Katie sighed. It was one of her mother-in-law’s gifts, this laughter. It issued from the very back of her throat, a low, undulating laugh that was confident and coy at the same time—the kind of laugh that seemingly offered instant intimacy. Katie was grateful at least that Nick’s mother only made the visit from California every couple of years, that Katie had to pretend just fleetingly that this intimacy was openly offered to her, too. She shifted her eyes away from Nick to hunt down her mother-in-law: across the room with three of Katie’s uncles, who were at that moment forming a semicircle around the woman. Candice was overdressed for the small Italian restaurant, her trim figure tapered into a backless silver dress, her hair pulled up in a complicated twist; her ears twinkled with huge diamonds that caught the light when she bent to extract a cigarette from her purse. Katie’s uncles buzzed around her glittering mother-in-law like dazed and dazzled moths, each craning forward for a chance to touch a sliver of her light. Captivated by her—stupefied, really—but Katie understood it, too. The power of that evocative, dulcet laugh. She had fallen for it at first, too.
When Candice turned away to exhale a thin line of smoke, Katie caught a true glimpse of the mother-in-law she barely knew. She watched Nick’s mother survey the room quickly with determined, hooded eyes, her indomitable jaw like stone. So like Nick’s, those large, dark eyes that stood out from her lightly tanned face as they canvassed the room expertly, finally locating Nick by the buffet; Candice nodded faintly to herself, then turned to Katie’s uncles, her face adjusting instantly. Less than ten seconds from that first exhale of smoke until she turned back to the men—if you weren’t watching carefully, you’d miss the real woman hiding behind the smiles, the inviting laughter.
At the banquet table, Katie’s father strolled over to Nick, grabbed his hand and slapped his shoulder. Nick smiled broadly, pumped her father’s hand in return, but there was that familiar embarrassed tilt of his head, the same look of claustrophobia whenever the two men met face-to-face. Katie wondered, not for the first time, if this had anything to do with being raised by Candice alone; if this and Nick’s stilted reactions to older men had anything to do with the fatherless history he kept from her over the years.
Katie’s father drifted away when Candice moved into the mirror’s frame. Nick smiled at his mother, held up his crooked arm to her; Candice wrapped her arm around his, and they wandered the length of the buffet together.
Katie watched Nick guide his mother through the buffet, his hand moving to her lower back now—the gesture so intimate, so self-assured and proprietary that Katie had to look away. They were a family, Nick and his mother, a whole, complete family of two, sharing the past and every little thing that came with it. Candice’s presence and their mysterious history so important that they made Nick’s body move in strange, irreconcilable ways—egotistical and unsure all at once.
Watching them together summoned a sudden, intense paroxysm of loneliness from the very center of Katie’s body, eerily like the ones she experienced as a child and right up until the time she met Nick. She flicked her eyes away from them, turned from the mirror to see Dana approaching with a smile
—Still here? Dana said, plopping onto the stool next to her.
—I think I’m a little drunk, Katie said, her voice like cotton.
—That might be a good thing, her sister said, pointing, because Mom’s got that look in her eye.
Their mother stood by the entrance of the room, next to a framed aerial shot of Italy, her eyes stalking the crowd. They finally settled on Nick and Candice.
—Lucky you, Dana said, and giggled.—Poor, poor Nick.
Their mother plowed through the crowd. She was wearing one of her new wigs tonight, a jet-black one that would have looked stylish with her normally dark complexion but now only highlighted how pale her face had become. She exchanged a few words with Candice, who smiled that enormous, sun-drenched smile, and then pulled Nick away, a hand clamped possessively around his wrist. She dragged him into a crowd of her neighbors then—neighbors who were invited tonight only so Katie’s mother could brag about her son-in-law’s challenging new job working with the mentally handicapped.
It was a familiar sight, instantly sobering: Katie’s mother hauling someone into a crowd to boast, though usually it was Dana who was put on the spot like that. Nick handled it well enough—he smiled, shook hands, managed to look humble and appreciative at the same time. Her mother smiled proudly, threw her arms out wide. He’s taking care of the whole world, Katie imagined her mother saying, and she felt the sting again. Not once had her mother bragged about Katie or her documentaries—not once.
Dana turned to her, misinterpreting the look on Katie’s face.—She’s going to be okay, Katie, she said.—They caught it very early.
Katie felt her face grow hot with shame. Of course their mother would survive her cancer; the doctors had given her an excellent prognosis, and her mother had announced that nothing, especially not a tumor the size of a pea, for God’s sake, would be enough to kill her. But what kind of daughter was Katie anyway? Instead of trying to cherish this time with her mother, she was nurturing old resentments that seemed to grow with each passing year. Just a few weeks earlier, when Katie was planning a trip to celebrate Nick’s new job and his thirtieth birthday, her mother had stepped in, proclaiming that the entire family should be involved with Nick’s success. Before Katie could object, the pamphlets for Hawaii had been swept aside and her mother—fragile and pale from her third week of chemotherapy—was stubbornly calling restaurants and consulting about menus. Instead of being grateful, or asking if she could help, Katie had slumped into the recliner in her parents’ living room, stewing at her mother’s interference.
