by Belva Plain
“Yes, in a way,” she said.
“Not like me. He’s even got better hair than I have. His isn’t receding, and mine is.” Larry grinned, as though it were all a big joke.
For a moment, the grin touched Amanda’s heart. It was pathetic, although why it should be she did not know, for if Larry exuded anything, it was confidence in himself.
Lying in bed while he took his shower, she wondered about her own self. The older I get, the less I know, people said, and it seemed to be true. Surely she wanted to be happy with this man! I want, she thought, I want, as everyone does, to be happy. But I want beauty, too. I want to hear beautiful music, to read, to learn, to see the world, to feel a passionate love. And most of all, admit it, I want beautiful things around me. I never knew before I left home to come here that there were so many beautiful things.
* * *
Late in the fall, Amanda’s mother came to visit. “Dad couldn’t come,” she explained, “because some big company’s bought the factory and he’s afraid of losing his job. Lost so much time on account of his leg, of course. They might want to let him go.”
A light snow was falling as they left the airport. In her thin coat Mom shivered.
“I’ll buy you a warm coat,” Amanda said. “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
“I don’t need one. Thanks, but save your money, dear.”
“I guess I can give my mother a present, can’t I?” She was making her voice sound jolly. Mom looked so tired…. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mom. And Larry will be, too. You’re going to like each other right away.”
“Oh, I like him already. I feel as if I know him, talking on the phone every week the way we do. My, I can’t believe I’m as far away as Michigan, visiting my daughter in her own house. It looks beautiful in the picture you sent. Is it far?”
“Not very. Sit back and let me point out the sights.”
Mom was more excited about this trip than were Mrs. Lyons’s customers about a cruise to the Orient. She was overwhelmed by the house, the yard, and the two new cars in the garage. When Larry hugged her, she looked as if she was about to cry.
He wanted to take her out to dinner, to the movies and on drives through the countryside, but all she wanted was to stay in “this wonderful house” with them, playing checkers and watching movies from the video store. One day she made a pecan pie, because Larry had never eaten that authentic southern pie.
“She reminds me of my mother,” he told Amanda.
His expression was tender and again she was affected by it; behind his extroverted personality she seemed to be seeing another personality, one vulnerable and frail.
On her last day Mom baked two more pies for the freezer. This freezer, the electric wall oven, and the whole machinery of the kitchen were rubies and emeralds, in her eyes.
“Even your floor is beautiful,” she said.
Amanda looked down at the smooth marble tile. As if he had read the meaning of her glance, Larry reached into his pocket, fetched an envelope, and handed it to her when they were alone.
“Give this to Mom at the airport when she leaves. It’s for a rubber-tiled floor,” he said, still with that tender expression on his face.
When they went upstairs for the night, Amanda received some unexpected counsel from Mom.
“Treasure what you have. I wish my other girls had men like yours. The goodness shines out of him.”
Yes, she knew that, and knew very well too what she ought to be feeling. So later when he lay down on the bed beside her, she understood at once what he wanted. He had his own little way of beckoning her to himself. Never in any mood to respond, she was even less so now. But since her willing response was expected, she gave it now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Welcome clouds were moving across the sun’s orange glare, and a small, moist breeze, also welcome, began to drift in from the Mississippi. But it had been, nevertheless, a wonderful summer day of exploration in New Orleans. In the restaurant’s shady garden, Peter was being anxious and proprietary.
“We’re taking a taxi back to the hotel, Cele, and no argument about it. You’ve done too much walking today and it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have let you do it.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t you know that pregnant women are supposed to have exercise? I feel absolutely marvelous! I’m floating on air.”
Indeed, she was. Now, in the third year of their marriage, a baby was on the way, and Peter, having earned his graduate degree with distinction, was also on his way. Just this week his work was about to lead to bayou country and an unusual eighteenth-century house. She was so happy for him! So proud of him!
“I’m still amazed that anybody tracked me down here in New Orleans,” he said, “amazed and excited, too. I didn’t know that they knew I was here.”
“You’re making a name for yourself! You love the work, and it shows. All those marvelous old houses, all the history, the romance in it—”
“Of course. But preservation isn’t all romance and George-Washington’s-mother-lived-here history, fascinating as that is. It’s also how ordinary people lived; it’s connected to town planning and how a building is connected to the environment, to the climate and family life. It’s a hundred things besides brick and mortar and accepted styles. Not long ago, people turned up their noses at the Victorian; it was dowdy, fussy and illogical. Now you suddenly see developers copying Victorian front porches; they’re neighborly, they’re sociable—” Peter smiled at himself. “Heck, I’m giving a lecture. You should stop me when I do. I’m no professor.”
“One day you may be, if you want to.”
“We’ll see. We’ll see. Now taste this gumbo, will you? Best food in the fifty states.”
In a dove gray twilight, they walked back toward the hotel. “We’ll compromise,” Cecile said. “Right after the bookstore, we’ll get a taxi. I saw a lovely book of New Orleans photographs for Amanda.”
“All right, but that’s all. I want you to get to bed early.”
