After the Fire

by Belva Plain

  “Arnie, why didn't you tell me this before?”

  “What would be the use? What can you do about it? It's not child abuse. You can't notify the police.”

  Quite so. Gerald was the custodian. She had signed away her rights, and now she was helpless, sitting here speechless and limp while he cavorted in Florida.

  “I told Gerald to get another nanny. The first one was kind of a pill, but she was good to them. The kids want her back, but she's already got another job. Looks as if the starlet's there to stay awhile. He's attached to her, the way a woman gets attached to a piece of jewelry and wears it every day, even on the beach.” Arnie gave a sardonic chuckle. “Well, well, I was his age once. Now I've learned enough to look for quality in a woman, not tinsel.”

  Hyacinth's mind had been racing ahead. Her anger at Arnie had evaporated. “Arnie,” she pleaded, “you've been so good, so wonderful, you've acted like a father. So do you think you could call an agency down there and find another nanny? You'd know what to look for. Will you?”

  “They don't really want another nanny, Hy. What they want is you. That's the long and the short of it. They want their mother. They tell me. Out on horseback and jogging along, we talk. I hate to hurt you, but you might as well know the truth.”

  “What am I going to do?” she wailed, so bitterly that the waiter who had come to refill the coffee cups was startled.

  “I don't know. You've got too much on your plate, that I do know. I will say this, though: If you were down there with me, I could probably influence Gerald. In fact, I'm sure I could put a little pressure on him. We get along fine, I don't mean that. But money—contracts, real estate, mortgages held in common—well, you see how it is.”

  What she saw was a long path leading from herself, to Will, and to her children. The path was crooked and dark, filled with obstacles. And seeing no way past them, she sat across from Arnie with nothing to say. Evidently he, too, had nothing more to say.

  At last he spoke. “You're going to Francine's this week?”

  “I hadn't planned to leave till Thursday, but I need to go sooner. I'd go tonight if it weren't already so late.”

  “Why don't you confide in your mother? She might suggest something.”

  Hyacinth shook her head. “No. She's had enough with the loss of Dad. She's had enough on her mind. I don't want to crush her.”

  “I didn't mean telling her about the fire. You didn't think I meant that, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I meant the kids. And you and Will. Ask her what she thinks.”

  It was quite clear to Hyacinth that Arnie wanted Francine to plead a case for him. And grasping his hand, she spoke from a full heart.

  “There will never be time enough to thank you for everything you do,” she said.

  “You thank me too much, Hy. Just don't forget that I'm here for you. And if you ever fall, I'll pick you up.”

  Arnie had been right about the children. Hyacinth had not been long at Francine's house before she saw that. The dog Charlie had come with them, and one of the first things they had to tell was about the day Arveen had hit him.

  “Mommy! She wanted to kill Charlie,” Emma said. “Do you know what I'll do if she does? I'll kill her. I'll buy a big gun and I'll blow her head off the way those boys do in school, the ones on TV.”

  Emma's face, distorted in righteous anger, was unfamiliar. Every time I see her, thought Hyacinth, she looks unfamiliar, and it is not only because she is a few weeks or even a few months older. Experience and emotion have left their marks. Right now Emma looks as she may after four or five more years are added to her age: vindictive, with tight lips and narrowed eyes. Her little fists are clenched.

  Trying to soothe, she explained, “I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt Charlie. She was probably sorry she hit him. Sometimes people lose their tempers and afterward they know they were wrong.”

  “She wasn't sorry. You don't even know her, so how can you say she was sorry?”

  “She's a bitch,” Jerry said.

  “What?” cried Francine. “I've told you a dozen times this week not to use that word anymore.”

  “Everybody uses it. You're old-fashioned. Everybody's grandmother is old-fashioned, and everybody says bitch.” And Jerry, giggling, was so pleased with his own wit, that he had to jump up out of the chair and upset his jigsaw puzzle.

