He wanted to tell this to Gretchen now, that he was finally over Ivy, but that would entail an admission of how in love he’d formerly believed himself to be, and he suspected Gretchen wasn’t up for that part of the story.
At his apartment, Gretchen told him to relax, that she would make the omelets. He obeyed, grinding coffee beans instead and boiling water for the French press. He sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the teapot’s whistle and watched Gretchen move around his tiny kitchen. She’d swept her hair up into a bun and was wearing his white chef’s apron, the laces looped twice around her small waist. He watched as she cracked eggs into a silver bowl and grated cheese. She found a green pepper and onion, which she chopped quickly on his cutting board.
Gretchen had never cooked for him before, even at her place, and while he didn’t expect the food to be much good, Jeremy felt more cared for than he had in a long time.
The whistle sang, and he rose and poured the water over the grounds, then put his arms around Gretchen’s waist as she worked over the skillet and kissed her ear.
When she placed the omelet before him, it was messy looking around the edges but smelled wonderful. He took a bite and was surprised by how good it was. He was going to make a joke about cooking being his thing, or tease her about hiding her chef skills, but instead he just took another bite as she sat down across from him.
Gretchen took a sip of coffee, then undid her hair, and it fell around her shoulders. Jeremy felt an ache in his chest, watching her. He recalled all of the cruel thoughts he’d had about her, the way he’d dismissed her, both in his mind and to Ivy, many times. Now he wanted to apologize, to pull her onto his lap and hold on to her before she noticed what an asshole he’d been. If he could hide his face in her hair, maybe she wouldn’t see him for what he was.
“Do you like it?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, it’s perfect,” he said.
A million questions were stacking up inside him right now. He’d been so uncurious about her, so oblivious to who she was. He hoped there would be time to ask her everything he wanted to, but instead of starting now, he just said, “Thank you.”
JANE
When Jane woke up in the morning, Adam was already gone. He’d slept on the couch, his black duffel bag packed and waiting on the ground beside him, but when she wandered out to the living room there was no sign that he’d ever been here at all. She sat down on the couch, almost expecting the cushion to still be warm, but it was cool and anonymous, and she felt an incredible sadness invade her, a feeling that seemed to drain the blood from her veins, leaving her weak and pale.
Fern and Rocky had spent last night at her parents’ house. Her mother was dropping them off this afternoon, but Jane wished they were here right now, sitting beside her. Their busy noise would be a welcome distraction today, and Jane considered going to pick them up early, but she needed to go see Rex and knew she should do that alone.
It was almost 8:00 a.m., but everyone was still asleep, so Jane ate a strawberry yogurt in the kitchen as quietly as possible. Mourning doves sat on the wall outside the window, purring their contentment, and Jane watched them as she ate, admiring their creamy nutmeg color, their bright eyes and delicate beaks. It occurred to her that this was the first time she’d eaten breakfast by herself in years, and even though she was standing at the sink and it was only yogurt, a peace settled over her watching those birds. She always planned to get up earlier than her children so she could sort out her thoughts and prepare herself for the day ahead, but this required rising before 6:00 a.m., and she’d never been able to do it. Now she saw that it would have been worth the effort. Her thoughts floated slowly through her mind and then organized into recognizable tasks: walk to Rex’s and say good-bye, pack your suitcase, hold Ivy and Ramona close, be as kind as possible to your children.
Outside, she walked slowly up the sidewalk, feeling the blood begin to pour back into her limbs as she moved. The sadness was still there, but the hard top of it had lifted off and she felt stronger now, almost calm. Air moved over her bare arms. Sun pushed against her back. The sky was a rich, glittering blue.
Rex’s house was familiar to her now, and she crossed the lawn and knocked lightly on the door, then stood waiting. The skateboards had been leaned neatly against the garage door and the lawn was freshly mowed; the concrete steps beneath her feet were scattered with bright grass clippings.
Rex answered the door tying a navy bathrobe at his waist, and Jane felt a flush of embarrassment. “Did I wake you?” she asked.
“No. Just took a shower after I mowed the lawn.”
She noticed that his hair was wet, combed back into grooves against his skull. “I just came to say good-bye. My flight leaves tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, looking down at his bare feet, the palest feet Jane had ever seen. “Well, come in. I just made some coffee.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, she sipped coffee from a chipped green mug and looked out the window at the telescope. The beer bottles had been cleared away, and it looked as if the backyard had been newly mowed as well. “You’ve been busy this morning,” she said.
He slid into the chair across from her and followed her gaze. “I couldn’t sleep.”
They had sat in these exact positions two days ago, but Jane felt even more uncomfortable now than she had then. She wanted to follow him to his bedroom again and crawl beneath those dark blue sheets, but it struck her as a bad idea to push this any further. Tonight, she would fly across the country and, most likely, never see this man again.
“I saw you last night, walking with your husband,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, keeping her eyes on her hands. “I don’t know how we ended up on your street. That was so stupid of me. I’m sorry.” She looked up and tried to read his expression but couldn’t. He did not seem upset, but possibly quieter than usual, though she wasn’t sure. Maybe quiet was his set point, and she hadn’t figured that out yet.
