The Glass Wives

by Amy Sue Nathan

  “She’s taking over your fridge. Your life is next. Wait and see.”

  “I thought this was sister-bonding time, not widow-bashing time.”

  “Same thing in my book. So, how is the job search?”

  “I haven’t really started,” Evie said, inspecting the empty deli drawer.

  “What are you waiting for? You taught for ten years before the twins were born. You have a teaching degree and a freaking master’s degree in history. I told you not to become one of those stay-home moms. It melts your brain.”

  “I’m not having that fight with you right now, Lisa.”

  “Look, you have to be able to support yourself and the kids without a widow in the basement, which, frankly, sounds like the title for a scary movie. Have you gone back to Third Coast?”

  “Not yet. But Millie said I could whenever I’m ready.”

  “Good. That’s Plan B. Now, look for something that actually pays. Or at least has potential. Something challenging and out of your comfort zone.”

  “My life is challenging and out of my comfort zone.”

  They laughed, but it wasn’t funny. Evie was weary of new and different; she wanted humdrum and monotonous.

  “Like I said, you need a hobby—something just for you—even if you only do it once in a while. You know, like me and yoga.”

  “My hobby is figuring out how to make a life out of this mess Richard left, and with Nicole and Luca in the house. I haven’t heard back on the insurance, and I’m hearing all over the place that people usually get life insurance payouts in a matter of days, not months. It’s almost February.”

  “Call them every day. Twice a day if you have to.”

  “If I annoy them, it will only take longer.” Evie didn’t have the energy for more than one call to Midwest Mutual per day. It drained her. Not knowing exhausted her. The prospect of what might or might not happen terrified her more than the first time she was alone with both twins and they cried for three hours. And she felt just as alone even in a full house.

  “I’ve got it. Call Scott!”

  “For a job? Are you nuts?”

  “No, for a date. You’re bored, you’re scared, you’re lonely. Call Scott. You can knock out all three.”

  Lisa was man-crazy. She met men for drinks, she dated, she led a single Jewish lawyers’ group in Georgetown that met once a week. Lisa claimed she never wanted to get married again, but she spent a lot of time scouting potential husbands. She claimed it was for sport.

  “That’s your idea of a hobby?”

  “Consider it a necessary distraction. When I got divorced, that’s all I wanted. Someone to take my mind off what’s-his-name. Nothing takes your mind off reality like a handsome face, a good meal, a bottle of pinot, and a roll in the hay. You know that.”

  Evie did know that. She also knew that calling Scott would set her up for disappointment. He’d say no. But what if he said yes? What would she wear? How would she look? What would they talk about? A month ago she’d not have given any of it a second thought.

  “Think of it as a fact-finding mission,” Lisa added. “Maybe Scott has some insight into the whole insurance thing. You let Nicole move in, so make her do something useful and watch the kids at night when you can actually go out and have fun and not use the time to clean your kitchen and talk to me. When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Who?” Evie had tuned out her sister when she’d spotted the past week’s leftover sandwiches next to two jars of spicy mustard and behind a supersize container of wheat germ that stood next to an unopened bottle of Kahlúa circa 2002.

  “Scott. When was the last time you heard from Scott? Pay attention to me. The crap in your fridge can wait.”

  “I haven’t heard from him since he asked me to call him when things were normal.”

  “Give him a call.”

  “But life isn’t normal and I’m not ready.”

  “You know what I always say!”

  “A girl’s gotta eat.” Evie giggled.

  “Just leave out the bit about the widow and the baby.”

  “I can’t, Leese.”

  “You have to. You never tell the bad stuff on the first date. You know that.”

  “This isn’t a first date.”

  “See? You do want to go out with him.”

  Exasperated, Evie shook her head at the inadvertent confession. Lisa was skilled at getting Evie to say and do things. In high school Lisa spent four nights leafing through the prom issue of Seventeen magazine, dog-earing pages, saying, “Mrs. Lisa Feldman, Mrs. Lisa Feldman, Mrs. Lisa Feldman,” even though Lisa was a sophomore and couldn’t go to the prom. The next day Evie asked Howard Feldman to prom. He said no, but at least she asked.

