“All right,” she said, and closed her door and hung up her robe and climbed back under the warm covers. In the corner Rufus circled his spot before folding himself down. He sighed once, disgruntled, and then the night was quiet again.
Tuesday
1
The rain had not abated. The radio said the front had stalled over the Great Lakes; they could expect the same for the next forty-eight hours.
“Well I’m not staying here all day,” Emily said over her eggs.
It was a bold statement, Arlene thought, seeing as she didn’t have a car. To her, the idea of hunkering down until the storm blew over was appealing, a chair pulled close to the fire, and hot chocolate, but it was too early to get into it with Emily. She’d been in a snit since discovering their garbage capsized, corncobs and paper plates strewn across the road.
“What are the children going to do?”
“That,” Emily said, “is up to their parents. I’m sure they’re quite capable of entertaining themselves.” She tipped her head toward the living room where the boys were playing their Game Boys in their pajamas. No one else was up yet, and it was well past nine.
Emily proposed lunch somewhere, just the two of them. “Somewhere fun. It’s so dreary in this house. I have some things I need to do around here, but I want to say I’ll be done with them by noontime.”
“What were you thinking of?”
“I don’t know. Not Webb’s, we’re saving Webb’s for Friday night.”
“Naturally.”
“You know what I was thinking, and stop me if this sounds a little odd, but I was thinking the Lenhart might be a fun place. I have no idea how the food is—it’s probably awful—but I’d like to see the dining room. It’s supposed to be completely restored. It always had that view Henry loved so much, with the ferry right there. I’m sure the bridge ruins it, but I’d like to see it again.”
“That sounds fine,” Arlene said.
They were of the same generation, and she couldn’t help falling for the same nostalgia. For her, it went even deeper than Henry and the war years, when the big bands played the casino dances. Her grandmother had stayed at the Lenhart as a little girl. There was an old photograph of her on the long porch there, standing at the top of the stairs, holding her father’s hand, the entire picture bleached as if by sunlight.
“I’ll call and see if we can reserve a window table,” Emily said. “We can take the ferry over and then go up to the cheese place afterward. I think we’re running low on the sharp, and I’d like to take some home.”
“I could use some too,” Arlene admitted.
“It’s decided then.”
Emily cleared her place and rinsed her bowl in the sink, fitted it into the empty dishwasher and began wiping down the cutting board—all with a brisk industry, without pause, as if she was in a hurry. She scrubbed the sink, squeezed out the green pad she was using, then rinsed and filled Rufus’s water dish.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” Arlene asked.
“No, but thank you for offering. All I need from you is your list.”
“I’m not finished with it yet.”
“Well, take a few minutes and finish it. Whatever I have by lunch-time is what I’m going to go by.”
So that was it, Arlene thought. She should have known nothing was that simple with Emily. So many times, as a teacher, she’d reached a stubborn child by discovering what they loved, distracted them from the hard process of learning with pretty window dressing.
But she wasn’t a child, and after Henry, Arlene thought there was very little she had to learn.
“I’ll have it for you,” she said.
“I’m not going to nag people about it anymore.”
“Is that a promise?” Arlene said, and then, when Emily gave her a put-upon look, reassured her, “I’ll get it done.”
2
The dream wasn’t real, as she’d feared (it had been too easy, too good), and Ella scolded herself for believing it could have been true. She was so stupid, thinking that could ever happen to her, and for wanting it to. Her life wasn’t like that.
She expected to change, to wake up and discover she no longer felt the same way—to find she was free of whatever spell had possessed her. But every day it was still there, and stronger, if that was possible, the passing time making her frantic even though there was nothing she could do about it. For the first time she understood what her mother meant by her nerves not being able to take it anymore. Every minute seemed desperate, like she might seriously go insane, break into pieces, scream.
The worst thing about it was knowing how much better of a person Sarah was, and how pathetic she was herself. Ella felt like she was lying all the time, every second they spent together. Sarah would be so creeped out if she knew Ella was watching her sleep—as creeped out as Ella was that she was thinking about another girl.
She wasn’t like that, or she’d never been before. She didn’t want to be.
But Sarah’s face. Her thin eyelids, the delicate tip of her nose. The place where her upper lip flattened and turned lush on its way to the corner. Just her name—Sarah!—so much prettier than her own. Sarah was smart, and funny, and kind. She would probably try to be nice about it, not laugh at her. She would try to understand.
Ella rolled over and faced away from her. There was so much going on inside her head, yet the rest of the world was infuriatingly the same. Her parents and Aunt Margaret were asleep, lumps of dirty clothes at the foot of their beds. The light through the curtains was white and stopped before it reached the ceiling. Rain again. The carpet was like frayed yarn, a mix of red, white and blue. She couldn’t believe anyone would choose something so ugly.
She caught herself gnawing at the corner of a thumbnail, as if struggling with an impossible question, and made herself stop. It was so stupid. Sarah was her cousin, she’d known her since they were little.
She couldn’t answer why she was suddenly in love with her. There was no reason, just as there was no reason why in three days she’d turned into a lesbian.