In a way it bothered her to be ordered about as if she were a child or an infirm old lady, yet in another way she, an independent woman, was enjoying this temporary babyhood.
“All right, boss,” she said.
“I wish you were going with me tomorrow, but I’ll probably be there for a week, and you need to go home and keep your appointment with the doctor.”
“And should I go look at that house again?”
The subject of a move had been analyzed and discussed to the limit. Their two-year lease on the apartment was almost up; if they were to renew it, the landlord was now asking for three years; in three years, the baby would be an active child with no room of its own. Their apartment had simply not been designed for children. Clearly Peter understood that a move was necessary. Yet, she knew he was feeling anxiety.
“It’s a quaint little house,” he said. “Yes, I guess I can handle the mortgage. In fact, I know I can.”
Quaint it was and little it was, too. Back in the 1890’s, it had been the gatehouse on an estate that had not long ago been turned into an upscale development. The builders had retained the gatehouse, perhaps because it was picturesque; built of the same stone and in the same style as the original mansion, it was surrounded by a tiny, bare yard, which meant almost no upkeep.
Back in the hotel, Peter reflected. “We’d have to fix up the kitchen, that’s about all. Yes, it’s a good start, a first house, a nice living-dining room and two bedrooms, just what we need. Yes, go ahead.”
“I do plan to use some of my own money for decorations, painting and paper, you know that?”
“Hey, I don’t want to be fanatic about never using some of your money, Cele, but be careful. Keep it modest. I’m having a good start, thank God. Only don’t count all my chickens before they’re hatched. Here, let me help you pack. This darned book weighs a ton. I can pack it with my stuff.”
“No, I’ll manage. It’s for Amanda’s birthday. She’s learned so much about art and decorati
on lately, and she’ll love it.” Cecile paused to stare at Peter. “Why the sour face all of a sudden?”
“Well, maybe I’m just not that fond of Amanda.”
“Oh, that’s mean! And it’s not at all like you. You always like people.”
“True, but I can’t like everybody.”
“But why Amanda? She’s one of my closest friends.”
Peter, folding ties to pack, seemed to be considering the question. Then, with a slight frown, he replied.
“Maybe it’s because I feel sorry for Larry.”
“Sorry for Larry?”
“Yes. I think she belittles him.”
“Really? I don’t know what you mean. They always seem so compatible, so comfortable.”
Peter shook his head. “It’s very subtle. Her conversation, whenever we’ve been together, seems to consist of other people’s vacations, jewelry, clothes, and houses. Stuff she picks up in that place where she works, I suppose.”
“She never had anything, Peter. I don’t mean that she was like you, needing to be very careful about money. I mean she never had anything.”
“Then she ought to be more careful of what she has now.” He spoke shortly. “She ought to appreciate Larry.”
Those were troubling words. And as Cecile absorbed them, certain incidents, which obviously must have made enough impression on her to be recalled now, came to mind. There was the flowered silk dress that Amanda wore when they all went out to dinner a month or two ago: nine hundred dollars, it had cost. Cecile had seen it in the shop and had not bought it because it was overpriced. There was a bracelet Amanda had worn; quite innocently she, Cecile, had mentioned it with admiration while talking once to Norma. And Norma had changed the subject too abruptly. Had she, Cecile now wondered, taken my comment to mean disapproval? Or to be, worse yet, a piece of disloyal gossip? I meant neither, she thought uncomfortably.
“You’re sorry for Larry, and I’m sorry for Amanda,” she said, “or I will be if things are not good between the two of them.”
“Well, you can be sure Amanda will take care of herself, no matter what. With that body and that face, she’ll be fine.”
“How can you say that?”
“I’ve watched her among people. She’s a magnet. You mean you haven’t noticed?”
“I never pay that much attention, I guess.”
“Don’t sound so wistful.”
“I’m not wistful at all. I’m only thinking about what you’ve been saying,” said Cecile. And then added wistfully, “It must be nice to be a magnet.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, not like that, my lovely darling. Definitely not like that.”
* * *
“Are you sitting down?” asked Cecile. “I have a tremendous surprise for you. I wanted to keep it until you got home next week, so I could see your face, but I find I can’t wait. We’re having twins!”
“What? You’re joking!”
“Why on earth would I joke? It’s definite.”
“Can the doctor be sure?”
“Of course he can. Twins. Can you believe it?”
“Twins. Can you see us pushing a double baby carriage, strangers coming up and smiling at them?” Peter was chuckling. “You know what? I like the idea! I do! You’re sure the doctor is sure?”
Cecile laughed. “You big idiot! Of course he’s sure. Oh, Peter, I’m thinking of two little boys who look like you.”
“No, a boy and a girl, and they should look like you. Especially the girl should. I wish I was there with you right now. If I could rush things here, I’d get the next plane, but I need a few more days with builders.”
“Take your time. I’ll keep the champagne chilled. And Peter, we can’t buy the gatehouse. It only has two bedrooms.”
“Can’t two cribs fit in one room?”
