“It’s perfectly harmless, of course. I tease with him, you know. But I think he goes too far. I think he needs to have his jets cooled a little.”
She felt as though the other woman’s mortification was almost palpable in the air between them, like a gauze through which they could barely see each other. She recalled, without wanting to, that Millicent had left Tyler’s father for Buddy Galatierre, and had been pregnant with Sheri at the time. The fact went through her and caused a tightening of the nerves in her throat. She feared that Millicent would glean something of what she was thinking from the discomfiture that must certainly be showing in her face. So she busied herself with pouring a glass of ice water.
“I’m afraid if I tell Buddy about him, Buddy’ll do something awful, and get himself in trouble.”
Lily drank the water to keep from having to speak. She simply nodded, thinking, without wanting to, of Sheri and her married “friend.”
“You know—he—he put his arms around me. You might’ve heard us. He—he tried to kiss me.”
Lily frowned, pretending surprise. “Some men don’t know where the line is. Or even that there is a line.”
The other woman appeared relieved to have this note struck. “Isn’t it the truth. I just don’t see the good of saying anything about it, though.”
“No, of course not.”
“I hope you’ll—” Millicent seemed momentarily to have lost the thread of her thought. “I hope you’ll forgive me for the awkwardness of it.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Lily told her. “Don’t be silly.”
4
YET THROUGH the rest of the week, she felt the tension of having Millicent’s watchful interest in her when the others were gathered. A solicitousness had surfaced in the older woman’s behavior toward her, and it made everything seem freighted with significance, and with the possibility of some kind of unlooked-for eruption or failure. It put an unspoken pall on the good times. It was as though both Millicent and her daughter had involved her in their lives in ways that should be reserved for the psychiatrist and the marriage counselor.
When, after a week or so, Millicent asked, in the overly casual tone of someone who had been planning the question for a long time, if she had mentioned anything to Tyler about “that silly business in the kitchen with Roger,” she experienced a wave of irritability, turned, and demanded, “What silly business?”
Millicent stared at her for a moment, but then her face softened, and she nodded, touching Lily’s shoulder. “Well, you don’t need my stupid concerns, of course. I worry all the time over nothing, you know. Buddy’s always after me about it. I worry over the silliest things.”
“I’m like that, too,” Lily told her, relieved at being able to say something completely true. “And it’s usually over nothing.”
“Oh, isn’t that just how it is.”
Later, she found herself brooding over the fact that she could not tell Tyler about any of this: it bothered her that she should have knowledge about his half sister and his mother that she could not impart to him, about which she was barred from speaking to him, not so much by the two people involved as by her own sense of what would be right or wrong in their relation. It felt wrong to speak of these things with him; she could not bring herself to begin. So she held them to herself, and carried her worries about all of it.
On a warm evening in mid-June, the whole family went out to dinner and a movie. Everyone was lighthearted. Lily thought the movie was terrible, a bad remake of what had been a bad movie to begin with, and she was surprised to find that the others had liked it, and liked the original, too. They teased her about it, and Millicent’s teasing was relaxed, affectionate and friendly, and Lily thought perhaps the tension was over.
That night, getting into bed with Tyler in the basement room, she heard someone jump into the swimming pool outside, and experienced an unexpected thrill, realizing that she was at that moment completely happy. She hadn’t thought of her parents—the situation at home—very much in all these weeks. Remembering this abruptly troubled her; it was something undone, which would make a pressure to be set right the longer it was left undone. Except that she didn’t actually know what it might be that required doing.
“I have to call home,” she said, into the dark.
“Why don’t they call you?”
She turned to her side, facing him. “Come here.”
In the morning, with the weekend approaching, he wanted to take a day off and drive out in the country. They explored the surrounding little towns, and the Natchez Trace, and then on an impulse drove down to New Orleans for the weekend. It was a honeymoon. They went to the jazz clubs, and sampled the food, and stayed up late making love. They slept wonderfully and were aimless and lazy in the mornings. The weather was perfect, far cooler than usual, they were told. They walked along the Mississippi, basking in mild sun; they saw children playing in a park, and sat on a stone bench to watch ships roll into the harbor.
“You know this river was once the size of a small ocean,” he said. “It separated two very large land masses that came together, and formed this, er, continent.” He smiled a little apologetically. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t know that, Tyler. Really.”
He leaned over and kissed her, and took her hands. “I usually feel like I can say anything to you. Now I’m nervous. Like this is a date.”
They rose, and walked on along the bank of the river, the water of which was lined with little eddies and currents, a muddy design in a smooth, glassy, brown surface.
“Well, you already proposed,” she said. “Mr. Man.”
“You’re a delicious and marvelous mystery to me, Lily.”
She thought of the things she had been keeping from him. She determined to try confiding in him more. She said, “I like this. I like being alone here together.”
He kissed her ear, and they strolled on, jostling each other pleasantly.
