‘What a good idea,’ she said and handed him the cheese.
Emily held her hand out. ‘Mrs Judith, this is my husband, James,’ she said, and the young man bowed from the waist.
‘It is my honor to meet you,’ he said. ‘My wife has told me of your great kindness. How good it was of you to introduce me to Doctor Kahn.’
‘I’m glad I was able to help,’ Judith said as Emily held the baby out to her.
With Jane in her arms, she walked to the picnic table and took her seat in the welcoming circlet of shade. She surrendered to a contentment she had not known for months. Not since – she lifted the baby’s tiny fingers to her lips – not since Melanie died. The words came to her without the familiar stab of pain.
Jeffrey had prepared a simple lunch of salad, fruit and store-bought sushi. Judith added the cheese and they ate with pleasure. Judith asked Emily about the apartment.
‘It is wonderful. Small but wonderful,’ Emily said excitedly. ‘It has windows. Many windows. Now I can look out and see the light. I will make curtains for the windows.’
‘Someone just donated some very pretty curtains to the thrift shop, but if you don’t like them, we have some nice bolts of fabric you could choose,’ Judith suggested.
‘Ah, the thrift shop. I think it has saved my life.’
And perhaps mine too, Judith thought.
She cut a strawberry into small pieces and held a juicy segment to the baby’s mouth, delighting in the sweet touch of the tiny tongue against her finger.
The meal over, they paraded down to the basement. The discarded furniture of the Kahn sisters’ younger years was shrouded in heavy cloths and dust-encrusted plastic sheeting, but when Jeffrey removed the coverings, they saw that everything was in excellent condition.
Gaily patterned futons and a bright orange couch encircled a low coffee table, its particle-wood surface scarred by circlets left by carelessly placed glasses and cigarette burns. Judith saw it as a stage set in readiness for a performance with the Kahn sisters and their friends of yesteryear, crouched on the futons, their drinks set casually on the table, laughing and talking, lovely girls and handsome young men, inching their way into adult life. How fortunate they had been. How fortunate they were.
She wandered over to a sturdy table, its wooden surface polished to a high gleam, flanked by chairs painted sunshine yellow.
‘Sylvia polished that table,’ Jeffrey said. ‘She refinished it and she polished it.’ He stroked it as though he might capture the touch of his wife’s hand.
‘It looks wonderful. Everything does.’
Suzanne would approve, she thought. Each piece of furniture had been gently used and gently preserved. Emily and James moved through the basement, murmuring their pleasure, their gratitude, discussing what they might take and where they would place the couch, the futon. Judith, holding the baby, trailed after them, but when Jeffrey began to open the cartons of kitchenware, she smiled apologetically and said she would take the baby into the garden.
She sat in the shade, Jane asleep in her arms. The heat had not abated, but scuttling clouds chased the sunlight and disappeared, leaving shreds of shadow adrift across the waning brightness. Perhaps the predictions had been right. Perhaps a storm was on the way. If so, Judith realized, she should leave. The winding northern roadway was badly lit and said to be perilous in inclement weather. But she remained motionless, Jane’s rhythmic breath warm against her neck.
She watched as James and Jeffrey emerged from the basement, struggling beneath the weight of the table, Emily following them, holding a lamp, all of which, with some effort, they loaded into the U-Haul.
‘Are you all right?’ Emily called to Judith.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied.
She did not add that she was more than fine. The sleeping infant’s sweet scent and the lightness of her little body suffused her with a remembered pleasure. Just so she had held first Brian and then Melanie in her arms, happily surrendering to the delight of sitting quite still and staring down at their precious faces relaxed in untroubled sleep. She reclaimed that lost delight as she brushed her lips lightly across Jane’s sun-bright cheek.
Jeffrey and James hurried now, hoisting the futons while Emily carried up one chair and then another. Finally, Jeffrey sank down on the grass beside Judith.
‘I think we’re done for today,’ he said. ‘They’ll have to come back with a strong young friend for the heavier stuff – the coffee table, the couch. And anything else they want.’
‘You’re very generous.’ Judith spoke very softly, fearful of waking the baby who shifted in her arms, gripped a tendril of her hair between her tiny fingers and released it.
‘I’m glad to give the furniture away and know that it’s all going to be used.’
‘That’s how we feel at the thrift shop. We’re constantly congratulating ourselves on turning the dross of some into the gold of others.’
‘I’m not congratulating myself.’
‘Of course not. I know that.’
The edginess of his tone frightened her and she realized how little she knew of his reactions and sensitivities. His emotional makeup, the landscape of his moods, was a mystery to her.
‘They are such nice young people, Emily and James,’ he added, as though to apologize for his transient irritability.
‘Yes. Yes, they are.’
The door to the U-Haul slammed shut and the young couple hurried over. With great gentleness, Emily took Jane from Judith’s arms, and James, with balletic grace, bowed from the waist and smiled at them.
‘How can we thank you?’ he asked.
‘No thanks necessary. It’s my pleasure,’ Jeffrey replied.
‘Just be happy,’ Judith added. ‘That is all Doctor Kahn and I would want of you.’