She’d had crushes on boys, her eyes following them in the halls or the cafeteria, their names jumping out of conversations, their favorite shirts becoming hers, but she’d never done anything about them. At the Friday-night dances she hung out with Torie and Kim and Caitlin, the four of them a group. For all their speculation about who liked who, none of them had actually kissed anyone.
She didn’t feel this way about any of them, but none of them were pretty like Sarah. She never checked them out, only their clothes.
Maybe this was how it happened, she thought. It wasn’t like an adept becoming a sorceress, where you had to practice under a mentor, serve an apprenticeship. You just were. For some reason, she couldn’t believe it.
Maybe it was from the way she touched herself in the shower, that secret love of herself spreading out, finding someone more beautiful to practice on. Maybe she was afraid of guys, like Torie making sex sound scary, or Mrs. Greco in health.
She got up, purposely not looking at Sarah, and went into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, turned on the shower and took off her PJs. She decided not to think. Instead, she watched the clouds of steam billow up, stirred by mysterious currents beneath the ceiling, leaving a slick sheen on the walls. The water warmed one side of her, left the other goose-bumped. Under the spray she scrubbed herself clean, careful where she touched.
3
“What time did you come to bed?” Lise asked, and she knew exactly how it sounded.
Meg had gone down to breakfast. The girls were showered and dressed, their wet towels dropped on the floor. For the first time in ages they were alone.
“Not too late. One, one-thirty.”
“More like two-thirty. What did you two talk about for so long?”
“The usual. You know.”
“No, I don’t know. I was up here by myself.”
“She said she’s getting the divorce.”
“I knew that.”
/>
“I didn’t,” he said, as if he’d really been surprised. Sometimes he played dumb, a turtle pulling in its limbs, hoping she’d leave him alone. It was a child’s trick, it only worked if you indulged it.
“What else?”
“We talked about Dad a lot, and the cottage. The good old days.”
“There were no good old days for her, I thought.”
“There were. Anyway, she’s not too happy about Mom selling the place.”
“I don’t think anyone is,” Lise said, and wondered if she was. Relieved, maybe. But she could see how they’d miss it. She liked the lake, the dock, the tennis courts hidden in the woods. It would actually be a nice place to go by themselves. “Arlene’s not pleased, I know that.”
“It’s too late,” Ken said. “The time to say something was February.”
“No one wanted to upset her. And Arlene can’t afford this place, none of us can. The only person who can afford it is your mother. It’s her decision.”
“I know.”
He turtled again, but she would not feel bad for nailing this fact down. He could defend Emily if he wanted, but he had to acknowledge the truth.
“That’s what you talked about for four hours.”
“That and her rehab, how she’s doing.”
“You didn’t talk about us at all.”
“Is there something to talk about about us?”
“Was there?” she asked.
“No,” he said automatically. “I told her about my job and how I’ve been a little frustrated with my work lately.”
He’d discussed this with her too, but unwillingly, only because she insisted, after weeks of unhappiness, and then she had to pull everything out of him, so that it seemed more of an interrogation on her part, and he a prisoner giving up his secrets.
He sighed and covered his forehead with a hand, silent but mulling something larger, as if building up to a confession. She would almost welcome one, to change or explain the way they’d been these last months— anything but this good-natured passivity. What troubled her most was the possibility that none of this mattered to him, that he could go on like this indefinitely, pausing to contemplate their problems only when she decided to bring them up.
“She’s going through a bad time right now,” he said, but with such a lack of emotion that it sounded memorized, banal. “I wish there was some way we could help her.”
“Money-wise.”
“Any way at all.”
“I don’t think we’re in a position to, money-wise. You’re always reminding me—”
“That’s what I told her.”
“She knows we would if we could.”
The door to the stairs shuddered opened, staying the conversation. The footfalls were an adult’s, and in a second Meg’s head appeared behind the slats of the bannister. Lise noted how mussed she was, her nightshirt holey under one armpit.
Meg made straight for their bed. She had two mugs of coffee, and instructions from Emily to roust them.
“It’s that list. She’s been obsessing about it ever since we got here. I think she honestly thinks we’re going to fight over things. As far as I’m concerned, she can toss it all in the lake.”
Lise raised her mug to the idea, then tipped her chin at the window. “Looks like a Book Barn kind of day.”
“The boys are making noise about going to the casino. I haven’t said anything to them yet.”
“I can take them,” Ken said. “I don’t think it opens for a while though.”
“What about the girls?” Lise asked.
“They’re fine. Mom and Arlene are going to the Lenhart for lunch, but there’s enough cold cuts and stuff. Sarah can feed herself.”
“Ella’s fine by herself too,” Lise agreed. “So, how long can we look at books?”
“They’ve got that new addition,” Meg said.
“While you’re down that way, you can pick up some videos,” Ken said.
“You’ll be closer than we will,” Lise argued.
“There’s no way I’m taking the boys there.”
No one wanted to choose what they should get, and Meg headed back downstairs. Ken said he’d take his shower first, he had things to do. Lise thought of grabbing him before he could swing himself out, but didn’t. The day had already started.
