“Oh, great,” Lucy says. “What do you do? Compare her to me, and if she does the opposite she gets an A-plus?”
Evan doesn’t answer, but he tightens up, just as he always did when he was hurt. Still, Lucy can’t stop herself.
“What do you plan to do?” she asks. “Marry her, then sue for custody because you live better than I do? So what? Most divorced men have three times the income of their ex-wives.”
“I’m not like that,” Evan says, wounded. “I offered you this house, you didn’t want it. You never wanted anything from me.”
He turns from her, defeated, but actually, he’s right. She never got anything from her marriage, because she didn’t want it; sometimes when he brought her presents, earrings he spent too much for, a silver chain he’d ordered weeks in advance, she’d put them in a dresser drawer and never touch them again.
“I want something now,” Lucy says. “Take me to the reunion.”
“I have two tickets, and I’m taking Melissa,” Evan tells her.
Lucy has not come back to New York for her high school reunion, and now she’s desperate to go. She has never looked back, Evan’s right about that; she has locked up the past, much the way Keith keeps the Indian-head pennies Evan collected for him in a glass jar. There are times when she could swear she’s heard something rustling in her own kitchen, her mother’s skirt as she backs up against the linoleum counter so that Scout can wrap his arms around her and kiss her.
“It’s not her past,” Lucy says. “Is it?”
She goes to wait in the driveway, so Evan can make his decision, and when he comes out, nearly twenty minutes later, showered and wearing the gray suit, she knows that he’s called Melissa. He was always generous, and he still is, in spite of everything, they do have a past together. They don’t speak on the way to the country club, although they are both thinking of all the other times they drove up this winding gravel road. Evan waves to the guard at the iron gate; he still comes here on Sundays to play golf with some of the boys they went to school with, and Melissa has suggested they have their wedding reception here. Twenty years ago, at their prom, Lucy wore a pink chiffon dress and refused to dance with anyone but Evan. She didn’t know it then, but he’d already decided to ask her to marry him.
Tonight the golf course is so green it shimmers in the twilight; the hedge of mock orange is still just as lush, emerald leaves sprinkled with stars. Lucy and Evan look good together as they walk across the parking lot. They always did. Lucy wanted the exact opposite of her parents’ marriage and that’s what she got, and she knows, even now, that she has nobody but herself to blame.
“It’s great that you found Melissa,” Lucy tells Evan. “Keith will be happy when you tell him about her.” Probably he’ll adore her; she has everything Lucy does not: youth, patience, no blood tie.
“You think so?” Evan says hopefully.
“As happy as Keith can be,” Lucy amends.
She says this as they’re entering the club, and Evan touches her elbow lightly. It’s the touch of commiseration, and it reminds them both of all the hours they have spent trying to understand Keith’s unhappiness. There is a crush of people filling in name tags, grownups in linen and silk, all unrecognizable to Lucy after twenty years. Several people greet Evan, old buddies and acquaintances, but it’s not until they walk into the ballroom that a woman approaches Lucy.
“You look incredible,” the woman tells Lucy. Whatever that means. The woman glances over at Evan. “I thought you two were divorced.”
Lucy realizes that this stranger is Alison Reed, whom she used to sit next to in algebra.
“We are,” Lucy says. She cannot for the life of her remember ever talking to Alison, not even in class. “It’s a friendly divorce.”
Lucy waves to Evan as he turns to look back at her before making his way to the bar.
“No alimony,” Alison says knowingly.
Lucy forces a smile, then excuses herself and heads for an hors d’oeuvres table. There is some sort of vague Hawaiian theme, echoing their prom, with lots of sliced pineapple and a band whose members wear leis over their white dinner jackets. The room is a little too cool and Lucy has the sense that everyone here knows one another, except for her. She felt that way in high school, although now, when she stops at a table piled with tea sandwiches, she instantly recognizes Heidi Kaplan. Heidi’s red hair is just as thick and luxuriant as ever, especially when set against her silky black dress. For years, Lucy has been guessing that Heidi would have grown coarse and fat, when in fact she’s more beautiful than ever.
