“Do you really think so?”
“Definitely.”
That seemed to be the right answer, for Portia responded by grabbing each of her elbows and squeezing as if giving herself a hug. Then she was gone, closing the door behind her. Gretchen waited a moment and said to Ennis, “Go on.”
He went and stood by the window. “I didn’t feel I could just abandon her,” he said, staring out at the rain. “She really had no one.”
“I thought she was going back to Kansas or wherever it was that she came from,” said Gretchen.
“Wisconsin, and, no, she didn’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
“She said she wanted to have the baby here.”
“Why? Aren’t her parents out there?” But Gretchen knew the answer. Eve must have thought that if she was nearby, Ennis would be more likely to soften, to change his mind. Maybe he wouldn’t marry her. But she’d have the baby to draw him to her, and babies cast a powerful net. When Ennis didn’t say anything, Gretchen added, “So she had the baby in New York?”
Ennis nodded. “April eighth.”
Even though Gretchen had known about the pregnancy, the news of the birth still felt like an ambush, swift and sudden. So that meant Justine and Portia had a half sibling, who was now almost two months old. Clearly Ennis had kept his word and not told them. Oh God—how would they take it? Gretchen sat back down on the bed and resisted the urge to slide under the covers and pull them up to her chin—no, over her head. She was freezing; the air-conditioning was turned way up, and the room had a meat-locker chill.
“Well, congratulations,” she said, barely able to get the words out. “I guess you’re a dad—again.” She stood, pulled on the sweatshirt she had pried from her suitcase, and sat back down.
Ennis ignored this and came over to the bed. He hesitated for a moment before sitting, and Gretchen toyed with the impulse to ask him to please get up. But the king-sized bed allowed him to keep his distance, so she let it go.
“I had seen her throughout the pregnancy,” he continued. “Just to make sure she was getting to her doctor’s appointments and that she had enough money. There was nothing else”—he paused for emphasis—“and I mean nothing else between us.”
“Was that what she wanted? Or was it you?” As soon as she said these words, Gretchen wished she could take them back; she didn’t want to let him know that it mattered to her one way or the other.
“It was my choice. What happened with her was a onetime thing. It was wrong, I was wrong, and even though I can’t undo it, I didn’t have to keep doing it either.”
“All right,” Gretchen said. “Keep going.”
“So when she called me to say the baby had been born, I said I wanted to come see her in the hospital. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“And doing the right thing is clearly so important to you,” she said, unable to contain herself. “So deeply, truly important.” He had the effrontery to look hurt. “What?” she asked. “You deserved that, you know.”
“I suppose I did,” he said, looking down at his hands. Gretchen had loved his hands too—strong, firm, and well shaped. She had loved so many things about him, hadn’t she? Well, she’d just have to get over them, every last one. “Anyway, she didn’t want me to come to the hospital. She kept saying that it wasn’t necessary, she’d get along just fine, she knew I wasn’t planning on being a father to this baby, so there was no point in my getting to know him.”
“So it was a boy.”
“A boy. Yes.” He continued studying his hands. “This was kind of strange, hey? All during the pregnancy she had been so eager to see me. She talked about the baby and said that even though I didn’t want to get married, she hoped I could have some role in its life. So her reluctance to see me was a switch. Something new. Something I didn’t expect.”
Gretchen had nothing to say; she buried her own hands in the kangaroo-like front pocket of the sweatshirt and waited for him to continue.
“I decided to go to the hospital. I checked the visiting hours; I bought flowers and a couple of things for the baby. One of those little outfits with a hood, hey? A teddy bear. And I planned to give her some money too. I figured she would need it.” He stopped, and the only sound in the room was the rain, which continued to patter heavily against the panes.
“Was she glad to see you?” Gretchen found herself increasingly drawn—despite her resistance, despite her quiet fury—into this narrative.
“Was she glad? No, I wouldn’t say glad exactly. Surprised was more like it. Even alarmed.”