He closed the door to the bathroom, and she spread herself under the cool sheets, pinned like a butterfly by the weight of the covers. She wished he hadn’t volunteered so quickly to take the boys. Now she wouldn’t see him all day. Meg he would stay up all night to be with. She could see he was uncomfortable, that he thought she was jealous. That wasn’t it. She didn’t want secrets, just to be included, to not be forgotten. He and Meg formed their own little world, could go for hours recounting their favorite stories, never getting tired, never getting bored. Ten minutes with her and he had nothing to say, gave her the turtle. To Lise, it seemed just one more problem they had to face before they could get to the heart of what was wrong. As always, she had the feeling that they were not done talking.
4
“Charmander is evolving!” Justin read off his screen.
“Whoop-dee,” Sam said, too busy with his to look up.
“So I guess you already have a Charmeleon, huh?”
“So I guess you still sleep with stuffed animals, huh?”
“So?” Justin said.
“So that’s what babies do.” Sam kept playing his game, hunched over, leaning to one side in the middle of a battle, and Justin went back to his, hurt and mad at him, but at the same time afraid he might be right.
5
They asked together, she and Ella, pretending they wanted to be helpful.
Aunt Arlene had already taken him for his walk, Grandma said. It was pouring out, did they know that?
“It’s not raining that hard anymore,” Ella said.
Sarah had chosen her to argue their case because everyone knew she was smart and responsible (unlike Sarah, even if her grades were straight A’s and she made breakfast every morning and helped Justin find clean clothes). It seemed to be working. Ella had answers for everything. The thunder and lightning had passed, and it was warming up. For insurance, Sarah had taken the leash off the doorknob, and Rufus pranced and clamored at her side, his breath hot on her hand.
“Let them take him,” Uncle Ken said. “It’ll get them out of the house.”
“You’re not going to wear him out,” Grandma asked (it was more of an order), and they shook their heads no, of course not.
“At least take an umbrella,” her mother said. “And wear your water shoes—or go barefoot. I don’t want you ruining your sneakers.”
Barefoot! They hadn’t even thought of it. They rolled up the cuffs of their jeans and yanked mothball-smelling ponchos over their heads. Uncle Ken found them two umbrellas and they were set, except now the boys wanted to go too.
Her mother overruled them, and before Justin could start whining, said they could splash in the puddles out front.
“But you have to put on the clothes you wore yesterday. I am not doing any more laundry.”
“Mo-om,” Justin grumped.
“Can we go?” Ella asked nicely, and with a word they were through the door and into the cool, heavy air smelling of the lake. Rufus nosed the screen open, the stone step of the porch pebbly and slick, the grass wet, freezing their toes. They ran across the yard, leaving everyone behind, laughing at how easy it was.
“You were great,” Sarah said, and Ella smiled and rolled her eyes like it was nothing and twirled her umbrella.
Twigs and green whirlybird seeds were all over the road, and worms they had to scoot around. Someone had a fire going, and the smell of it made Sarah hungry for something like soup. Back in the woods, wind rocked the branches. Most of the cottages were dark. Drops of water hung like ice from the power lines. The lake was a sea green, and the boats were covered up, puffed gulls standing on the tall pilings, all facing one way. She and Ella slapped their
soles in the shallow puddles and looked at each other, dry under their umbrellas, lucky to be out of the house, free.
Rufus wanted to pee on everything. He yanked Sarah toward every tree and reflector and miniature fence, marking his spots. He was so old he didn’t lift his leg, just squatted and squeezed out a weak stream. By the time they got to the shortcut it was just drops, but he kept trying.
“I think he’s running out,” Ella said.
“Let’s hope so,” she said, but then at the Loudermilks’ mailbox he went so much it foamed.
“That is so nasty,” Ella said, turning her face.
“Oh, like you never pee.”
“Not outside I don’t.”
Again, they looked at each other right at the same time, thinking the same thing, and laughed.
“Can you imagine?” Ella said.
“Guys do it all the time and they don’t get weirded out about it.”
“Those are guys.”
Sarah couldn’t help but see him at the edge of a mowed field, unzipping his faded jeans in sunlight, his long arms tan—and then stopped herself, not wanting to imagine that far.
“Quick, tell me something else.”
“They don’t wash their hands either.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, “I have a brother.”
They took the shortcut past the see-through A-frame, nobody home, the furniture waiting for its owners, and she thought she could meet him there, that they could sneak in and make out on the couch the way she and Mark did in the Kramers’ pool house, their hair still damp from toweling off, the humidity and bite of chlorine part of their excitement. She had to help him with her top and then wished she hadn’t. She made rules, then let him break them—like the time on the chaise longue when they almost got caught by his mom—and she was mad at herself afterwards.
This would be different, more romantic. She could see them in the A-frame, eating by candlelight, a fire behind them, classical music.
“We should have brought his ball,” Ella said, and Rufus looked up hopefully, as if she might have one.
Wish You Were Here Page 23