“Lucy Rosen,” Heidi says, coming up to Lucy as she piles a plate with crabmeat sandwiches and pineapple. “Everyone thought you disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“No,” Lucy says. “Just Florida.”
“Year round?” Heidi says, shocked. “We go to Boca in February, but the rest of the time we’re in the city, except for the summer, when we’re out at the beach.”
People here seem to be starving; they circle around the hors d’oeuvres, so that Lucy is pushed uncomfortably close to Heidi.
“So what do you do with yourself in Florida?” Heidi asks. “You were always so smart.”
Lucy smiles and takes a bite of pineapple. “Not really,” she says. She looks over her shoulder; the lights are dim and she doesn’t recognize anyone out on the dance floor.
“Oh, yes you were,” Heidi tells her. “I was actually jealous of you.”
They both laugh at that, a ridiculous schoolgirl folly. All Lucy has to do is listen politely while Heidi talks about her husband, an oncologist whose practice is on Madison and Seventy-third, and then she manages to get away. When she reaches the bar she can see Evan talking to a group of old friends. The women seem to have aged better than the men, many of whom are balding and paunchy. These men look about the same as their own fathers did, back when the boys were seniors in high school. Lucy’s Uncle Jack wasn’t much older when she came to live with him. Her parents were just about the age she is now on the night they died. Though she doesn’t drink, Lucy orders a margarita. It’s a cash bar, and Lucy has to rifle through her purse for some singles. She accidentally pulls out the photograph of her neighbor and while she looks at her neighbor’s face she can feel the air-conditioning blowing on her shoulders. She slips the photograph back into her wallet and pays for her drink, and when she turns from the bar she realizes that she’s being watched. Over by the French doors that lead to a stone patio bordered by azaleas is Andrea Friedman, Lucy’s cousin. Beneath Andrea’s gaze, Lucy feels as if her white dress were shrinking, exposing too much skin. She takes a long sip of her margarita and then, because she has no choice, crosses over to the French doors and stands beside Andrea.
“No one looks the same,” Lucy says. “That’s for sure.”
They have not seen each other for three years, and actually they never saw each other more than once or twice a year after their disastrous tenure in the same household. As it’s turned out, Andrea was ambitious. She’s a corporate lawyer married to one of her partners, a large, intelligent man who wouldn’t be caught dead at a twentieth high school reunion. And the truth is, Andrea does look the same, only she wears contact lenses and her mass of dark, curly hair is considered exotic rather than a curse.
“I take it my parents don’t know you’re in town,” Andrea says. She’s still staring at the bar; she has a glass of white wine and seltzer.
“Well, no,” Lucy admits. “I didn’t plan this trip. It just happened.”
Andrea turns and appraises Lucy, staring at her hair. “That took guts,” she says.
“Guess what?” Lucy says. “We still have nothing to say to each other.”
They sip their drinks and watch the dance floor, where Heidi Kaplan is dancing with one of her old boyfriends.
“What a bitch,” Andrea says bitterly.
“Heidi?” Lucy says.
“She told everyone you were on the pill,” Andrea says. “That’s why she was
the prom queen and you were only one of the princesses.”
Lucy looks closely at her cousin. “Where did she get that piece of information?”
Andrea sips her white wine.
“Thanks so much,” Lucy says to her cousin.
“I only come back here to see my parents,” Andrea says. “I avoid this town like the plague. You have no idea what it was like not to be pretty here. You were so wrapped up in yourself, you can’t imagine the things I had to do.” Andrea finishes her wine and places the glass on a windowsill. “There they all are.” She nods to their left.
Lucy sees a group of men; somewhere inside those men nearing forty are the boys who used to follow Lucy down the hallways.
“None of them ever looked at me twice,” Andrea says. “I would have agreed to a lobotomy if they only had. Well, most of them look like shit now,” she adds, signaling to a waiter for another glass of wine. “Is that poetic justice?”
“Only if you care,” Lucy says.