“No big deal,” he told her.
His steady gaze unnerved her. Flutters of blood moved beneath her skin. The kitchen ticked slowly around them. He reached over and took her hand, and the warmth of his white skin surprised her as it had the first time. She wondered how long she would have to know him before his touch would seem ordinary. A year? Two years?
Jane released his hand, stood up, then walked around the edge of the table and sat down on Rex’s lap. He looked surprised, but when she looped her arms around his neck, he circled her waist and pulled her against him. They didn’t speak or move for several long minutes, and Jane could feel her body tightening into a single, expectant string. It was true that she may never see this person again, but that didn’t really matter. She wanted to have sex with him one more time, to feel that lightness in her body, because it would likely be a long while before she’d feel that light again. She turned her face to kiss him, but he pulled away and gave her a tight-lipped smile.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.
“It is. It’s a great idea.” She smiled, trying to ease him back toward good humor.
He shook his head, then pushed her gently off his lap. Jane stood, looking down at him, deeply embarrassed. “I should go,” she said.
“No, I’m sorry.” He rose to stand beside her. “It’s just … I’m sort of a mess still, about Kristina, and sleeping with you is not going to help matters, especially since you’re leaving.”
“Okay,” she said, looking past him to the backyard. She had come to simply say good-bye but now felt as if she might cry. There was a building pressure in her chest, and her throat was raw. She thought of Adam, on the plane right now flying over the desert, then the mountains, then the long, rolling farmlands. The earth beneath his window would be bleak, still mostly hard, vacant soil. The house would be cold when he stepped inside. What kind of person was she to have sent him away with such ease? “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she told Rex, shaking her head. “I really just came over to say good-bye
. And thank you.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“Your kindness,” she said. “Saturn.”
He laughed, then slipped a hand around her waist, tapping his fingers against her lower back. He leaned to kiss her, just once, lightly, then pulled her against him. Jane felt his hard collarbone beneath her cheek. He still smelled of cut grass, despite his shower, and she breathed him in, committing the shape and scent of him to memory. She wondered if she would think of him at all once she was settled into her new apartment back in Madison.
At the door, she told him, “I hope you and Kristina work things out.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, but thanks.”
“Oh, well.” She looked at the ground. “You never know.”
Walking across the grass, Jane could feel him watching her from the front step, and she resisted the urge to turn around and wave good-bye one more time. She felt light and heavy at once now, as if her head and torso might float away while her legs trudged, leaden, up the sidewalk. She passed the dull brown homes, cactus gardens, pebbled ground, yellow grass, a lustrous blue birdbath, three tricycles scattered in a driveway. Every detail felt particular to this city, this moment in time. She could no longer recall what the streets looked like in Madison. That life seemed very far away, but she would arrive there tonight and find her car in the airport lot, then drive her children home and tuck them into their beds. Adam would or wouldn’t be there, depending on his schedule at work, and she would or wouldn’t be happy to see him.
IVY
Ivy was still in her robe when the doorbell rang. Frank was already off playing basketball, Jane had disappeared again, and Ramona had spent the night at the Golden Nugget. Lucky had just been fed and was now asleep in her arms, so Ivy set him gently in his crib, then went to get the door.
Her mother stood on the front step, looking much older, but still essentially the same. Those eyes of hers, usually hidden behind sunglasses, were heavy-lidded now, but still gray-blue, still slightly mournful. She was wearing an olive green blouse tucked into a black skirt, black hose, low heels, and Ivy thought she looked as if she were here for a job interview instead of a reunion.
“Ivy,” her mother said, and her voice was exactly as Ivy remembered it, airy and tender. The sound made her recoil. It was too familiar, and this somehow made it worse.
Ivy didn’t speak, but nodded a somber greeting, and they stood staring at each other until Ivy gestured for her to come inside.
Her mother wandered slowly through the front room, touching objects—an open book on the table, the back cushions of the couch, the rim of a lamp. The origami bird that had been thrown over the wall on Tuesday—a decade ago it now seemed—sat on the coffee table, and her mother picked it up and smiled. “Oh, I’m so glad you got this. I learned how to make these at the senior center in Phoenix.”
So the bird was from her mother too. Ivy hadn’t considered that possibility and this new information caught her off-guard, making her feel even stranger than she already did. “Senior center?” Ivy asked.
“I work at one, as an activities coordinator, but I guess I’m old enough now just to hang out there,” she laughed and set the bird back on the table.
“And the New York piggy bank? That was you too, right?”
She nodded. “For Lucas.”
So she did know about Lucky, and she somehow knew his name. “He’s asleep,” Ivy said.
“Can I just take a peek?”
Ivy considered this, then shook her head. She had thought she’d want to show him off, but now her main instinct was to protect him, to shield him from this woman who could not truly be trusted.
Her mother’s face fell. Then she brightened, brushing off her skirt and smiling. “I lived in New York for a couple of years. Everyone says you have to live there at least once if you’re an artist, but it’s so dirty. And expensive. I didn’t really see the point. Phoenix suits me much better.”