How effortlessly she had coupled the words. Doctor Kahn and I. Not ‘Jeffrey and I’.
They all smiled and James, with his arm around Emily’s waist, her head inclined toward the infant still asleep in her arms, helped her into the cab of the U-Haul. They waved as James slowly negotiated the long driveway and then accelerated. He was, Judith realized, hurrying toward a new beginning, a pleasanter life in a modest apartment blessed with the miracle of windows for which his wife would fashion curtains. He and Emily would sit on chairs the color of sunlight, at the wooden kitchen table which Sylvia Kahn had so lovingly sanded and polished.
Judith smiled at the extravagance of her own imagined scenario but she hugged it close, grateful for the unexpected clarity it offered. Yes and yes again. Lives changed but life went on. Chapters ended and chapters began. Continuity was not violated.
‘They’re a sweet little family,’ Jeffrey said, startling her out of her reverie.
‘Yes. They are,’ she agreed.
‘I miss my family. I miss my daughters.’ Sadness weighted his voice.
‘Of course you do. My son and his fiancée are away on just a short vacation and I miss them.’
He had not said that he missed his wife. She would not say that she missed her daughter. He knew, as she did, that the dead are missed in one way and the living in another. The dead, she now knew, were missed with grave finality, recognition of their loss accompanied by wavelets of sorrow and memories that ebbed and flowed in an unpredictable tide.
The absent living, however, are missed with wistful longing, soothed by the anticipation of togetherness to come. Jeffrey missed his daughters, but he understood that one day they would run toward him through the California sunlight. They would visit and their laughter would once again trill through their childhood home. He would hear their voices on the phone and plan visits and vacations.
He missed his wife, with the full knowledge that she was gone forever, present only in his remembered love and in the vagrant memories and fragmented images that brought him both pain and comfort. He would see her hands in the polished wood of the table she had restored, inhale her scent in the room they had shared. He would miss her and remember her all the
days of his life.
Judith missed Brian and Denise, but they would soon return. Quiet evenings and long leisurely weekends would be shared. There would be a wedding, and she and David would dance together in celebration of their son’s happiness. The yearning she felt in Brian’s absence would be assuaged the moment he burst into their home and encircled her in his strong arms, offering her love and laughter.
But she would miss Melanie always and forever, sustained only by remembrance of days past. Her daughter’s laughter would resonate in memory, her smiling face would linger in the kitchen mirror. Looking at the apple tree, Judith would hear that trilling voice call out, A leaf, a blossom. Melanie was gone but she was not lost. She was missed and mourned but never would she be lost. Not to her and not to David.
David. Her heart broke with tenderness for him, for herself.
Jeffrey looked up at the slowly darkening sky and she followed his gaze. ‘It will rain soon,’ he said.
‘Yes. Of course it will. We’d better get everything inside.’
They hurried to bring the chairs in, to gather up the remnants of their picnic. They set the food down on the kitchen table and, standing side by side in the dimly lit room, they stared at each other. He put his hands on her shoulders, a light and tentative touch. She moved away, a gentle retreat. His arms fell to his sides.
‘Why did you come here today, Judith?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Impulse. An impulse I didn’t understand. Perhaps it was because one season is ending and another beginning and I was in search of both – an ending and a new beginning. I think it was because I wanted calm and I always found that with you. That was important for me, as it was, I think, for you, during those weeks we worked together. It was good for both of us to share all that we shared, but I realized today that now …’ Her voice drifted off. She could not find the words she needed to complete the sentence.
He completed it for her, sadness and acceptance commingled in his voice. ‘And now that time has ended,’ he said. ‘And we are each in need of a new beginning.’
She nodded, weak with gratitude. Their parting would be as gentle as their time together had been, as calm as the compassionate understanding they had offered each other. ‘I should leave before the storm breaks. David will be worried,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Of course he’ll be worried.’
He walked her to her car, waited while she opened the door, then held her face in his hands and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything.’
She nodded and drove too swiftly away, looking back only when she reached the bottom of the long driveway. He was gone, and she imagined that he was sitting in his living room, phone in hand, talking quietly to one much-missed daughter or another. He was sad, she knew, but not regretful, as she was sad but not regretful. They had used each other with great gentleness.
She drove more slowly as the rain began, the fat drops weeping their way across her windshield. She hoped that David would be home when she arrived. She hoped that they could watch the storm together, as they often had in the early days of their togetherness.
THIRTY
David and Nancy had worked without respite throughout the day, racing against the looming deadlines. The dark wood table in the conference room was covered with their spreadsheets and the files they reached for blindly as they struggled through the final stages of the complicated arbitrations. Glaring sunlight poured in through the long windows, sending rhomboids of light dancing across their computer screen. The air conditioner hummed, losing power, gaining power. David prayed that it would not die until they were finished. Nancy called maintenance and arranged for fans to be set up.
‘Just in case,’ she murmured.
‘Yes. Just in case. Good thinking,’ he agreed, without looking up. ‘I don’t know how I would have managed without you. I might have missed the deadline,’ he added.
‘There was no need to worry. I had the date marked on my calendar.’
‘Of course. I should have known.’