“Alarmed? I don’t get it. You are the father. Even if you’re not going to function as the father.”
“That’s what I thought too. So then I asked to see the baby. He had been taken for some test or shot, and they were just about to bring him back. I said I would wait. She didn’t want me to, though. She thanked me for everything but told me not to bother staying, just to go. Practically begging me, in fact. Stranger and stranger, hey? She was almost pushing me out the door. But I didn’t go. No, I sat and I waited. She looked more and more uncomfortable. Nearly jumping out of her skin. And when they brought him in, I understood.”
“What do you mean? Was there something wrong with him?” This was going from bad to worse. Not only a half sibling but a half sibling with issues.
“Wrong? No, nothing was wrong with him. He was beautiful. Perfect. A perfectly beautiful, beautifully perfect baby boy.”
“So what was the problem?” Why was he drawing this out? Did he enjoy hurting her?
“Gretchen, the baby was black.”
“Black!” Here was a piece of information lobbed in from left field. Gretchen felt as if she had been physically hit by it, squarely, right between the eyes.
“Well, part black anyway.”
“So that means…”
“That means that he isn’t mine. He never was. And whatever happened with Eve, he was not the result.” Ennis exhaled mightily.
“What a story.” What a stroke of luck. Gretchen’s first thought was relief. There was not going to be a half sibling added to the family equation after all. No long and undoubtedly teary discussion with Justine and Portia—that whole scenario had just been eradicated. And then there was Gretchen’s own reaction. Even though she and Ennis were separated, it would have hurt her to know he had fathered a child with someone else. She may have exiled Ennis from her life, but she was not ready to give him over to anyone else.
“What a story,” he agreed. “I held the baby for a few minutes. He was a cute little guy. I gave her the gifts, the money. And then I walked out of that hospital feeling so—free! So wonderfully, marvelously free, hey? You can’t imagine what a weight it was, thinking about that baby and what I was and wasn’t going to be to him. And now it’s all just gone, vanished, just like that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that it’s all gone,” Gretchen said carefully. “It’s not like the whole thing never happened. You did sleep with her, and she did pull that stunt with the pills. What if the girls had been there when she showed up? I haven’t said a word to them about her, you know. Not a peep.”
“I appreciate that,” Ennis said. “It’s very kind of you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “I was trying to protect them.”
“Well, whatever your motive, I’m grateful for it. I don’t want them to despise their old man, hey?”
“They don’t despise you,” Gretchen said. “So you can stop worrying.”
“What about you? Do you despise me?”
Gretchen inched away as far she could from him on the bed; if she moved any more, she’d be on the floor. “I don’t know how I feel,” she said finally. “You hurt me, Ennis. You hurt me more than I knew I was capable of being hurt.”
“I know I did. And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But I thought if you knew about Eve, it would change things.”
“How? Why?”
“Because you’d understand
that I really am done with all that. Finished.”
“Well, that’s all very well and good for you. But I still don’t see how it affects me. You still betrayed me. Betrayed all of us. And as for the baby not being yours, that was just luck, Ennis. Pure dumb luck.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“No,” she said. “Some things are the result of rigorously delayed gratification, meticulous planning, relentless hard work, and obsessive attention to the smallest detail.” She stood and stretched; sitting so tightly wound in the room’s unrelenting chill had made her stiff. And she’d heard enough anyway. Time to get moving.
“That’s it?” Ennis said when he saw he was being dismissed. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
“What were you expecting?” She was still reeling from his news. So the conversation with Justine and Portia about a new baby brother would never—thank you, God—have to take place. But how could Ennis show up here and think that revelation would wipe away all the hurt of these past months? There was something so cavalier about the expectation, so clueless, selfish, and entitled. She looked at her estranged husband, and she realized she was even angrier than she’d been before he had made his grand confession. The nerve of him, she thought, adopting an expression that had tumbled so effortlessly from Lenore’s lips throughout her childhood. The nerve.