  “He’ll say no,” Evie said.

  “He won’t say no if you ask the right way. Tell him you need some advice and have been so busy that you’d really like to go out. Being busy makes you sound interesting.”

  “You mean I’m not interesting?” Evie snorted. This would have been a good time for her sister to lie. “I’m really fine at home, most of the time.”

  “Don’t tell me that you like having them there?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You better be careful.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. So far the worst part is that the food in the pantry is alphabetical.”

  “Rearrange it.”

  Evie had already started. She couldn’t hear it but she knew Lisa was tapping her fingers. Lisa tapped when she was nervous.

  “There aren’t a lot of women who’d become the willing landlord to their ex-husband’s widow or let them organize the kitchen,” Lisa added. “No matter how many catastrophes the bimbo racked up.”

  Evie squirmed. The name-calling reminded her of her history with Nicole, the reasons she hadn’t wanted Sam and Sophie around her. Did any of that matter? Of course it did. Evie could take a loan from Beth and Alan and ask Nicole to leave. She’d given Nicole ample time to pack up her things, alphabetically and in size-order, of course. Evie wasn’t heartless. Then that heart of hers thumped. It sounded and felt like Rex’s running down the stairs complete with a thud at the bottom.

  “I gotta go,” Evie said.

  “Me too. I have to go outside and find a wayward nymph to mother.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Call me when you talk to Scott.”

  Oh, right, Scott.

  Evie studied the kitchen landscape, now lit by late-afternoon amber mixed with gray. Perhaps the only distraction she needed was Lisa, because one phone call, forty-five minutes, and two garbage bags later, the fridge and cabinets were dumped, scrubbed, and de-alphabetized.

  Sam and Sophie were right. There is nothing to eat.

  Maybe dinner with Scott was a good idea.

  Chapter 9

  EVIE AWOKE WITH NEWFOUND RESOLVE.

  Sitting at the computer with a full pot of coffee by her side, she applied for jobs at all the school districts within twenty-five miles of Lakewood. She had a master’s degree in U.S. history and an Illinois teaching certificate she’d never let lapse. Every high school kid in Illinois had to take U.S. history. Every high school kid in Illinois had to pass a U.S. Constitution test to graduate high school! Wasn’t there a history teacher who was retiring or having a baby? Within the nearby McSuburbs wasn’t there a school somewhere needing a teacher? If Nicole stayed in the house, Evie and the kids could make it until the fall. By September, Sam and Sophie would be at Lakewood Junior High. It was a longer day, and there were after-school sports and clubs. There was even a bus. Evie would have more time for whatever she needed more time for.

  Evie stopped clicking Internet links and wiggled her bare toes in Rex’s fur beneath her feet. She closed her eyes and pictured a warm and breezy September day, walking through metal doors big enough to swallow a tank—or an army of high school students. She saw herself striding through the crowd and standing at the front of a large room, eager fac
es staring at her. In this version of the future Evie’s makeup was natural yet pristine like Beth’s, her clothes were casual and elegant like Laney’s, and her hair was shoulder length and cut back into the layers she loved. It even swayed when she talked the way Scott had always liked. But best of all, in this imaginary future, Evie was financially secure and her roots were done.

  “Are you okay?” Nicole asked.

  Evie opened her eyes wide as if she had been caught stealing a cookie when all she was doing was daydreaming. She hadn’t even heard Nicole come into the room over the cheers of her adoring students. Evie almost giggled.

  “Morning.”

  “Am I interrupting something?” Nicole asked.

  “Not really. Well, sort of. I need to ask you for a favor.”

  * * *

  “You’re really okay with me going out?”

  “Absolutely,” Nicole said. “We’ll have a great time here, won’t we, kids?”

  If being able to go out at night was one of the payoffs for having Nicole in the house, why did Evie feel that she should stay home? Dinner at Laney and Herb’s was not the same as heading downtown in weekend traffic pretending she was urban chic instead of suburban shabby chic—but she was still going out. Going out without the kids.