  “Oh damn, damn, damn!” he said. “Son of a bitch, I've worked on this goddamn thing ever since we got here, and now look.”

  Francine's silence was in deference to the children's mother, and the mother was astonished. How could Gerald, as precise and formal as he was, allow this language?

  So using the two words she most avoided, Hyacinth quietly asked Jerry whether “your father” ever heard him speak that way.

  Jerry laughed. “He can't stop us. Arveen says worse words, Mom, but he can't make her stop, either. Arveen is the boss.” Once launched on his speech and in possession of an audience, he continued, “And do you know why? Because she's stacked, that's why.”

  “Stacked?”

  “Yes. Like this,” said Jerry with a knowing leer and the appropriate rounded gestures.

  Something had gone terribly wrong. The two women stared at each other as if asking what was to be done.

  Perhaps nothing, and ignore it for the time being? You couldn't keep a boy his age in the nursery. And once he left it, he moved ahead into a world where he saw and heard things you didn't like. It was only to be expected, and more so than ever these days. On the other hand, must the world move into the home and take it over? Arveen, whoever she is, should not be a model for my children, thought Hyacinth. The repetition thundered in her head.

  The dog got up, shook itself, and went to lie down again near Emma's feet. The softness of the little creature, only a heap of silky hair over fragile bones, moved her to pity. It was so innocent in its trust, so vulnerable to any cruelty that might come its way. It was like Emma.

  “Charlie hasn't had his walk today. This is a good time to take him,” Francine suggested.

  If they've been like this all week, she must be exhausted, Hyacinth thought, but she would never let me know it. And a wave of memory came over her here in the house where she had grown up: the cheerful sound of Francine keeping order in a roomful of noisy boys, her own three and the neighbors'; the good, hot smell of broiling on the grill, while from the farthest room came the reverberation of Jim's music. What an easy time she had had growing up in this cocoon of love and safety! But of course she hadn't known then how easy it was.

  “Let's go. Get Charlie's leash, and we'll go down to the woods. It's lovely there.” It was important to sound enthusiastic. “There's a little pond where I used to watch frogs.”

  The children were wild with exploding energy as they raced ahead. The woods were indeed lovely, quiet and dark, with spots of light, a large circle of it around the pond where Hyacinth had used to sit on a log.

  “Sit down and be very still,” she said now. “Maybe we'll see some.”

  After a minute or two with no frogs in sight, she knew she must hold their attention, for both of them, disgruntled, were fidgeting with impatience. And she so much needed to have this time alone with them, to have their attention and to feel the closeness of their bodies.

  “Do you know where frogs come from?” she began. When no answer came, she went on eagerly, “Out of eggs, just like chickens.”

  Her voice was high, nervous, and too eager. She wanted them to love being with her, she wanted to give them a store of memories so that one day they might look back and say, We went to the woods with Mom and she told us about frogs—

  “Yes, like chickens,” she continued, “but not exactly, because their eggs are tiny specks that they lay on twigs or leaves in the water. They lay them in the spring.”

  There being no response to this either, she produced a fact that might be more interesting.

  “Did you know that some frogs can climb?”


  “That's not true,” Jerry said crossly.

  “Oh, yes it is. They're even called tree frogs because they live on trees and bushes. In the spring you hear their beautiful, loud chirping around you, and then you know that winter is really over.”

  “Who cares?”

  Deciding that it was probably best to ignore the response, Hyacinth continued, “Don't you think it's odd that they can climb? Don't you wonder how they do it? Well, they have tiny pads on their toes so they can hold on. Other frogs don't have those pads.”

  Emma announced that she was tired of sitting, so Hyacinth stood up and led the way back. Their feet, crackling over the leaves of many past years, were loud, as was the silence. A queer contradiction that was: loud silence.

  “Look!” cried Emma. “Look what Charlie has. It'll make him sick.”

