His Other Wife

by Deborah Bradford

  Pam walked ahead of them, wearing a dress Hilary envied, a brilliant navy Dior with a white belt that made her waist look about as big around as a twig. Ben and Lily skipped ahead of their mother, sidling into one chair after another, glancing back at Pam for her approval.

  “No,” she kept calling to them. “A little farther. We want to be close to the podium.”

  Eric strode along in front of them, too, although he was lagging behind Pam. The folds in his suit changed color in the light, from brown to gray then brown again. He walked with his hand shoved inside one pocket, which wrinkled his sleeve, revealed his gold watch on his wrist, hefted the hem of his jacket. The whole effect made him appear altogether too relaxed and amiable. But Hilary knew better. He was as uncomfortable as the rest of them.

  She saw him wanting to hurry, wanting to catch up with Pam, but he was slowing down to keep tabs on Hilary’s mother and his own parents, George and Ruth. “That’s okay, Eric,” Ruth called to him. “Save us seats. We’ll get there. We’re right behind you.”

  Hilary watched Eric’s steps shorten. The next thing she knew, he was offering his elbow to her mother. Hilary knew her mother had missed Eric. Alva had always loved and relied on him, ever since the day Hilary brought him around so Alva could meet him. She had told Hilary she thought he looked like Harrison Ford. Since he ate the entire bowl of Alva’s banana pudding, the one with the recipe on the vanilla wafers box, in one sitting that day, Hilary’s mother had nothing but praise. Eric and Alva walked along in front of Hilary with their heads together, and her mother stood a little straighter and moved a little faster now that Eric was at her side. His lips were lowered to her ear. He told her something that made her pat his arm.

  So much for me, Hilary was thinking. So much for loyalty.

  Pam and the kids were waving at George and Ruth from way up the aisle. At last they’d found a row of seats that were acceptable. When the rest of them finally got there, Eric allowed Alva to enter the row first, which seated her beside Pam and the children, himself beside Hilary, and George and Ruth Wynn on Hilary’s other side. Pam didn’t like the arrangement, Hilary could tell. She kept glancing in their direction. Hilary thought about suggesting that Eric trade places with her mother, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether she let it go because it would take so much effort for her mother to rearrange herself or because she was feeling spiteful. Hilary didn’t have time to analyze her motivations, though, because in that instant she was surrounded by friends and other families from the high school. Gina adjusted the zoom on her camera. Kim hung her purse on the back of a chair and sat beside her husband.

  Each hug that came Hilary’s way was accompanied by knowing smiles, melancholy glances. Seth’s third-grade teacher asked about his plans for the future and Hilary listed them with pride: the substantial scholarship to Emhurst, the liberal-arts college in Springfield, and a writing class he’d enrolled in.

  “Where has the time gone?” the teacher asked as she shook her head.

  Some in this group had known Hilary long enough to recognize Eric. Others hadn’t. Hilary was caught in an endless round of introductions: “These are Seth’s grandparents. This is Seth’s father, Eric…his wife, Pam…their children,” Hilary said, and pointed toward the kids, and they replied, “Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you,” under the scrutinizing eye of their mother. “Eric. Pam. Kids. This is Julie.” Or “Donna” or “Fay” or “Kim.” Others crossed the aisle, too, the MacCleods and Remy’s father and Emily’s parents and grandmother. The small talk continued until the women’s choir filed onto the bleachers and sang “Graduation (Friends Forever),” a song from the band Vitamin C.

  “Pomp and Circumstance” began and then came the graduates, two by two, the boys in black and the girls in white, their caps angled in every direction, their tassels dangling. A small uproar began each time a new face appeared in the aisle. Cheers and flashbulbs erupted simultaneously. Everything moved in slow motion until Hilary found her son. Suddenly here came Seth, moving toward them with Emily at his side, tilting his head to make sure Hilary knew he’d found his family in the crowd. How proud she was of him; he’d been waiting so long for this moment! Hilary found herself shouting his name with all the others, standing on tiptoe to see as much of him as she could, as the music played and he mounted the steps to the stage.