Fourteen
Lenore was torn. She simply had to find out what had made Caleb cry like that—with such abandon, such sorrow. He sounded devastated, her sweet boy. She had a strong hunch his tears had to do with that Bobby person, though until she spoke to her grandson, she could not be sure. But she also wanted to talk to Justine, whose puzzling behavior earlier this afternoon continued to prick the edges of Lenore’s consciousness. Something was not right with that girl, and Lenore was determined to find out what it was.
What to do? Justine, then Caleb? Or Caleb and then Justine? And could she hope to talk to both grandson and great-granddaughter and still have time to have her hair blown out before the wedding? This too was important; she was intent on looking her best.
Since Caleb’s room was on this floor, she decided to check on him first. She passed one of the maids—Esperanza, yes, that was it!—in the broad hallway and smiled at the girl. See, her mind was still sharp. Today she remembered the names of both maids all by herself with no help from anyone. Still smiling, Lenore stopped in front of the door to Caleb’s room. She raised her fist to knock but was startled by a knock from the other side. No, not a knock. More like a thud. Something had been thrown against the door, and the impact caused it to vibrate slightly in its frame.
“I saw you.” That was Caleb’s voice; Lenore was sure of it. His words, icy and furious, were perfectly distinct; he must have been standing directly in front of the closed door. “I saw the two of you, okay? So don’t try to bullshit your way out of it.” There was an answering murmur from within the room, but Lenore couldn’t make out the words. Sorry was one of them; that much she could glean. The rest was indistinct. The speaker—Bobby?—was not so conveniently situated for eavesdropping.
Lenore stepped back. Eavesdropping was just a fancy word for spying. And as badly as she wanted to find out what her boychick had seen and if in fact it was connected to the sobbing she had heard earlier, she was not going to spy on him to find out. No, she would wait for Caleb to tell her; she had supreme faith that he would. And when he did, she wouldn’t say, I told you so; I knew he was phony-baloney from the minute I laid eyes on him. No, she would say nothing of the kind. She would just listen and offer the soothing words she prayed would ease the hurt.
Lenore turned resolutely from the door and descended the stairs. Rain was pelting the big windows with gleeful abandon. Lenore knew that Angelica and Betsy would no doubt view this as a tragedy, but Lenore had lived long enough to know that rain, even on a wedding day, wasn’t a tragedy; it was barely even a blip. After all, Betsy had planned every last detail perfectly. There were elaborate enclosed tents, which would keep the rain from blowing in on the wedding party and the guests. There were dozens of compact, white folding umbrellas, each trimmed with a discreet border of gray, to hand out, and there were pairs upon pairs of clear plastic sandals—small, medium, and large—so that no one’s shoes would get ruined. The wedding would proceed as planned. Angelica, flanked by her handsome groom, would be the most radiant of brides. The music would play, champagne corks would pop, and Lenore, dressed to the nines, would be there to see it all. Somewhere in the vast house Betsy’s little dog gave a single, exclamatory yip, as if to punctuate Lenore’s musings.
Where was Betsy? Kitchen? Den, where the hair and makeup girls had been stationed and were now attending to a couple of the bridesmaids? Lenore did not see or hear her anywhere, but when she poked her head into the laundry room behind the kitchen, she ran smack into Lincoln, her former son-in-law, just as he was walking out. What was he doing in there, anyway? A load of whites? He looked to be in a big hurry, but stopped when he came face-to-face with her.
“Lincoln,” she said. Should she hug him? She wasn’t sure and didn’t especially want to, so she extended her hand.
“Lenore,” he said. “It’s been a long time.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“How have you been, Lincoln?” Lenore had known all about the drinking, of course; everyone had. Was he still drinking now? She’d heard not, but you never knew with these things.
“I’ve been fine. Great, in fact. Because today is a great day. A great day. If only this damn rain would let up, it would be absolutely perfect.” He glanced over at the small laundry room window.
“The rain won’t spoil a thing,” Lenore said. “You wait and see.”