“Did you come back because of Evan?” Andrea asks. “Because he’s involved with some kindergarten teacher. My parents have seen them together.”
Lucy lets that pass, the way she always let things pass when they were forced to live together. She used to double-lock her door, she used to ignore Andrea completely when they walked by each other in the hall.
“Sorry,” Andrea says. “It’s an old habit. Gossip served me very well. I knew the name of everyone we went to school with, and every ugly little secret, and believe me, there were plenty of them.”
Andrea is watching the dancers on the floor; she holds her glass of wine against her cheek. Lucy reaches into her purse and takes out the photograph.
“Do you know her?”
“She didn’t go to school with us,” Andrea says. “She looks too young.”
“Then maybe you’ve seen her in town. Last year or the year before? She was a friend of mine in Florida and she just took off.”
“Kind of like you did.” Andrea shrugs and hands the photograph back to Lucy. “I’ve never seen her before. Although it’s interesting that you actually have a friend.”
“Meaning?” Lucy says coldly.
“Let’s not fight,” Andrea says.
“You always said that after you started a fight,” Lucy says. “And you know it.”
From behind them, in the doorway leading to the patio, a man’s voice says, “Lucy.”
Lucy recognizes Randy immediately. He was one of those boys Andrea would have been lobotomized for, and he’s just as handsome as he was back then. Lucy slips the photograph back into her purse so she can take Randy’s outstretched hand.
“No wedding ring.” He grins. “Isn’t that a nice surprise.”
“You remember my cousin,” Lucy says, since Andrea is watching them grimly, “Andrea Friedman.”
Randy turns and looks blankly at Andrea.
“I gave you a blow job after Teddy Schiff’s bar mitz vah,” Andrea says.
Randy turns pale, but Lucy laughs, completely shocked. It is the most human thing she has ever heard Andrea say.
“Call my parents,” Andrea says as she walks toward the bar.
“Who was that?” Randy says, still flustered.
“Well?” Lucy says. “Is it true?”
Randy has a slow, sweet smile. “I’ll take the fifth,” he says. “Seriously, I thought you were married. I keep track of what happened to all the beautiful girls.”
“Evan and I got divorced,” Lucy says.
“Same here,” Randy says. “Last October. That’s why I think this is fate.”
“Just a statistical probability,” Lucy says. But she’s flattered in spite of herself. She remembers now that she’d actually considered dating Randy, but he seemed too handsome, too full of himself, to ever be true.
“I always thought we’d be good together,” Randy says.
He moves closer to Lucy, and although she should back away, she doesn’t. She remembers the odd rush of triumph she had each time the phone rang; she used to enjoy looking in the mirror and seeing the girl they all thought she was.
“Back then, I could never be with one girl. I wasn’t ready for that,” Randy tells her. “But I’ve changed.”
“Really?” she says. “You’re still flirting with me. That hasn’t changed.”
People have begun to look at them, and Lucy realizes that if she doesn’t move away from him soon they will be a piece of gossip. By tomorrow, their names will be linked no matter what happens.
“I never got to dance with you at the prom because Evan was always around.”
He has already circled her waist with his arm. Lucy remembers that he had a way of looking at you that made you feel there were no other people in the room. She remembers that Andrea used to write his name on her loose leaf notebook. There is a slow song playing, and Lucy lets him lead her out to the dance floor, past Heidi Kaplan, past the classmates whose names she no longer recalls. That one dance turns into half a dozen. He’s had a lot of practice at this, he knows what to whisper in your ear and how to move his fingers up your spine. Sometime after midnight, when Evan approaches them, Lucy finds that she isn’t ready to leave. She doesn’t have to think about anything when she dances with Randy, she doesn’t even have to make a decision, since he offers to take her home.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Evan says, after Randy’s gone off to get Lucy another margarita.
“Why? Will I be in danger? Is he a terrible driver?”
“You know what I mean,” Evan says. “He was the kind of guy who got whatever he wanted.”
“You’re worried,” Lucy says brightly.
“I used to worry about him,” Evan admits. “I thought he’d try to steal you away from me.”