  The student-body president spoke and an orchestra ensemble played something that made Hilary and Eric glance at each other because it was a little out of tune. The jokes from T. J. Williams, the class clown, seemed ridiculously funny. He talked a lot about picturing all of them in their underwear — which was an overused topic — but he spoke with such a great throbbing Roman-speech voice and talked about envisioning everyone’s grandma in diapers so that he almost toppled everyone off their seats. Hilary glanced at her mother, halfway worried that she’d be offended by the irreverence. But Alva chuckled right along with the rest of them.

  Next came Seth’s speech, which Hilary hadn’t warned Eric about. Better to let him find things out as they came along. Hilary sat forward on the bench, so close to the edge that the seat bit into the back of her legs. Seth told a couple of stories about his friends; he reminded his audience how it felt to own a new box of crayons on the first day of kindergarten. He reminded them of the smell of the glue. He challenged them to look and see how far they had come, how far they had yet to go. He thanked Eric and Hilary for being his parents. He thanked his grandparents for coming to graduation. He thanked Hilary for always being there for him, Hilary only. He didn’t thank Eric for this.

  Hilary swallowed and her throat felt full of needles. She hadn’t realized she’d be so nervous for her son. He’d done an amazing job up there behind the microphone. Still, she felt Eric sitting stiffly at her side. She spoke quickly to cover the obvious omission in Seth’s speech: “Good job, huh? He did great, didn’t he?”

  If she hadn’t felt self-conscious about Seth’s speech, she might have reached for Eric’s hand. How good it might have felt to hold on to something of their past while they celebrated their son’s future. She couldn’t erase those years between them when they had a son standing there, no matter how hard she tried, no matter if it was awkward because they weren’t together anymore.

  Not until the Teacher of the Year began speaking did Hilary realize that she’d forgotten Pam. Mr. Schuster addressed the kids first, told them how much they’d meant to him, what a challenge and a source of pleasure it had been to instruct them. He encouraged them to do their best in the future, to work hard and play hard, to seek happiness, to be kind to others and to themselves. Then the honored gentleman finally turned his attention to the audience.

  “I don’t care what else might be going on in your life,” Mr. Schuster said. “I don’t care what else you’re proud of, or what else you’re fighting for, or what else you might be thinking about at the moment.” He gestured toward the young adults onstage. “I want you to know that, when you look up here, you are looking at your greatest accomplishment.”

  The speaker had Hilary from the beginning. Everything he said gave credibility to the grief and pride she’d been juggling. She glanced across at her mother, feeling a surprising kinship with Alva. I wonder if she grieved when I left home. If she did, I never knew it. Hilary made a note to ask about it later in the day.

  Mother did it with such grace, her letting go of me.

  Mr. Schuster was telling the parents how proud they ought to be. Then he said, “Anyone who has participated in raising these young people onstage, please stand so we can give you what you deserve. A round of applause.”

  Eric and Hilary stood together as an ovation filled the gym. Hilary realized this was why she hadn’t wanted Eric to trade chairs with her mother. I wanted to sit by Eric. I wanted this to happen. Pam was watching them together, and, for one horrible moment Hilary thought Pam might stand and try to take some credit for raising Seth, too. Hilary knew it was her pride speaking, but she felt a lovely sense of j
ustice that Pam could not join them. She may have Eric now, Hilary thought as she looked down at her husband’s new wife, but she will never have this position in his life. She will never be the mother of his firstborn son.

  The rest of the ceremony went by quickly. The students stood row-by-row. They stepped forward when their names were called. Seth swung his tassel from one side of his cap to the other after he received his diploma from the superintendent of schools. Seth gave a high five to Remy and Ian and T.J., he hugged Emily, and the beach balls started to fly.

  The senior video played on a gigantic screen. Hilary cheered for almost every frame, baby pictures and sports videos, the mud-wrestling birthday party that Seth had warned her about, the funny pictures of Laura. When the football segment began, Hilary leaped from her seat. She knew where the ball was going, who was going to catch it, who was going to score. “It’s Seth’s touchdown catch. This is it.” She grabbed Eric’s sleeve (he’d draped his jacket over the chair because of the heat) and tugged like a child trying to get an adult’s attention. “I’m so glad you’re getting to see this!”