He looked as if he was trying to decide whether she was making fun of him. “Maybe you’re right,” he said finally. “Maybe you are.”
“Have you seen Angelica yet?” Lenore asked.
Lincoln shook his head. “I just saw Gretchen, though. And Portia.”
“Not Justine?”
“No one seems to be able to find Justine,” said Lincoln. Lenore was quiet as she thought of her great-granddaughter scrabbling urgently in the grass. “Gretchen, Ennis, and Portia were all wondering where she was,” he added.
“Ennis is here too?” Lenore was surprised. She had been told Ennis had declined the invitation—good thing too. What had changed? And why had no one told her?
“I guess it was kind of a last-minute decision. Gretchen is pissed as all get-out.”
“She said that?” Lenore decided to overlook his vulgarity; he could be crude, but he did care for his children.
“No. But I could tell. She had that look.”
“What look?” asked Lenore.
“You know,” Lincoln said. “That verbissen pisk. It could curdle milk.”
Lenore had to smile. Verbissen pisk—a sour, angry face—was an expression her own mother had frequently used; Lenore had not heard anyone say it in a long while. But she didn’t want to be disloyal to Gretchen. “Can you blame her?” she asked. “The way that man behaved.”
“Of course, of course,” Lincoln hastened to agree. “I can understand how she feels.”
“We all can,” Lenore said. She had not planned on Ennis. How would he figure into her scheme for introducing Gretchen to Mitch? Would they all be at the same table? She sincerely hoped not. Suddenly she felt she could not spare another minute to chat with Lincoln. She had so much to do before tonight. She needed to hurry.
“Well,” she said brightly. “Kiss the bride when you see her. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled you’re here.” And she marched off resolutely, leaving Lincoln standing in the doorway just where she had found him.
Caleb would have to wait, Lenore decided; her great-granddaughter’s disappearance was a clear sign of something, though she did not know what. What she did know was that Justine needed her—needed all of them really—and so she set out to locate her. She went back upstairs and began a methodical search of all the rooms
up there; Justine was not in any of them. Nor was she in any of the downstairs rooms, not even the basement lair where she and Portia had slept last night.
Without saying anything to Betsy—who was marching about the kitchen issuing orders and clutching that absurd little dog as if it were a security blanket—Lenore took one of the white umbrellas earmarked for the guests and stepped outside. Even though it was pouring, there was plenty of activity out here, what with people making sure the tent poles were secured and rolling down the flaps, and the handsome, bare-chested, heavily tattooed gardener—Lenore hoped he would be dressed by the time the guests descended—going back and forth repositioning the potted plants. She ignored them all. Her instinct told her that Justine was also shunning the flurry and bustle; she wanted to be someplace where everyone wasn’t. Someplace that was hers alone.
Lenore set out on the path leading to the swimming pool and gave only the merest acknowledgment to the dense plantings of pale pink and white heirloom roses whose petals were beaded with raindrops. These were not the only roses on the property; directly behind the house was a formal rose garden. Lenore had not even seen the garden since she’d arrived, but if the rain ever let up, she would see it later at the cocktail reception.
As she walked, Lenore remained on the lookout for anyplace—shed, cabana—where Justine might have been hiding. But Justine was not to be found, and so she kept going. Lenore had never been to this part of Don’s property before; when she visited her daughter, they tended to remain indoors. If they did go out, it was only to sit by the pool or in the rose garden. Sometimes they drove into town and had lunch at one of the nice little places on Middle Neck Road, or to the posh stores at Americana Manhasset, where Betsy would insist on buying a present—a scarf from Hermès, a Gucci bag—for Lenore. So this was all new to her.
She was vaguely aware from Betsy’s explanations of how far the property extended—beyond the well-manicured privet hedges on either side of the house were tall pines, and beyond those, dense wooded areas that spread out in either direction. Don had deliberately left them wild and overgrown, though there were some serpentine paths that wound through them. The girls had liked to play here when they were younger, and Lenore had a feeling that Justine might have come this way today.
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