“It was a Jack Russell terrier, and he belonged to our next-door neighbor,” Gretchen supplied. “They let him out at night, and sometimes he came wandering into our yard. He dug up my mother’s flowers, and whenever he killed a chipmunk, he left its poor little mangled corpse in front of the door. If we heard my mother shriek in the morning, we knew he’d done it again.”
“The dog must have heard us going at it, because it started barking like crazy, and your father came down to find out what all the racket was about and—”
“And there we were,” said Gretchen, smiling in spite of herself. God, how much she had wanted him back then! How mad she’d been for his touch, his kiss, his everything. Where had all that gone?
“There we were,” he said softly. He shook his head as if to dislodge the memory. “All right, then. I’ll go now. Good night, Gretchen.”
“No, wait.” Were those words really coming out of her mouth? “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she said.
“You want me to stay?”
Did she? Just for now? Or for good? She did not know, but she nodded anyway. While they were talking, she had sat down on the bed, the ridiculous, overdone virginal bed with its poufs and its pillows, its flounces and its flowers. Only right now it didn’t seem so ridiculous at all; it seemed an appropriately bedecked and fitting stage for the moment that was about to unfurl if only she would sit still and let it happen. Because it was going to happen; she saw that. She wanted it to. She wanted him. Maybe not in the pure, unclouded way of their youth. But, yes, she wanted him again.
Ennis moved toward her and once again reached for her hair. This time she didn’t push him away but submitted to the caress that quickly traveled from her hair to her cheek, her throat, and then her breasts.
“I missed you so much,” he said, burying his face in the soft, abundant flesh that spilled over the top of her bra.
“I missed you too,” she said as her arms wound around him, drawing him closer. But then she stopped and moved her face back a few inches.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Justine,” she said. “Justine is wrong.” Earlier today she had felt confident she could deal with her daughter’s problems but now suddenly their enormity loomed like a terrifying wall of water.
“It will be better when we deal with it together,” he said, leaning close to kiss her again. “You’ll see.” Ennis’s shoulder knocked one of the eyelet pillows to the floor as he and Gretchen eased their way down onto the wide and welcoming surface of the mattress.
Twenty-five
What a glorious evening! Seated near the entrance to the dinner tent, with the sounds of the music still eddying around her, Lenore took stock. Inside, a few people were still dancing. Outside, the lanterns around the tents had been lit; she could see the soft glow they cast on the expanse of white carpet; in this light it almost looked like snow.
Everything about the night had been as wonderful as she had hoped or dreamed. True, there had been that moment right after the ceremony when she’d seen Justine crying. But she seemed all right later, talking to one of those good-looking Israeli boys at the table. And all else had been sheer perfection. That dress of Angelica’s—such an unexpected, brilliant choice. The chuppah, the exchange of vows, the dinner, the glorious moment of being held aloft in the air like a queen, the dancing that followed. Despite her bad ankle, Lenore had been determined to dance, and dance—or rather sway and rock—and she had: with Lenny Weintraub, Martin Gold, Abe Sandler, and Irving Fishman, among others. She and Irving had been dancing together at weddings for years; he had been widowed long ago, and every time they saw each other, he asked her to marry him. It was kind of a running joke between them. Lenore, when are you going to marry me? he’d say, or, Lenore, you’re breaking my heart. Darling Irving. She did not want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. But, oh, how they both enjoyed the routine.
Finally, though, she had to relinquish her place on the dance floor to sit down, so here she was alternating between sips of chilled water and equally chilled champagne.
“Is this seat taken?”
Lenore looked up, and there was Lincoln.
“Aren’t you dancing?” she said, moving her chair back so he could join her.
“I needed a break.” He sat down and proffered the plate that he held. “Care for a chocolate?”
“Shaped like a heart,” Lenore observed.
“And filled with raspberry buttercream. I recommend them highly.”
“Raspberry buttercream! That daughter of yours…” began Lenore. She took a chocolate.
“And that granddaughter of yours,” Lincoln added. “She’s quite something.”
“Yes,” said Lenore. “But, then, they all are.”