Later, they went up a side street that opened out onto a small lake. The water looked black, and the houses of the street on that side were reflected in it. They sat at the edge and had cold sandwiches and iced tea in big paper cups. Nearby, two straw-hatted old ladies were fishing off a pier. Lily remembered that she had meant to call home, and resolved to do so when they got back. But for now she and Tyler couldn’t be reached, and she felt happy in the knowledge of it, enjoyed the sense of being truly alone with him in this exotic place.
“You are glad we came,” he said. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes.”
“I meant to Mississippi.”
“I know,” she said. But she had thought he meant New Orleans. She took a drink of the iced tea and thought about finding a place to live. It would have to be soon, in any case. There were other concerns, now. The time for her period had come and passed; it was two months now. She had felt surprised by her own excitement.
“I could live here,” Tyler said.
Had he been reading her thoughts? “Do you mean New Orleans?”
“Yep.”
“I think it might be that we have to move out soon anyway,” she told him. “As much fun as it’s been.”
He smiled. “It’s been so nice to have the feeling of being in a real family. I never had much of that, growing up. I think I understand perfectly now why Millicent left the old man. But we’ll find a place. It’s time.”
“I’ll say it is,” she told him. “We’re going to need it now.”
“Oh?” He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
She remembered that he’d told her once how much he disliked puzzles or games. Yet for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. She ran her hand lightly over her lower abdomen, smiling at him.
He looked out at the water, tore at the grass, and put a blade of it into his mouth. “You’re—are you—” He stopped and turned to her.
She reached over and touched his chest. “Thanks for playing, and you win the lucky jackpot.”
> After a pause, he said, “For sure?”
“Well, I haven’t seen a doctor, but I’m pretty sure.”
He kept working the blade of grass in his mouth, and now it seemed to her that his eyes had grown narrow. The muscles of his jaw were working. She saw a little forking blue vein standing out on the side of his head, above the temple. She’d never noticed it before.
“Tyler.”
“Well, if you haven’t seen the doctor yet.”
“Don’t you want it?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
He looked off, then reached down and tore at the grass again. “Of course, a baby. Lily—of course. But I—I thought you didn’t want any children.”
“I thought so, too. But when this began to make itself known—when I started to think maybe it was—oh, Tyler, it’s made me so happy. Something of you. Us. It’s—it’s more, don’t you see? It’s us together in a deeper way than I thought possible. I know it’s sentimental and a cliché and all that, but I’m so happy about it.”
He said nothing for a moment, then gave a little deprecating laugh. “It’s my upbringing. I’ve always had trouble believing in happiness.” A little breeze lifted a lock of his hair, then let it down again.
She could feel the blood flowing to the bones of her face. “Honey, if you didn’t want me to be pregnant—we didn’t have to be. Right? We could’ve taken precautions.”
“But you don’t know for sure that you are.”
“I said—no, I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Tyler, what is this?”
“Nothing.” He stood. “I’m being stupid. It just—it caught me by surprise.” He tossed the grass into the wind, and walked off a few paces, then turned and gazed at her, one hand held up over his eyes to blot out the sun. “You’re a beautiful picture, sitting there. Like one of those French paintings in the museums.” He came back and loomed over her. When she tried to stand, he knelt and took her face in his hands and looked at her. “Listen,” he said. “I love you so much.”
“Yes,” she said. “I love you, too. And we’re going to be so happy.”
“You haven’t said anything to anyone yet, right?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Don’t say anything yet. Okay?” Something crossed over them both—the shadow of a hawk.
“Tyler?”
He got to his feet again, and stepped back, and when she stood, swiping the crumbs of what they’d had to eat from her lap, he simply gazed at her. His smile somehow failed to include his eyes.
“Tyler, I want this. This is learning to trust happiness. This is being brave enough for it. I believe that. I know it’s a surprise, but can’t you feel it, just a little, how right it is?”
“I do. It’s just—you know—it’s thrown me off a little, that’s all. But yes, of course. If you are—we’ll—that’ll—I mean, that’ll be wonderful.”
“Terrific answer, Tyler.” Something moved in her soul, like leaves blown out of a tree. She started away from him, in the direction of the street.
He caught her by the arm and said, “I’m sorry, baby. It will be wonderful. We’ll make it wonderful. How could it be otherwise with you.”
She put her arms around him and held on, her ear against his chest, where she could hear the thrumming of his heart.
“I love you,” he said again. “I’m such a clod. Can you forgive me?”
She lifted her head and kissed him. Then: “I thought you’d be so proud.”
“I am. I’m very proud. Please—”
She thought he might begin to cry. His eyes swam, and he ran the back of his hand across his mouth. She took that hand, and kissed it, gazing at him.
“Can we keep it a secret for a while?” he said. “Until we’re absolutely sure? I want it to be perfect when we tell them.”
They walked away from the lake. People sat out on porches, men, women, and children, watching the young couple as they passed. The breeze carried the sound of a clarinet—somebody practicing scales. They went back into the French Quarter, and walked along Chartres Street, looking at the tall verandas and balconies, the skinny-columned porches with the ornate scrollwork and the high, arched windows, the cherry and cream facades and doorways. They remarked on the distant towers of the rest of the city, and how the light made them look insubstantial, like mountains in a mist. They had checked out of the hotel, and packed the car, and when they came to it, they got in and headed north again.