Ivy wanted to ask where else she had been all these years but couldn’t bring herself to do it. In fact, she didn’t really want to know. She had expected something to open up inside at the sight of her mother, for forgiveness to move through her. Instead, each detail of her mother’s years away etched a new groove into Ivy’s skin, leaving her raw and wounded. “I think you should leave,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you in at all.”
Her mother turned quickly toward her. “Leave?”
Ivy nodded. “I don’t need a mother anymore, but thanks for coming.” She walked to the front door and opened it, then stood waiting for her to follow. She felt surprisingly calm, though a throbbing was beginning in her head, right at the base of her skull.
“Oh, Ivy,” her mother said, rushing over to her. “I should have come sooner, I know that. I’ve been here all week just spying on you really, too afraid to say anything. I’m such a coward.” A deep crease formed between her brows, and she reached out and lay a hand on Ivy’s arm.
“I don’t care about this week, or about any of it. I just want you out of here.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not true. I know it’s not true.” Her mother’s voice rose and faltered.
Ivy kept her eyes focused on the wall behind her mother’s head. She wouldn’t look at her face again, not ever. “It is true,” Ivy told her.
Ivy felt a squeeze on her forearm, pleading, then her mother released her arm and and walked over to sit down on the couch.
For some reason, Ivy hadn’t expected resistance, and she found she wasn’t prepared to physically remove her mother from the house. She considered leaving, just getting in the car and driving far away while her mother sat there, but the notion of dragging Lucky from sleep to escape his grandmother struck her as a bad plan. Instead, she walked through the room and outside, then sat under the umbrella by the pool.
Her mother, to Ivy’s surprise, did not follow her. Turning, she could just make out her form, still on the couch in the living room. Soon, somebody else would come home and find her sitting there and Ivy sitting out here, but she didn’t care. It was peaceful beside the pool. A cool breeze ruffled the turquoise water. A pair of hummingbirds swung past on a current of air, then hovered in front of the trumpet flowers to drink. She would just wait this out; it would be simple.
The remains of yesterday’s party were still in evidence around her, so Ivy rose and started cleaning up. She may as well do something while she waited for her mother to leave. There were plastic cups on the ground and empty plates covered with the empanada crumbs. Ivy gathered these items slowly, one at a time, and threw them in the trash can under the overhang. The job would go much faster with a garbage bag, but she wasn’t going back inside unless she absolutely had to.
She listened for Lucky as she worked, willing him to stay asleep until her mother was gone. The idea of her mother holding on to her son filled Ivy with dread. She imagined a strange poison seeping out of her arms and into Lucky, whole decades of stored-up love that would have turned sour, curdled with age—the dark underside of love, which Ivy knew to be black and sticky with despair. She glanced toward the living room to make sure her mother hadn’t left her spot to wander the house and was relieved to see her still sitting on the couch.
A petit four gleamed beneath one of the palm trees, and Ivy retrieved it and tossed it in the trash. There were two more intact cakes behind the other palm, and she wondered if one of the kids had flung them here. She was tossing away the last one when she heard a voice behind her. “Let me help you.”
Her mother had already started gathering cups from beneath a chair. The sight filled Ivy with unexpected rage. “Please go away, Astrid.” She hoped using her name would snap her into self-awareness, make her understand she wasn’t welcome.
But she turned to Ivy with a smile and said. “I’ll just help you with this, then be on my way. I promise.”
“I don’t want your help.” Ivy stepped closer. Her anger must have been evident, because Astrid backed away,
no longer smiling. Ivy moved toward her again, and again her mother backed up.
They were right next to the pool now, and Astrid turned and looked down into its clear depths. “You always wanted a pool. I’m so glad you have one, finally.”
Her casual tone enraged Ivy further. “You don’t know anything about what I did or didn’t want.”
“Yes, I remember distinctly your saying how much you’d love a pool. You were always such a good little swimmer. You always begged me to jump in that awful fountain at our building, and I had to hold you back.”
She laughed lightly, as if this was a fond memory, and Ivy could no longer contain herself. Without thinking, she stepped closer and pressed both palms against Astrid’s chest. It was soft beneath her hands, the blouse silky and fine. Ivy took notice of these details as if from a great distance, then gathered her strength and shoved her mother into the pool.
The look of shock on her face as she hit the water cut a hole inside of Ivy, and into that hole poured all the worry she’d kept at bay for the last twenty years, the years during which she’d thought her mother must be dead. The different methods of her death—all vividly imagined—seemed to destroy a part of Ivy each time she considered what might have happened. She had never stayed away or silent for so long. If only she had sent a postcard, or called just once, Ivy might have made it through intact, but now she was walled up, too rigid to accept anything resembling kindness. She had to protect her son. That was the main thing. She must protect her son from this person flailing in the water at her feet.
“Ivy,” another voice called to her from the doorway. She turned and found Jane, running toward the pool. “Ivy, what happened?”
The presence of her friend brought her back to herself, slowly at first as the colors of the trees and sky shifted into focus—everything was so bright—then with a rush of horror. Her mother couldn’t swim.
Vegas Girls Page 30