  The next thing they all knew, Mr. Schuster was announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the graduating class of 2011.”

  Mortarboards flew. The band played a raucous, off-key song. The crowd went wild.

  As the graduates tried to march down the steps the way they’d practiced, families converged on them from every direction. Hilary realized she should have made plans to meet Seth in the crowd.

  “I see Seth!” Ben shouted. “He’s over there.”

  Eric’s parents appeared at her side. “Can you find Seth? Oh, that speech was wonderful!” Ruth gushed. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you again. We’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Hilary told Eric’s mother. Which was an understatement. Ruth had raised the man with whom Hilary had fallen in love. She had taught Hilary how to reupholster her dining-room chairs and how to grow aloe in her garden and how to phone the insurance company repeatedly to get a reimbursement.

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you,” Ruth said, “but I didn’t know what to say. We’re sorry things turned out this way.”

  Yes, Hilary wanted to say. I’m sorry, too.

  Thankfully, Hilary was saved from having to answer. The crowd swept them up and propelled them forward. “Seth’s over there!” Ben shouted. “Let’s go.”

  During the graduation ceremony, Hilary had discovered something she’d somehow known deep down for a long time: Her joy, her esteem, her self-image were all tied together, bound up with her child. She had no thought for anything else. “You lead the way,” Hilary told Ben, forgetting everything else except finding her son in the chaos. “We’re right behind you.”

  Suddenly the whole group of them, half sister and stepmom, grandparents and parents, formed an excited tangle around their newest high-school graduate. The Wynns and Myerses took photos of every imaginable combo of family: Seth and Hilary. Seth and Hilary and Eric. Eric and Pam and Seth with the kids. Eric surrounded by grandparents.

  They filtered from the stadium into the parking lot to find that the traditional picnic had already been laid, with leaning towers of paper plates, orange coolers of lemonade, mountains of chicken. As Hilary helped her mother fill a plate, Seth’s classmates weren’t standing too far from them. Cameras flashed from every direction. Friends hugged. About half of the boys had kept on their gowns for pictures. Seth had lost his gown but was still marching around in his cap, the black dress pants Hilary had practically had to pay him to wear, his tie, which was loosened clear past the third button of his shirt, and his flip-flop sandals.

  Even as Hilary shook her head at her son’s attire, she admired how he interacted with his peers. The way he drew Emily close, a possessive gesture that made Emily stand taller and smile. The way he cuffed Remy on the shoulder. The way Seth greeted his principal and shook his proffered hand.

  Emily whirled away once more, caught in a new round of hugs and laughter, each of the girls so fresh-faced and beautiful that she made Hilary’s heart ache. Suddenly Hilary saw Lily, a flash of white skirt and hot pink Crocs darting among a forest of lanky teenager legs. Lily yanked Seth’s tie to get his attention. Once Seth spotted his sister, he didn’t hesitate. He swept her into his arms.

  By the rapt expression on her face, she had been swept into the arms of a prince. As the two talked eye-to-eye, Lily’s nose almost touching Seth’s, Lily draped her small hand, no larger than a maple leaf, over Seth’s shoulder.

  Seth swept off his cap and set it sideways on Lily’s head.

  What happened next was instantaneous, so unexpected and sweet that Hilary felt like she was privy to something she almost wasn’t supposed to see. She watched as Seth carried Lily to a parked car and showed Lily her reflection in the window. Seth righted the hat on the little girl’s head. Lily’s bottom lip protruded as she pondered her reflection.

  “How cute is that?” Hilary heard Eric ask.

