew? Drew!” Drew waved from the gate next to the driveway with his cell phone to his ear. “Get off the freaking phone already and get over here!”

  Jeff poured the shots and the tray was passed around. When Drew rejoined the group, Jeff raised his glass. “Welcome back, Ivy and Drew, to the good ol’ US of A. It’s a good thing you finally came back, because to be honest, you were gone so long we almost forgot about you.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And to our new neighbors, Jessica and Aaron: thank god you’re cool and not old and curmudgeonly like the ASSHOLES that live on the other side of us and always complain about the noise!” he shouted over his right shoulder.

  I shrugged at Aaron—we hadn’t met those neighbors yet.

  Jeff continued, “And I wanted to give a special shout-out to everyone who’s supported me these past few years on the village board. We’ve come a long way; we balanced the budget and built three new playgrounds. But there’s still a ton of work to be done. So, to give us a voice on a higher platform, I’ve decided that a year from this November, I’ll be asking for your vote to have me represent you on the Ramapo Town Council!”

  A round of applause and a chant of “Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!” broke out. Alyson was beaming.

  I whispered to Aaron, “What’s the Ramapo Council?”

  “No idea. Sounds like the tribal of elders.”

  I pictured Jeff sitting around a campfire and stifled a giggle.

  “For the next fourteen months,” Jeff went on, “I’ll be planning gatherings to get your input on what everyone sees as our town’s most pressing needs. Meet-and-greets, parties, and yes—fundraisers. I’ll be looking for your support to help me champion our numero uno issue: to lower our goddamn taxes, once and for all. I know you’re all with me on that.”

  Suffern’s taxes were a lot higher than many of the surrounding areas, but we had justified it as well worth it for the highly rated public schools.

  “So raise your glass to good friends, good tunes, good booze, and a happy Fourth. Cheers!” And with that he downed the shot.

  Shots weren’t my favorite, the way the raw alcohol singed my throat and took me to that next stage of buzzed a little too fast. But the toast was in part for us and for Jeff’s announcement and, what the hell, I wasn’t driving—I clinked glasses with Aaron and closed my eyes and the tequila actually went back more smoothly than I thought it would.

  While everyone was congratulating Jeff, I excused myself to find the bathroom. The guest bathroom near the kitchen was occupied, so I wandered in search of another, passing room after room—they had so many!—all decorated in varying shades of brown. The dining room walls were a deep shade of cappuccino with an oversized chocolate-brown table in the middle, next to a living room with creamy plush carpeting and an ivory sectional couch. A white couch, with kids? Off the living room was yet another room with bookshelves and sconces and velvety wallpaper with a gorgeous grand piano at its center. I was tempted to try out a few keys but didn’t want anyone to know I was snooping. I hadn’t played in forever; I doubted I could even bang out “Heart and Soul.” Maybe we could think about buying a piano in a few years. We certainly didn’t need a grand, but we did have room for an upright, so Phoebe and Madison could learn to play.

  Alyson’s look was a little traditional for me, but the finishes were high-end. And finished. A finished house. Not only was every inch decorated, down to the matching tassels and valances; there was also beautiful greenery everywhere, plants and blooming flowers adorning shelves and side tables, bringing nature from the outside in. What a green thumb she had.

  I poked my head in on the kids in the den and saw they were watching Dumbo, that awful scene when the pink elephants multiply and morph into scary-faced ghosts. I’d never liked that movie, even when I was little, so sad with his mother taken away in chains. But Phoebe and the ten or so kids lounging on the couches seemed perfectly content, eyes glued to the screen. Phoebe looked zonked; it was way past her bedtime. I didn’t see Alyson’s nanny, that was strange; maybe she was taking one of the kids on a bathroom run.

  “Hi, Phoebe,” I whispered, and kissed the top of her head. “Are you having fun, sweetie? Are you tired?”

  “I’m thirsty, Mommy.”

  I picked up the cup closest to her on the side table. “Is this your lemonade?”

  “It tastes funny,” she said. I took a sniff and then a sip. Oh my god, it was spiked!

  “Where did you get this?” I demanded. Phoebe shrugged. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

  I grabbed all of the cups on the table and ran into the kitchen and dumped them into the sink, wondering how in the world an alcoholic drink could have made it into the kids’ room. One of the parents must have left their cup by accident. But Alyson’s nanny was supposed to be supervising—where the hell was she? Any kid could have wandered off, let alone drank from the wrong cup. Then I saw that on the kitchen counter, right next to the plastic bowl of Pirate’s Booty, were two identical pitchers of lemonade. I taste-tes
ted each and found that one indeed was the vodka-infused batch. The same exact pitcher! I moved the vodka lemonade over to the grown-up drink table and as I started to pour Phoebe a cup of water, a voice startled me from behind.

  “Jessica, right?”

  I recognized Ivy’s husband but couldn’t recall his name.

  “Drew,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Of course! Drew who just moved back from London.” I was proud for remembering that detail in my befuddled state. I took a sip of Phoebe’s water. “I lived in London once, for a semester in college.”

  “Which part?”

  “Bayswater. Not exactly deep cultural immersion, but . . .”

  “Our flat was across the park, in Knightsbridge.”

  “One of my favorite pubs was in Knightsbridge! What was the name . . . I haven’t thought about that place in forever . . . It’s at the tip of my tongue . . . Nag-something . . .”

  “The Nag’s Head.” He took some ice out of the freezer drawer and dropped it in his glass. “Can I make you a drink?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.” I have to get back to the drunken-toddler room. “I can’t believe you know the Nag’s Head, that’s so funny. I can still taste that cider.”

  “Ah, sweet Woodpecker.” He smiled and I noticed an ever-so-slight space between his two front teeth.

  “I’ve been dying to go back to London for a visit. I’m working on the marketing for this new show coming to Broadway in the spring that’s debuting in the West End, and I’m this close to convincing the producer to put me on the list for an advance trip.”

  I knew I had no chance of making that coveted list. Still, it felt good to say I might. Although if they told me to hop on a plane tomorrow, I couldn’t imagine actually going: I hadn’t been away from Phoebe and Madison overnight, not even once since they were born. Aaron and I had attempted a weekend away almost two years before when I was a few weeks pregnant with Madison, but our grand plan to meet up in San Francisco after his meeting fell apart when my parents decided they weren’t going to be able to come up from Florida to babysit after all. A friend’s seventieth birthday party that they couldn’t miss. And there was no way we were going to let Aaron’s parents watch Phoebe after their last debacle, when we’d arrived home from a movie and found Phoebe still awake at ten p.m., unable to move her arm. We speed-dialed the pediatrician who phone-diagnosed a case of nursemaid’s elbow and gave us the choice of either spending four hours in the emergency room or being directed how to fix it ourselves. So I reluctantly put her on speaker and Aaron sat Phoebe in his lap and I held my breath and put one hand on her elbow and gave her wrist a quick turn and twist, and to this day I can still feel the pop of her ligaments moving back into place.