Tyler drove fast, both hands on the wheel. She began to fear that she would in fact find that she wasn’t pregnant; she almost wished she hadn’t said anything about it until she was sure. He was quiet, daydreaming, musing to himself. She watched a cloud sail across the sunniest part of the sky.
“I love New Orleans,” she said. “I’ll always love it, now.”
He nodded, watching the road.
“Such a beautiful memory.”
“‘We’ll always have Paris,’” he said, and moved the corners of his mouth, badly imitating Bogart.
She laughed, and sat back in the seat, watching the countryside for a few minutes. It was getting gray, clouds rolling in. The white line of the highway kept coming in and in under the shiny hood. “I wonder what it was like traveling around in America back in the 1870s, when Mary Kingsley’s father was here. Imagine it—no highways, nothing but dirt roads and paths.”
“I’m not much company,” he said. “Sorry.”
She kissed the side of his face. “It’s all right.” The sun was again bright in the windows, and she rested her head on his shoulder and began to grow sleepy. “Do you mind if I fall asleep?”
“No.”
Perhaps she drifted once or twice, she couldn’t tell. When he moved slightly, shifting his weight, she sat straight again. “Mr. Man,” she said. “My husband.”
“That’s me,” he said.
“You know, I thought I’d probably never get married. My parents’ divorce made me so mistrustful and unromantic. And then there you were, so handsome, that day after the football game.”
“You wanted to jump right into bed with me.”
She looked at him. “Hey.”
“You didn’t?”
“Tyler.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were telling me about being unromantic.”
“I was going to say that you made me feel romantic anyway—and I didn’t see you all those weeks, and then there you were that day I fell on the ice. You had me, right then, I think. And I got so miserable after that, thinking I wouldn’t see you again. Unromantic me. That afternoon you came to the dorm, I’d been holed up in my room for days, and you were so sweet—”
“And then you wanted to jump right into bed with me.”
She said, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” He turned to her with a look of non-understanding. “It’s a joke.”
She sank down in the seat and folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think it’s funny. So cut it the fuck out.” She looked out at the land gliding by the window, farm fields, and side roads going off into the flat distances of the delta. They passed a little country store with two men sitting in the shade and a third standing in the sunlight, talking to them. Then they were riding along a weed-choked creek bank, flanked by tall magnolias covered in kudzu.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Hey—I was just kidding you.”
“Don’t kid that way. I don’t like it. There’s a brutality in it.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. Really. Okay? I didn’t mean it like that. My father used to—” He halted. “No, I won’t use the old man as an excuse. I didn’t mean to be harsh. I just meant to joke about being unromantic, Lily.”
She shook her head, but gave him a look she meant as both acceptance of the apology, and loving exasperation with him.
ELEVEN
1
AT THE HOUSE, they found everyone in the pool area, even Rosa, whose white bathing suit made her dark legs look all the
more lovely. Nick Green was floating in a multicolored inner tube, with a can of beer in a Styrofoam holder. He held it up and called to them, “The return of the missing! Tyler, you fearful Jesuit! Where the hell did you go? How was New Orleans?”
“How do you know we went there?” Lily said. “In fact, we flew to Italy and back.”
Buddy Galatierre was sitting on the steps, with only his feet in the water. He held a glass of whiskey, which he also lifted, as if to offer a toast. “Welcome. Help yourselves to the bar.”
Millicent, treading water in the deep end, said, “Lily, your father called. He wants you to call him.”
Lily went into the kitchen, where plates of fruit and vegetables and cheeses were laid out. It had all been picked over. She stood with the handset at her ear, punching in the numbers. She inhaled deeply, and let the air out slowly, listening to the call go through, the circuits buzzing and clicking. The ring, and her father’s voice.
“It’s me,” she said to him.
“I have some news, sweetie.” He gave forth a small sigh, and when he spoke again his voice broke. “Peg-ah, uh, sweetie—I’m sorry, Jesus. Peg—Peg lost the baby today.”
The words went through her, a sharp pang across her chest and abdomen. She leaned against the counter and couldn’t speak, seeing in her mind’s eye the look on Peggy’s face at the remark: Cheer up, maybe something will happen.
“Oh, I’m so—Oh, my God, Daddy. Please tell her I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know, sweetie. I know.” There was a rush of something like relief in his voice, as if he hadn’t expected her to respond nearly as strongly as she had. “It’s been pretty hard on her,” he went on. “We had to take her in for a D and C. There was some necrosis, and they had to clean her out pretty good.”
Lily began to cry. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she said. “Please tell her how sorry I am. Should I come home? I’ll come home.”
“No, baby.” Her father’s voice shook. “She doesn’t want any fuss made. Really. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I want to see her.” The truth of this caused a strange pang under her breastbone.
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