He realized that he had, over the past several months, come to rely on Nancy both professionally and emotionally, a replication of his reliance on Judith. The thought troubled him. It was time for him to rely on himself. He shrugged and concentrated on the figures that had to be integrated into his report. Time enough for emotional archeology when the projects that had consumed him for so many weeks were over and done with.
The day wore on. They worked through lunch, ordering sandwiches which were only half eaten and allowing empty paper coffee cups to accumulate until Nancy swept them into a wastepaper basket. He tried to reach Judith, but cell phone reception in the conference room was notoriously unreliable. His messages were being routed to Nancy’s extension and he would be told of any urgent call. Judith would understand. He had told her how difficult his day would be.
At four o’clock Amanda entered to report that the office was closing early because of the heat and the impending storm. She plunked down a pitcher of iced water and smiled benignly at them, assuming the pose of a den mother pleased with her diligent boy scouts.
‘Everyone’s leaving,’ she reported. ‘Your phone messages are on your desk, David. I fielded most of them. Nothing urgent. Oh, yes. Brian called and said to tell you that he and Denise would be driving down from New Hampshire and he’d be in touch later. There are a couple of letters that need your signature. Do you need anything else?’
He shook his head and thought to ask her if Judith had called, but he was all but certain she had not.
‘No. We’re OK. Actually, we’re almost finished. We need maybe another hour. Everything will be sent on time, thanks to Nancy.’
‘You got back just in time,’ Amanda said, turning to Nancy, who nodded without looking away from her computer screen. ‘The AC is supposed to be OK for another hour so you should be all right.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Nancy said dismissively.
Amanda frowned. She did not like Nancy. She waved and hurried out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Her very high heels clattered down the corridor, her laughter echoing as she joined her waiting friends. David thought he heard her mention Nancy’s name. But whatever she had said, whatever she conjectured, was of no importance. He was immune to office gossip and there was, after all, nothing to gossip about.
He closed the door and turned to Nancy. She was pale and beads of sweat pearled her neck. She sat very erect as she stared at her screen, checking the pixelated numbers of their final entry. She made one correction and then another. Leaning back, she twisted her long silver hair into a loose bun, dipped a tissue into the water pitcher and moistened her face. Droplets fell on to the bodice of her dress.
‘You’re tired,’ he said.
‘I am.’
‘Please. You don’t have to stay.’
‘But I want to. We can finish this in an hour. I don’t have to rush home. Lauren is still away. Let’s wrap this up.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure.’
He smiled gratefully and concentrated on his notes, composing his recommendations as she passed relevant data to him. The room grew darker. He went to the window. The invasive sunlight had vanished and gray clouds canopied the street below. Pedestrians looked up and quickened their steps, racing against the threatening storm. Automobiles and buses moved slowly, their headlights casting narrow ribbons of light across the darkening avenue. The air conditioner ceased its hum and Nancy switched on the standing fan. He returned to his computer, smiled his gratitude, made one last entry, snapped his fingers and grinned.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Print this out, press “send” and let’s get out of here.’
She set the printer, snapped up the pages as they were spat out and sorted them into folders. ‘Done,’ she called out. ‘We did it.’
She clapped her hands and they smiled at each other, pleased with their achievement, pleased with their mutual effort and their joint triumph
over the completion of the two complex projects.
‘We’re a good team. Thanks, Nancy. Thanks a million.’
She turned away, a blush rouging her cheeks. As she gathered up the spreadsheets, he went to his office and tried to reach Judith on both their home phone and her cell. On both, he heard her recorded message. He left none of his own and returned to the conference room to help Nancy sort the spreadsheets into file boxes. That done, he watched her print out labels, smiling at how meticulously she completed the smallest task. Together, they carried the bulky file boxes to his office. He tried to think of a way to express his gratitude to her for the long hours she had devoted to his project, for the meticulousness of her effort.
‘Let’s celebrate,’ he said. ‘A drink. Dinner. We owe it to ourselves. At least, I owe it to you.’
She stared at him. ‘You don’t owe me anything, David,’ she said very quietly.
‘But I think I do. And I’m starved. You’re not hungry?’
‘Starving,’ she admitted. ‘But Judith – your wife—’
‘I can’t reach her. I’ll leave her a message. There’s no way I can put off eating until I get home. So you’ll have to join me. I hate to eat alone.’
Still she hesitated. ‘I just don’t feel up to a restaurant. All I want to do is take a shower, cool off and relax. How about if you come home with me? We’ll order in. Indian. How’s that for a compromise?’
Her suggestion surprised him. In Lauren’s absence, they had pointedly avoided her apartment, an unspoken acknowledgment of their mutual fear.
‘Do you really want to do that?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Why not?’
It was not a question he wanted to answer. Instead, he dialed Judith’s cell phone yet again and left a murmured message telling her he would have dinner in the city, offering neither excuse nor explanation.
‘All right. Your apartment, then.’
He cursed his hesitancy. He cursed his acquiescence. But it was something he had to do, he told himself. This would not only be a ‘thank you’ dinner. It was an opportunity to abandon all artificial caution, to clarify their awkward intimacy and establish new parameters.
After Melanie Page 29