  “It's only an acorn, dear, and he won't eat it. Squirrels do, not dogs. Let him play with it.” And making yet another determined attempt to clear the atmosphere, she said pleasantly, “Can you imagine? If you plant an acorn in the ground, it will someday be an oak like that one over there, twice as high as a house.”

  Jerry mumbled something. Inaudible as it was, there could be no doubt that it was rude. He had really gone too far, and she was desperate. Perhaps, though, Jerry was desperate, too. Although he resisted, she drew him to her.

  “Tell me,” she said softly, “why you're so unhappy today.”

  When he shook his head, she continued, “You're angry because you're unhappy. Won't you tell me?”

  “I'm unhappy, too,” cried Emma, beginning to sniffle.

  They were all feeling the solemnity of the moment. Something real, something deeply felt and not the easiest to express, was trembling among them.

  “Is it because of Arveen and Charlie?” asked Hyacinth, knowing quite well that it must be far more than that.

  “We don't like it there anymore,” Emma blurted. “And Tessie says you're a bad mother, and you are. You didn't let us stay in our own house, and I like my room and the dollhouse.”

  How to explain all this? There was too much to explain, that the dollhouse had been a built-in piece that could not be moved, and that Tessie was not to be believed. That dour person must be a marvelous cook, thought Hyacinth, or Gerald, who sought beautiful people, would never be keeping her sour face in his house. It was all too complicated, and she hardly knew how to begin.

  Big brother was correcting little sister. “Mom doesn't have that house anymore. Don't you know where she lives all the time? It's in New York, where we stayed in the apartment, and she took us to see the dinosaurs and I had lobster for dinner and stuff like that.”

  “Well then, I want to live there all the time,” Emma protested. “I want to.”

  Tactfully, gradually, Hyacinth approached the heart of the matter. “Don't you like your school anymore?” she asked, meaning, Don't you like, or love, or get along with your father anymore?

  Jerry answered, “It's a new school. We haven't even been there yet. We'll have to stay all day till dinnertime. Then Tessie will put Emma to bed because we have no nanny. I put myself to bed, and I don't need any nanny. I'm too old.”

  It's almost four years now. Time is racing, while I stand still.

  “Aren't you going to get another nanny?”

  “Dad's getting somebody to be with us on Saturdays and Sundays, to drive us around and stuff. Dad's always busy.”

  Hyacinth could not resist a question. “Because of Arveen?”

  “Yep. Her and lots of people. He goes places when he's not working. He goes to parties with girls, out on boats and stuff, Bruce says.”

  “Who's Bruce?”

  “Bruce is my friend. You never remember my friends' names. His yard's next to ours. But he lives with his mother, not like us. His dad's no good. He hates his dad.”

  Hyacinth said quickly, “That's very sad. People need a dad and a mom. You mustn't hate your dad. I hope you don't.”

  “No, but we don't have fun anymore. And I don't like being the only person who doesn't live with his mom. Well, I'm not the only. There's one, Donny, but that's different because his mom is dead. But you're not dead.”

  “Then why don't we live with you?” demanded Emma. “You could live in our house. There's lots of room.”

  “No, she couldn't, stupid.” Jerry was exasperated. “Dad's already got a woman, hasn't he? What do you think, that he wants two women? Or maybe he does, but Mom's not one of them.” And he concluded, laughing, “You don't watch cable TV, or you'd know.”

  Quietly, Hyacinth asked when he watched cable TV.

  “At night, when Dad's out and Tessie's in her room, I get up sometimes. It's fun.”

  She must keep her tone level. This was something that Arnie must take care of. Surely he would be able to. And she said, still quietly, “It's not good for you, Jerry. I really don't want you to do it anymore.”

  “I don't live with you, so I don't have to obey you.”

  “That's a mean thing to say to me, Jerry.”

  “No, it isn't. You're the one who's mean. You should let us live in that apartment where we stay. We could see the dinosaurs and go ice skating and stuff.”