Lincoln said nothing but helped himself to a chocolate heart. Now there was only one left, and he urged it in Lenore’s direction. “For you,” he said. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” she said. “For everything. This”—she stretched her arm out—“has been such a truly wonderful evening. And to think that I might have missed it…”
“It has been wonderful,” he agreed. “More wonderful than I would have thought, given how the day started.”
“Days don’t always end the way they begin, do they?” Lenore said. “The key can start out minor and switch to major without your having a clue as to how or even when it happened.”
“I’d drink a toast to that,” Lincoln said. “If I still drank.”
“But you don’t, do you?” said Lenore. She looked at him intently.
“No,” Lincoln said, “I don’t.”
“I’m so glad,” she said, placing her hand over his. Lincoln put his other hand on top of hers, and they sat that way for a while. The jazz band had switched to a slow, sultry number, and most people had drifted off of the floor. But Angelica and Ohad were still dancing, foreheads touching, eyes locked on one another. She was so creamy and fair; he was so dark; what would their children look like? Lenore hoped she’d live long enough to find out.
The music stopped, and the musicians took a bow. The few remaining guests applauded fervently, and then the musicians began packing up trombone and horn, saxophone and clarinet. Hand in hand the bridal couple wandered off. Cases were snapped shut; bits of conversation drifted in Lenore’s direction; a mosquito whined near her rhinestone-adorned ear. Absently she swatted it away.
“Hey, Grandma.” Lenore looked up to see Caleb and Teddy. “You having fun?”
“The time of my life!” Lenore said. “What about you two?”
“Not too shabby,” Caleb said.
“That’s all you have to say about it?” Lenore said indignantly.
“He’s teasing you, Lenore,” Lincoln said. “Can’t you tell?”
Lenore squinted up at him. She’d had more than a bit to drink, so the signals were not coming in clearly. He was teasing her. That meant that he was in the mood to joke. Lenore was glad that Bobby person had left; he didn’t belong at their celebration. Then she shifted her gaze to Teddy, who had his arm slung casually across Caleb’s shoulders. Good, this was all good.
“It was great, Grandma. I had a blast,” said Caleb.
“Me too,” Teddy added. “And Marti—she thought it was perfect.” Lenore nodded, pleased to know that the elegant French girl had bestowed her approval. Teddy excused himself to go off in search of her.
“Dad, I’m heading upstairs, but if you want me to drive you back to the motel, I can. I haven’t had a drink for hours and I just had a coffee, so it’ll be okay,” Caleb said.
There was a pause in which no one said anything. Lenore had not seen the motel, but Betsy had told her about it, and she could easily imagine the pathetic carpeting, the pillow that might as well have been filled with sawdust, the leak, because didn’t rooms like that always have a leak?
“Though, you know, you don’t have to stay there.”
“I don’t?” Lincoln said. Lenore could feel h
is hope hovering like that mosquito in the air.
“Bobby’s gone, and the room has twin beds. You can bunk down with me. I don’t even snore.”
“I wouldn’t care if you did!” Lincoln said. “Though I guess you should ask your mother and Don first.”
“She already invited you, remember? You’re the one who insisted on staying in that hellhole.”
“I guess I did.” Lincoln stood. “But that was then, and this is now.” He looked at Caleb. “You think your mother has an extra toothbrush?”
“I’ll bet she does,” Caleb said. Then he looked at his grandmother. “What about you, Grandma L.? Ready to go up yet? We’ll escort you.”
“Caleb, I am very glad your mother raised a gentleman, but I do not need escorting. And anyway I’m not ready to go up. The night’s not over yet.”
“Lenore, you are something else,” Lincoln said admiringly. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and Caleb did the same. “See you at breakfast, then. Angelica said they’re staying here tonight, and Betsy’s got some farewell thing or other planned in the morning.”
“Breakfast sounds lovely,” said Lenore. “But I don’t much like the sound of farewell.”
“They’ll be back soon enough,” Lincoln said. “You know Angelica.”