“Of course they can. But babies do grow out of their cribs. They’ll need space to play in. And if one’s a girl and the other’s a boy, they’ll eventually need two separate bedrooms.”
“What do people do who can’t afford separate rooms?”
They weren’t going to have a repeat of the street-corner argument they’d had that time in Bermuda, were they? Was she imagining a strain of stubbornness in his tone?
She replied calmly, “People like that have to make do. They put up a bed in the living room, which isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it certainly isn’t the most comfortable arrangement, either, and if you don’t absolutely have to do it, why should you?”
“Well, yes, I guess you’re right.”
“Actually, we could take the gatehouse for now. It’s charming, and we could stay for a year, maybe two, but then we’d have to move again, which doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right.
“Oh, I’m happy, Cele, a little dazed, but happy.” The familiar laugh rang over the wires. “So you’ll have to go out looking right away. Just—oh, you must be tired of hearing this—but keep it modest. Don’t forget, I’m only getting started.”
“I won’t forget.”
More than once, her father had praised Peter’s independence. “Many a man in his position would be only too glad to relax and enjoy his wife’s good fortune. I admire Peter. I liked him the first time I laid eyes on him. You know that.”
So, carrying faithfully in her mind Peter’s desire to pay his own way, Cecile set out on the search. Her first thought had been to call on Larry. But then two other thoughts occurred to her: One of them was that the Balsan company was not active on this side of the city, and the other was about Amanda’s vague discontent with her own house, her ambition being to live in the very area where Cecile was about to go searching.
It was surprising to see how many houses were unsuitable. Some were too small, others too large. Some were too formal in style, others too gaudy; several had beautiful, large yards that were too expensive to maintain, and a few were simply too expensive altogether. Not until the fifth day, after having seen some thirty-odd houses, did she come upon the one that was just right. The tired broker, who had probably given up hope of ever satisfying this client, simply stared at Cecile when, after a ten-minute inspection, she announced, “We’ll take it.”
“But you’ve hardly had a chance to think. And your husband hasn’t seen it. Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I love it, and he’s going to love it.”
Surely, Peter would. An architect had duplicated for his own use a house in Williamsburg. It was simple, authentic, and the next best thing to an original. She had during her tour brought to life in her mind all the plans that had long been dormant there. Here were the children’s rooms, with gingham curtains at the windows; there the piano, now in storage, would stand in the left-hand corner; down the rear hall, where Peter might study and draw in quiet, was his wonderful room, where northern light filtered through windows that opened onto the porch.
Seeing this enthusiasm, the broker rose to meet it. “As you see, the house is vacant and you can have early possession, which is quite unusually good luck.”
It wasn’t that unusual, but it was luck. And with a lovely, peaceful sense of completion, Cecile wrote out a check that would hold the house until Peter’s return.
Here was their lifetime home. Children would grow up in it; grandchildren would come to visit; holiday dinners, P.T.A. teas and civic community meetings, political events—all these would fill the rooms. Oh, she was letting sentiment run away with her, but why not? This was a tremendous event in anybody’s life.
Still, after a while, a faint shadow began to creep over her sun. Careful as she had been about price, she had nevertheless overstepped Peter’s limit. She had not forgotten the lesson learned in Bermuda: Here was no two-acre miniature “estate” this time; her father was not making any gift this time; the extra funds were to come from her own fund bequeathed by her grandmother. It had never been a large amount, and she had already dug into it; now with this purchase, it would be completely used up. They would then have
to live very, very carefully on Peter’s earnings.
But she was no spendthrift, and they would manage.
“I can’t believe it,” Peter said. “I thought we had this out over two years ago in Bermuda, and now you’ve done it again.”
They had just come back from viewing the house. His suitcases, still unpacked, lay on the floor beside the basket from which Mary Jane, the placid cat, now looked up as if puzzled at the unfamiliar voices of anger.
“I have not done it again! My father has nothing to do with this.” Cecile was furious. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m using my—”
“Don’t tell me again about your grandmother’s legacy. It should be put aside for these twins we’re having instead of being squandered on a fancy house.”
“It is not a fancy house! You were just there and you fell in love with it until I gave you the details about the price. You fell in love with it.”
“All right, I did. People fall in love with a lot of things they can’t afford. That’s half the trouble with most people, and I won’t be one of them.”
“Now you listen to me. It’s my turn. I’m trying to tell you, but you don’t seem to understand, so I’m going to get pencil and paper and write everything out in dollars and cents, and you’ll see that with economy, because I won’t spend a penny on myself—We can wait to furnish. You’ve been doing very well and you’re always pessimistic; you never thought you would start out so well. I wish you wouldn’t be like that. Give me your pen—no, I can’t find one—take it out of your pocket and give it to me, and I’ll show you how we can manage—”
“Yes, from hand to mouth. Beautiful. Wonderful, living from hand to mouth in a house filled with empty rooms. Wonderful.”
The doorbell rang. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, who’s that? Go answer it, Cele. I don’t want to see anybody. I’ve been traveling all day from one airport to the next and I want to unpack this stuff.”