  “What’s the big deal about going to Laney’s for dinner?” Sam asked.

  “No big deal,” Evie said, patting her eggplant cotton sweater. It was nubby and thick and reminiscent of the ones she wore in high school, supposedly back in style. Last year. Or was that the year before?

  “Then why are you dressed up?” Sophie said.

  “I’m not dressed up, I’m just dressed.”

  Had it been so bad for the past six weeks that her kids marveled at their mother’s manifestation as an actual dressed-to-go-out human being?

  “What’s on your forehead?” Sam said.

  “Nothing.” Evie brushed her bangs across her forehead and shook her hands through the hair to cover the dye stains at her hairline. Why did her kids have to notice everything? And why wasn’t Nicole more careful when she helped Evie color her hair? Nicole was a hairdresser. Why didn’t she own any of that dye-remover stuff? Nicole had said that toothpaste worked—but it didn’t. The Nice ’n Easy #123 was there to stay for a while.

  “Why can’t we come?” Sophie said, her arms around Evie’s waist.

  “Just grown-ups,” Evie said, looking to Nicole for a rescue.

  “We always go to Laney’s,” Sam said. “We won’t bother you.”

  The kids had grown accustomed to having Evie at home the past month and to her going nowhere and doing nothing without them. She did it to make them feel secure. Perhaps it had backfired.

  Nicole stepped in. “Hey, can you guys go downstairs and bring up a few diapers and wipes, Luca’s pj’s, and some of Luca’s toys? Then we can just stay up here until it’s time for him to go to bed. And you’ll help me, right?”

  The twins shrugged but said, “Okay.” They were not used to following Nicole’s direction, at least not in Evie’s presence. They disappeared behind the kitchen wall, and Evie waited until she heard them scamper down the basement steps.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Nicole said. “We’ll be fine without you.”

  Evie was taken aback. She was only going next door. They better be fine, she thought, playing with the edge of her sweater. She felt a loose thread and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

  “I’ll be right back,” Evie said. “Tell the kids I didn’t leave yet.”

  She ran back up the stairs into her room and traded the sweater for a black tunic turtleneck, a little faded but not unraveling. She double-wrapped a long strand of multicolored beads around her neck. Voilà. Her own version of style. She tugged at the seam of her stretchy, not-quite-but-sort-of- mom jeans to make sure they were still there and still stretchy.

  For dinner at Laney’s—without Scott or the kids—she filed and buffed, pushed back her cuticles, and painted a clear coat. Sam and Sophie might be alarmed at the transformation, but what was truly alarming was that Evie had forgotten the way she liked to look—what she wanted people to see when they looked at her. It was easy to fall prey to the vulture of grief, to not only allow herself to succumb but to give up willingly. Did caring for her kids and figuring out a new normal preclude her from taking care of herself? A slump was only a slump if she emerged from it.

  Otherwise it was a black hole.

  * * *

  The aroma of gourmet takeout wafted out of the warming drawer. Laney loved entertaining, but not cooking.

  “Red or white?” Herb said. His mustache was neatly trimmed and it twitched. His eyes squinted behind his glasses as if he were waiting for the answer to a Jeopardy! question and the clock was ticking.

  “White,” Evie said.

  “White?” Laney wiped her hands on her designer apron, but the action left no mark. “WWRS?”

  Evie laughed. WWRS? What Would Richard Say? It was a long time since that was a relevant question, or it seemed like a long time. Wine was one of Richard’s half-assed passions Evie enjoyed, unlike hydroponic gardening. Being told what kind of wine to drink at a certain time of year with different foods was one thing—harvesting tomatoes in the master bathroom was another.

  Then, there was that laughter to contend with again. She felt guilty when she laughed. But it had been funny when he was alive. Did that mean it couldn’t be funny now that he wasn’t?

  Beth and Alan walked in the front door, Beth carrying a Tupperware container by its handle. She was no poser. A cake made from scratch lurked beneath that plastic dome. Evie didn’t even have to ask. She was glad Laney had insisted she bring only herself—and that this time Evie had done as she was told. At most gatherings Evie brought more than she was asked, always a plate piled high with cookies right out of the oven or some concoction out of a magazine or off the back of a cracker box. But today she let her friends provide the sweet, savory, and emotional sustenance. So far, it felt right to indulge a little. She held out her glass and Herb replenished her sauvignon blanc.