“Maybe she’ll be pregnant when she gets back,” Lenore said. When she saw the expressions on Lincoln and Caleb’s faces, she added, “What? We’re family. I can say what I’m thinking, can’t I? Or hoping?”
They said good night, and Lenore watched them depart, still not wanting to join them. But after a few minutes she rose and walked out of the tent. Most of the guests were gone, and those remaining strolled along the blue stone path that led to the property’s service entrance. Vans were waiting there to take them to where their cars were parked; the valets would then retrieve them. Well, she supposed she ought to go inside after all. Reluctantly Lenore started towards the house. Despite the wide swath of carpeting spread over the soggy lawn, she moved slowly.
“Need some help?”
Lenore looked over to see a young man with a shaved head and most impressive physique. She could tell because the T-shirt he wore might as well have been painted on; as he got closer, she recognized him as the same young man she had seen earlier in the day.
“Would you mind walking me back?” she asked, pointing to her ankle. The small silk scarf had slipped off during the course of the evening, exposing the bandage.
“No problem,” he said, graciously offering his arm. It was covered from the wrist all the way up with tattoos, which disappeared under the sleeve of the shirt.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Sure.” He smiled affably.
“Did it hurt to get those?”
“The tats?” He extended his other arm, the one she was not holding, and looked as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Yeah. It did.”
“Then why do it?” She really did want to know. “I hope I’m not offending you, but I truly am curious.”
“They were worth it. Haven’t you ever done something that you knew would hurt but that you thought would be worth it?”
So many things, thought Lenore. How could she even begin to list them? What she said was, “I have.”
“Well, then you get it, don’t you? Pain’s not always a deterrent. Pain is sometimes…an inevitable by-product of the life you want to lead.”
“Yes,” Lenore said, delighted by this sudden affinity with a stranger. “Yes, it is.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, seemingly content, and then said, “Well, here we are.”
“Thank you,” Lenore said. “For your kindness.”
Once inside, Lenore realized she was still not ready to go upstairs. If she went up, the night—this long-awaited, thoroughly savored night—would be over. A dispiriting thought. She walked into the living room and sank into the down-filled sofa.
“There you are!”
Lenore shifted her gaze. Betsy, her dog tucked under one arm, was in front of her. “Ma, I was worried about you! Wasn’t it enough to run off once today?”
“I hardly ran off,” Lenore said. “I had something I had to do. Something important.” Even if it hurt. She did hate being worried about like some doddering old fool. Why, look how sharp she was and what she’d accomplished today: with Justine, Gretchen, and even with Caleb. And Lincoln. Now, that was a windfall, a gift. She had revised her opinion of him totally. How strange after all those years of quiet but seemingly implacable enmity between them. She hoped he was staying in town; she would invite him to dinner.
“Anyway, I’m right here.”
“Ready to go up?”
“No,” said Lenore, sounding perhaps more strident than she’d meant. “I’m not.”
“What do you want to do, then?” asked Betsy.
“Can I sit outside for a bit? On the terrace?”
“It’s getting cooler,” Betsy said.
“Would you please stop fussing over me?” Lenore said peevishly. “I can sit outside if I want to, can’t I?”
“All right, all right,” Betsy said. “Come on, I’ll get you settled.” Betsy slid open the glass doors and helped Lenore outside onto the chaise longue with its striped cushions. “Let me get you a sweater or something,” Betsy added, stepping back inside.
“It’s not necessary,” Lenore grumbled, but she accepted the cashmere throw that Betsy had plucked from the side of the sofa and draped around her shoulders.
“All right, then,” Betsy said. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m all set.” Then Lenore looked at the dog, still under Betsy’s arm. Its mouth was open, and it was breathing heavily, as if in some sort of distress. Such a vulnerable little creature. Pitiful really. But touching too. “There is one more thing, actually,” she added. “I’d like to hold the dog for a while. Would that be all right?”
“The dog?” Betsy looked down at the animal perched on her hip. “I thought you hated the dog. Everyone does, you know.”
“I know. I did too. But not anymore.”
“What happened?” Betsy asked. The dog seemed to understand she was the topic of this conversation, and her lush tail began to stir.