There were so many things Katie wanted to tell her sister in this moment, not just about their mother but how Nick turned on her sometimes, expertly cutting her down before she even knew what they were fighting about; the parts of himself he kept hidden from her, as if there were a whole other person inside him. And what she really wished she could say to Dana was how twice now—crazy, crazy—she had started fights over a wine stain on the counter, a mislaid credit-card bill, hoping they would catch fire, detonate inside Nick’s brain and body. Actually hoping he would attack her with words like razors, because then there was afterward—his quivering apologies, Katie’s absolute love for him and from him, their bodies crashing into each other. Katie built back up again for the moment.
But not all the way. No. She learned that quickly.
Afterward, no matter how powerful she felt with him inside, on top, behind, she felt the cuts inside her body, pieces of her chipped away for good. Gouges too deep to fill no matter how many times he whispered his apologies and her name and took her body back into his.
—We were hoping you’d stay with us, Mom, Nick said. The look on his face was suddenly boyish and shy.
Katie could sense her mother-in-law staring at her, so she turned her eyes to the parking lot, to her relatives saying their noisy good-byes.
—That would be so lovely, sweetheart, but as I’ve said, the arrangements are already made at the hotel.
—Katie and I don’t mind huddling up on the couch. You could take the bed, and in the morning I’ll make us a huge breakfast and we’ll catch up. Nick said this with such an earnest expression on his face that Katie had to look away a second time.
Candice laughed, a deep, rolling wave of sound, and Nick automatically moved closer to her.—You’re both so sweet, she said.—But I think I’ll probably sleep in a little, so why don’t we meet for an early lunch? My flight leaves at three o’clock, and it will give us plenty of time for a nice long sit-down.
—Great. Nick walked into his mother’s outstretched arms.
—You should be so proud, Nicky, she murmured into his ear.—I never had any doubts. You have been brilliant since birth.
Nick blushed, his arms tightening around her. Candice turned halfway in Nick’s arms to face Katie, sparkling smile in plac
e.—Of course we would love for you to join us tomorrow, Katie, she said.—Please say you’ll come?
—No, that’s okay, why don’t the two of you catch up? I have some work to do anyway.
—Yes, your documentaries. They must be so exciting and challenging, Candice replied, her eyes turning hard and mocking before she returned to her son’s embrace.
Before they even drove out of the parking lot, Nick fell into a moody silence. He stared blankly at the cars passing on Post Road.
—Your mother could have canceled her reservation if she wanted to.
—I’ll see her tomorrow, he said, pulling in to traffic. Both hands wrapped tightly around the wheel.
—I just don’t understand why she doesn’t like me.
Nick kept his eyes on the road, shook his head.—Nope, I’m not going to do this. I barely get to see her.
—And what did she mean by that—my documentaries are “challenging”?
—Jesus, every time, Nick muttered, glaring into the rearview mirror.
—You just don’t see it, Nick, the way she looks at me sometimes.
—She hasn’t seen you for over two years, Katie.
—So now she doesn’t visit because of me?
—I didn’t say that.
—I know, because you never say anything.
He shook his head, sighed dramatically.
—I’m just trying to get it, Nick, that’s all.
—Get what?
—Everything. You.
—And we’re off, he said in that tired voice she hated.
—Then let’s do it! Let’s go! I don’t care if it gets messy, just talk to me.
He flicked his eyes at her quickly.—I talk to you every day.
—You know what I mean. She strained against her seat belt to face him.—Tell me something, Nick, she said.—Tell me about him. Your father.
—I met him twice, Katie. Twice. You know that.
—But how does that make you feel? How did that affect you—
—Isn’t this Dana’s job? Making people talk about their feelings?
—Don’t do that. Don’t make it a joke.
—I’m laughing?
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the lights of passing cars glide across Nick’s face. His handsome, indifferent face.
—This is it, isn’t it, Nick? she finally asked quietly.
—What?
—It’s going to be like this forever, isn’t it? she said.—Waiting. That’s all I do. I wait for you.
—So stop, then. What do you want me to say?
—Anything! Say anything at all.
She steadied herself for his insults, her palms sinking into the cushioned seat on both sides, but his only answer was a thin, cruel smile. She stared at him, the profile of his face, how this smile altered him so completely. So unknown—so unwilling. She wasn’t sure which was worse, Candice’s phony smile or Nick’s heartless, dismissive one. Both of them, she thought angrily, with their secrets and superior smiles and contempt! Something inside her snapped wide open.
—Fine, then I’ll say something! she shouted.—Your mother hates me, Nick, and you don’t even see it! You don’t want to see it. You’re so stuck up her ass that you can’t even see you—so full of yourself you can barely hold your head up straight, but walking around like the floor might crack underneath you when she’s in the same room. Can you honestly say that has nothing to do with her? She’s a phony, Nick! You want to know why your father left both of you, take a good look, because she’s a fucking phony, and you know it—
He slammed the brakes, hard. The front end swerved, back tire clipping the curb on Katie’s side. Nick’s teeth were exposed and clenched, dark eyes rigid on the road. She tried to say something—nothing came. He kicked the gas pedal, careened into an empty parking lot. Hit the brakes hard again—Katie’s body jerked forward, the seat belt biting her shoulder. She crashed back into the seat, the air in her lungs pushed out.