“I’ll be fine,” Lucy says.
And she is, until it’s time to leave and they go out into the parking lot and she realizes she’s had too much to drink. The stars in the sky seem to be moving too quickly; the ground is a little too shaky.
“Where do you want me to take you?” Randy says. He’s got his hand on her bare back and he ignores several people who say good night as they walk to their parked cars. Randy has a Porsche, the same color as the one he had in high school, but a more expensive model.
“I’m staying with Evan,” Lucy says. When Randy raises an eyebrow she adds, “Not in that way. We’re really divorced.”
“You could stay at my place,” Randy says.
He’s taken her purse out of her hands and placed it on the hood of his car. She was attracted to him in high school; everyone was. What might have happened if Randy had been invited to Andrea’s sweet sixteen party, if he had been the one she’d wandered out to the pool house with that night? What would happen now if they spent just one night together?
“This isn’t high school,” Lucy tells him.
“Thank God,” Randy says. “Come on,” he urges her. “Let’s go to my house.”
If she had married him instead of Evan, they might still be together, their child might be home in bed right now, sleeping peacefully, under a hand-sewn quilt. He was the kind of man she was supposed to have married, so why is it that she finds herself wishing that the asphalt in the parking lot would turn to red dust beneath her feet? Why is it she thinks about the white moths and blue shadows and the merlins that guard their trees so well they refuse to migrate in April?
“Not tonight,” Lucy says.
“When?” Randy says. “Tomorrow?”
“This is silly,” Lucy says. “I don’t even live here anymore.”
“Sunday night?” Randy insists.
“I might be gone by Sunday. I’m going back to Florida.”
“Palm Beach?” Randy asks.
“Someplace you’ve never heard of,” Lucy tells him.
“Try me,” Randy says. He’s got that smile the girls could never resist.
“Verity,” Lucy says.
“You’re right.” Randy laughs. “That’s a new one.”
> He leans toward her and kisses her. Lucy quickly takes a step back.
“Really,” she says. “No.”
“Then let me take you out to dinner. No strings,” Randy says. “Sunday night.”
“All right,” Lucy finds herself saying.
Randy grins and opens the passenger door for her. “I believe in fate,” he says. “I believe we both came to this reunion for a reason.”
But Lucy is no longer listening to him. She can feel the knot in her stomach, and her throat is dry as dust. If she isn’t completely mistaken, that is her car parked at the edge of the lot. It’s right there, beside a magnolia thick with cream-colored flowers.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Lucy says. “I’ve got my car.”
The night suddenly seems much darker; the green sloping hills behind the country club are really nothing more than man-made mounds of earth, built to amuse golfers. Someone once told Lucy that years ago the country club mail-ordered fireflies and let them out of their big cardboard boxes in June, so when you looked out through the French doors you’d see them in the bushes and above the greens, just as if they belonged there.
“You won’t forget?” Randy says, because she’s already turned from him.
“Sunday night,” Lucy says. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
As she walks across the empty parking lot in her white dress, she’s aware of how much her feet ache from dancing in tight shoes. She’s aware of the crickets singing in the grass and the sound of her own heartbeat. Her car is parked at an angle, with all the windows rolled down. The radio is playing, and although Lucy doesn’t recognize the song, she finds herself running the rest of the way, faster than it would seem possible in her new shoes.
SEVEN
THE MEANEST BOY IN Verity knows the price you pay when you hesitate. He’s known it for a long time. An opportunity presents itself to you, you take it, whether it’s a wallet left unguarded, a record store clerk looking in the opposite direction, or a dark, empty road, which leads in two directions. Stop to think and the momentum fades away, imagine a baby waking in the morning after you’re gone and searching the house for you, imagine a dog slowly starving to death in the heat, and you’ll wind up trotting back the way you’ve come instead of heading for the Interstate, the way you’d planned. All that night the boy stayed awake wondering why he didn’t run when he had the chance, after Julian had disappeared down the driveway, and in the morning, while he ate his oatmeal with raisins, he was still kicking himself for the chance not taken.
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