  Caught and tied. She must struggle to loosen the tie. “I have to work,” she said, “for right now, anyway.”

  There was a pout on Emma's pert little face. “You don't have to make those dresses.” And then, with no plausible connection between the two, she made another accusation. “You don't even go riding with us.”

  “I don't know how,” Hyacinth said weakly.

  “Uncle Arnie can teach you. He always says he wants to.”

  “All right. Next time I go to see you, I'll take my first lesson.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you promise to come live in our house in Florida?”

  “I told you she can't—” Jerry had just begun to shout when Hyacinth stopped him.

  “Enough promises for today. First, I'll go riding with you, and—”

  Emma burst into tears. “You don't love me,” she sobbed. “You don't. You don't.”

  They had returned to the frog pond. Hyacinth sat down on a log and opened her arms. “Come sit here with me, one on each side. I want to tell you how much I love you. Then we'll all feel better.”

  “Are you crying, too?” asked Jerry. “You look it.”

  “I am, a little.”

  “I'm not. Boys don't cry,” he said with his voice cracking.

  “Who says so?”

  “Dad does.”

  How like him to hold Jerry to his fantasies of perfection! And she said strongly, “Dad's wrong. Boys certainly can, if they need to.”

  “I wouldn't need to if you'd say you'd live with us.”

  “I'll try. Now how about going back to the house and we'll all make a cake for supper?”

  Persistent as always, Emma said, “You didn't promise. You only said you'd try.”

  “I will.”

  It was an evasion, but no one caught it, and they started back home. Heaven forgive her for the lie, but it was the best she could do.

  “So it's been a pretty hard week,” Francine concluded, as they were talking over coffee after Jerry and Emma had gone to bed.

  “I'm sorry I wasn't able to spend more of it with you, but all of a sudden, there was a huge pile of work to get out.”

  “I'm not complaining, Hyacinth. I meant that it was hard for them. They've changed, and it's very troubling. I've tried, but I haven't been able to find out very much.”

  There was no sense in providing Francine with the clues in her possession. It would only awaken a sleeping dragon; ever since that impressive debut in the Fifth Avenue store, Francine had stopped harping on the disgraceful conditions of her daughter's divorce. It was almost as if she were experiencing a touch of awe at her daughter's unexpected triumph.

  But on this evening, Hyacinth was not to be spared, for Francine was overwrought. “These children are not
doing well at all. They're secretive, they mope, they're impertinent at times, and then they're sorry. In short, something needs to be done about them.”

  “You can be sure I'll look into it.”

  “I can't be sure of anything,” Francine retorted. “You don't tell me anything. For four years I've been kept in the dark. It's an outrage. You don't trust me? Me? You don't know that I would fight for you, or my sons, or any of my grandchildren? I'd fight with my last breath, Hyacinth.”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, then! There's something rotten about Gerald, something even worse than I ever suspected, though I resented him at first glance. For God's sake, tell me what this is about, and I'll get the best lawyer in the U.S.A. I've told you a hundred times at least. You'll never do it for yourself. You're too timid. You were born that way, and it's not your fault. I'm not blaming you—”

  Hyacinth put up her hand. “Please,” she murmured.

  Francine was not to be stopped. “I'm so proud of you, proud of your success. But I'm baffled, totally baffled by this other side of you—”

  The telephone rang in the adjacent room. When Fran-cine returned after answering it and reported that Will was calling, Hyacinth's first emotion was dread. Too many things were piling onto her all at once. When she picked up the telephone, Will's happy voice set up a buzz of conflict in her head. He was telling her that he had accomplished the miraculous and the impossible: He had found the perfect apartment in New York City. True, it was expensive, but it would be a lifetime city home, and between the two of them, they would be able to handle the mortgage. Of course, she must see the place and approve, but he was sure she would, because it was only two blocks from the park, which would be wonderful for the children, and by the way, had she decided on their school? It was high time. He hoped it wasn't too late.