“I don’t know,” Lenore said. “But something did.” She reached for her. “What’s her name? Either I don’t remember or you never told me.”
“Darling,” Betsy said. Lenore must have looked confused, because Betsy added, “Her name is Darling.”
“No wonder you didn’t broadcast it,” Lenore said, enfolding the creature in her arms. But the name fit; it really did. “She looks very content.”
“There’s a reason she’s called a lapdog.” Betsy straightened up. “Okay, Ma. I’ll be back to check on you. And when I go upstairs, I want you to go with me.”
“Fine,” said Lenore testily. Really, this constant surveillance was wearing. She adored her daughter but would be glad to get back home.
When Betsy had gone, Lenore leaned back against the cushioned chaise and looked up. What a night. The stars were twinkling madly in the sky. There was a moon too, just a sliver of one, delicate as a baby’s pinky nail. She recalled ruefully the first time she had trimmed Betsy’s nails and unintentionally cut too close to the quick; a bright crescent of blood had instantly appeared, and the sound of the baby’s shrieking had shot straight through Lenore’s heart. How vivid the memory was even now. Now that baby was long grown, a mother and grandmother too. Time waltzed on.
Then Lenore looked down at the dog, whose eyes held hers for a long minute before she lowered her face to rest on her tiny paws. Her ears went back, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s you and me, kid,” Lenore whispered. Again the feathery tail responded.
Soon the sounds of the party tapered off. She didn’t see Gretchen, Teddy, or Marti; they all must have gone upstairs already. Ohad and Angelica were nowhere in sight either. She heard Betsy’s voice from somewhere inside the house, but it sounded far, far away. It was only th
e help left out here now, collapsing chairs, dismantling tents, breaking down tables. Stacks of dinner plates were being loaded into crates; cutlery clanged into big plastic tubs.
But Lenore didn’t really want to see all that, the fairy-tale wedding being taken apart, the coach turning back into the pumpkin. No, she cast her eyes up again to where the stars continued to burn and the scrap of the moon hovered lightly, as if it had just been flung from below.
This was all so different from her own wedding day, which had taken place on a bitter February afternoon in a rented hall in Brighton Beach. But Lenore had not wanted to wait; she was already pregnant with Betsy at the time. She realized she had never told Betsy that; there had never seemed to be any reason. Now she decided that she would, if only to make sure that particular bit of history was not lost to this family that had just been reconfigured, reinvented yet again tonight.
The sounds of the workers grew softer, more muted. Had they finished? Moved off? Or was her hearing starting to go? Because it did seem unusually quiet now. No toads, no frogs. No insects, even. And Betsy was right; it was growing cooler. Lenore shivered a little and pulled the throw closer around her shoulders. The dog, responding to the shift in her position, resettled herself, this time tucking her face in the crook of Lenore’s arm.
“Good girl,” Lenore said. Wag, wag, wag. She noticed that the dog’s coloring was actually quite nuanced: delicate, sooty markings outlined her face and paws. Using her other hand so she wouldn’t disturb her, Lenore patted the small head. The dog’s eyes closed. Lenore wanted to look out over the rose garden with its profusion of fragrant blossoms. In the dark, the paler of the roses seemed to be glowing; the rose-covered pergola was almost spectral.
But she felt the overwhelming need to close her eyes. She wasn’t tired, no. That was not it. Instead she felt as if two small but distinct weights had been put on her eyelids: pebbles, perhaps, or coins. She could not keep them open for a second longer.
Then she felt an unfamiliar throbbing in her chest—not a pain, exactly, but something demanding, insistent. Pay attention, it said. Watch out. And one of her feet started to tingle. An arm too, the one on which the dog’s head rested. She didn’t want to disturb the dog, so she didn’t move. The tingling sensation grew stronger and seemed to assume a sound: she could have sworn she heard it, like an electrical hum, almost melodic in its subtle variations. Her chest was hurting now, her heart convulsing with sinister energy. And she felt cold. Very cold. She shivered but was too weak to adjust the throw. Her fingers twitched briefly and then stilled.
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