  Nestled into a customary seating arrangement around Laney and Herb’s hearth, Evie closed her eyes. Her friends wouldn’t mind. The background music and Italian aromas blended into a feeling of comfort. Evie leaned back her head, holding the wineglass at her side. Almost as good as a bubble bath. Hypnotized by the crackle of the fire and the tonal breadth of her friends’ voices, Evie relaxed heavily—something she had not done since the night she got the call about Richard’s accident.

  That call came just as Evie had closed her eyes and sunk her head into her pillows, which she’d fluffed for the occasion of a night all to herself. It was her weekend without the kids, when she’d miss them but also when she would refill her internal well with patience. It was the time away that reminded her how much she enjoyed being defined by motherhood, being known as the twins’ mom by the kids at Eden, being tapped for all things baking by the other Lakewood moms. She loved it all but reveled in her time alone, nights with Scott and outlet-mall shopping, and Food TV marathons. She was half-asleep when the phone rang, then she was wide-awake for the next two days.

  But tonight when Evie opened her eyes, it wasn’t the blaring bell of the telephone, but Beth clearing her throat, her hand on Alan’s knee. They were always touching each other. Petite in frame yet enormous in stature, Beth encompassed all that was right with the world: cupcakes, handsome husbands, and steadfast friendship. It was a smooth transition to waking up, a luxury Evie missed.

  “Look who’s back with us,” Beth said.

  “Nice nap?” Herb said. He gulped his red wine like a man content with life. Six weeks ago he was biting into conversations with sarcasm. Now he was teasing Evie and winking at Laney across the room. Next thing you know he’d be doing the dishes. And all thanks to Richard.

  It didn’t seem fair that her friends were able to sidestep Evie’s reality. Their takeaway from tragedy, something harnessed in the liv
es they loved. Even Sam and Sophie put it aside, albeit briefly, to play, laugh, and cavort the way ten-year-olds should. Children grieved in batches. Evie had learned this from late-night research and from observing the twins latch onto random breaks in the waves of their sadness. She would gladly tuck her children’s sorrow into her own pocket permanently if that were possible, but she wished someone could tend to her tsouris as well. Richard’s death and its aftermath stuck to Evie like glue, and not the kind she had peeled off her palms in elementary school. But this short evening on the other side of the picket fence, where her friends commiserated not on the perils of dead ex-husbands, wayfarer widows, and unresponsive insurance companies, but on politics and economics and paint colors and the evils of skinny jeans for women over forty, served as a reprieve—and she’d take it.

  “Beth says you’re looking for a job,” Alan said, leaning forward and pouring wine into Evie’s glass.

  “I am. For the fall.” Evie smoothed her hair, in need of a cut and style. Could Nicole do that too?

  “How about the summer? I know it’s too soon right now, but by June? I know of something that’s opening up at County.” Evie had never considered teaching at a community college. Alan had taught accounting classes there for the past twenty years, in addition to owning his own financial-services firm.

  “Really? What is it?”

  “Something in the history department. I saved the e-mail. I’ll forward it to you. And if you’re interested, I can find out more. Put in a good word. Be a reference.”

  Evie wriggled in her seat, her pulse quickening. “Thank you.”

  Herb checked his watch and rose from the couch, waving the crowd into the dining room. Laney headed for the kitchen, and Evie followed.

  “Can I help?”

  “Sure.” Laney motioned with her head. Her hands were full of salad bowls and a small cruet with faux-homemade vinaigrette. Laney didn’t even bother hiding wrappers or containers at the bottom of the trash compactor. She was as transparent in cooking as in life. Evie carried the teak bowl filled to the rim with exotic tricolored baby greens and set it on the table. She sat between Laney and Alan, with Beth and Herb on the other side of the table. Without Scott—or Richard—the sixth chair was empty.