Before she could compose herself, before a word would come, Nick calmly released his seat belt and leaned toward her, his fingers lightly closing around her throat. There wasn’t any pressure in his touch—but his fingers were around her throat.
—Why do you always have to ruin it? His breath hot on her face.
—Nick.
—You’re supposed to be happy for me.
—I am. She pried at his fingers.—Please.
His eyes drilled into hers, unseeing, so dark they looked black. —Aren’t you proud of your husband? Aren’t you proud?
—What are you doing, Nick?
And then his face turned suddenly—a closed look that Katie knew well. Like fingers quickly curling under, hiding the palm beneath.
Nick finally released her, sat back in his seat. Her heart kicked a steady, violent rhythm against her ribs.
—Jesus, he finally said, blowing out air. He placed his hands carefully on the wheel, stared straight ahead.
—Nick, she whispered, her hand rising to her throat now.
He wouldn’t look at her.—Did I hurt you?
—No. No, of course not.
He nodded slowly. His chest quickly rising, falling. He adjusted the rearview mirror, hooked his seat belt.—I can’t believe I did that.
—You didn’t hurt me.
He nodded again, exhaled loudly. Adjusted the rearview mirror again with a shaking hand.
—Why? she said.
He splayed his fingers, studied his hand like he didn’t recognize it.
—I’m sorry.
—Okay.
—I just don’t like, he began slowly,—I just don’t want to keep defending her. Defending myself.
—You don’t have to.
—I don’t?
—I just want you to trust me.
He stared out the windshield, pulled the gearshift into drive.—You just can’t imagine, he said slowly, deliberately,—how fucking exhausting this has become.
At home they walked around each other, nursing their anger and embarrassment; they undressed in different rooms, waited politely for the other one to finish in the bathroom. In bed they kept their backs to each other, until Katie grabbed a pillow and headed for the living room.
She waited for him then—for the conclusion of this routine of pain and forgiveness, for the chance to feel connected to him again, to feel herself again. From the stifling living room, she listened to the air conditioner humming in their bedroom. Pictured Nick sleeping contentedly, the blankets tucked up around his body. After an hour she gave up, peeled the sweaty sheet off her, and headed for the shower.
The water was too hot, but Katie bent her head under the stream anyway, felt the rivers of steamy water curling down her face, around her nose, and onto her lips. Stayed like that, her belly and thighs and the tops of her feet scalding, trying to contain her fear, the implications of Nick’s absence. She replayed the past few weeks since he’d started working at the Warwick Center—seeing now, suddenly and clearly, the importance of the changes. Nick, no longer waiting for her words of praise and recognition. No longer embellishing stories about cleft palates or lisps to make his work appear more important than it was, or leaving long pauses for Katie to fill in with her gushing admiration. Now he sat across from her at their dinner table, visions of his own glory filling his eyes without her help. He had long days full of real challenges now—adults with speech disorders complicated by learning disorders, cerebral palsy, and all the idiosyncratic methods of communication that each client brought to his sessions. Now Katie’s job was to simply listen. She wished she could go back just a few weeks—regain her coveted position in their nightly discussions at the dinner table, even if it meant still silently resenting his ongoing, barely concealed indifference for her own work. What a minor issue his apathy seemed now. Nick had found the important job he’d always wanted, and her part in his days—maybe even his life—seemed small and insignificant.
Fear curled up inside he
r, cold and choking despite the steaming water, but then she heard the plastic crinkling of the shower curtain; she almost collapsed in relief. Nick’s cool skin pressed against her spine and legs. He pushed his knee into the back of her right thigh, reached around her for the bar of soap.
At first she had to put her hands on the tile to steady herself against his vigorous washing, but soon enough one hand came up flat and pressing against her soaped shoulder. He swirled the foam across the expanse of her upper back, down her spine and onto her butt, making leisurely, wide circles on each cheek.
—We could still huddle, he said quietly.
—Back there, in the car, she said, shaking her head.
—I know.
—We can’t add that, she said.—All the little things, the big things already—we can’t add that.
—We won’t. I won’t.
He pressed himself against her, their wet bodies sealing. Traced a line from her elbow down to the knuckles of her hand.
—But you can’t be like that either, he said quietly.
She whipped around to face him, falling backwards into the tile. Her fears instantly forgotten, she glared at his lowered head through the running water that separated them now.—Me?
—What you said about . . . the things you said. It isn’t you.
—You say things like that to me, Nick. Horrible things.
The water worked parts into his hair, ran down his face and into his eyes. He let it, arms hanging at his sides.—But that’s me, he finally said.—Not you.
—That isn’t fair. You can say hurtful things, but I can’t?
—It isn’t you, he insisted, his voice tremulous. He finally met her glance, placed his hands on both her shoulders. She saw the love, the need in his eyes. He pulled her forward, until their faces were only inches apart under the water.—It isn’t you, Katie.
Lies of the Heart Page 17