  Hilary admitted that she was one of those Christians who forgot about God sometimes. She’d roll along with her morning, steeping her hot tea, watching the clock, hollering at Seth to get moving or he wouldn’t have time to take his shower. She’d check phone messages, pitch a load of clothes into the washer, follow her own plans. Then something would come along that reminded her of the bigness of things, God’s nearness, her own helplessness, a sharp, stunning revelation. This became one of those moments, something she couldn’t miss. A fist tightened in Hilary’s chest, as she saw how happy Seth was with his sister, when the girl’s existence brought Hilary so much pain.

  Chapter 6

  Hilary was standing a few yards past the teeter-totters when a woman approached, extended her hand, and introduced herself as Abigail Moore, Laura’s mother.

  “Oh, hello.” Hilary gripped Abigail’s hand and nodded. “I know Laura.” Probably more than you do. Once again, Hilary prided herself on being the parent whom all the boys could talk to. “She’s on the track team, isn’t she?”

  “She runs mid-distance. And the sixteen-hundred relay.”

  “I loved the shots of her in the senior video. The boys had such fun putting those in.”

  “Is Seth responsible for acquiring that toothless-wonder picture? She’s ready to kill him for that. Those second-grade photos. They bring back such memories.”

  “They do for all of us,” Hilary said.

  “My daughter thinks your son and his friends are the best. I’m glad she’s met them through Emily.”

  “Seth speaks highly of Laura, too.” Laura’s hot, he’d said yesterday. Remy missed out. Hilary had no experience, but she decided that girls’ moms must have different sorts of conversations with their offspring than mothers of sons.

  But Laura’s mother was already on to a different subject. “Can you tell me something about that camping party that’s going on tonight?”

  Oh. I see. Now Hilary realized why the woman had approached her in the first place.

  “Laura says your boys are going.”

  “Your boys” meaning all of Seth’s friends. Hilary loved them, but she didn’t want to be held responsible for all of them. “As far as I know.”

  “You’ve given Seth your permission?”

  Hilary knew where the woman was going with this; moms all did the same thing. She was checking up, comparing stories. “Yes, I have. They’re responsible kids. They know how to take care of each other. I asked plenty of questions, believe me.”

  “Laura’s been begging me to let her go. I’ve given her a tentative ‘yes,’ but I still have my doubts.”

  Hilary reminded her, “These kids will be at college in no time, without any parents around to set rules.”

  “Yes, but a big group like that? I’m worried it could get out of hand.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong, Abigail, but I trust them. I think it’s better to let them have a little freedom now so they don’t run off and go wild later.” Abigail was still dubiou
s, Hilary could tell. But this was Hilary’s “raising-Seth” philosophy, and so far it had worked. “I mean, every kid is different,” Hilary clarified. “It’s important to know what each one of them can handle. But Seth’s told me about your daughter. Laura sounds like she’s got her head screwed on straight.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course she does.” Abigail still sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Hilary couldn’t help but be proud, handing out advice. Advice was something she would always give freely.

  Groups of graduates still posed for pictures, their arms braided across one another’s shoulders. People had gathered beside their cars after the ceremony, but no one was in a hurry to drive home. Some were still finishing up after the picnic. Others sat and visited in folding chairs or gathered beneath the shade trees.

  On the blacktop beside the football field, Seth and Ben played a pickup game of basketball. The two boys — one big, one small — were taking it to the rim as Hilary watched. Seth stopped dribbling at one point and coached, “Like this. Here’s what you do. Shoot your passes chest high.”

  Ben caught the ball right in the breadbasket. “Will you teach me how to do a behind-the-back?”

  “Only after you tell me you’ve been working on your jump shot,” Seth said.

  They hadn’t been playing very long before Eric stopped them. He said something to Seth that Hilary couldn’t hear.

  Hilary saw Seth looking around to wave her over. He looked a little sheepish as he called, “They want to give me my graduation present or something. Dad says they want everyone to see.”

  Two days ago, Hilary had given Seth a wristwatch that she’d ordered engraved with this quote adapted from Thoreau: Live the life you have imagined. The gift satisfied Hilary in ways that she couldn’t explain. It would last a long time. It was practical; he wouldn’t be late to class with this on his wrist. (At least, Hilary hoped not. If he was, it would be through no fault of his mother’s!)