The crackling came on the line again and Rose hung up.
Liddy stayed very still for a long moment.
“Is everything all right?” said Sebastian, walking back inside.
She came over to him and kissed him hard like it was the last time. Then she sat down beside him.
“I can’t do it, Sebastian. I can’t stay here—much as I would love to. If I was on my own I’d do it in a heartbeat, but . . . my life is very complicated and I can’t just decide to make it simple.”
He exhaled a little. “You are the sort of person who can decide to do anything you want.”
“No, I can’t,” she said. “I learned that lesson a long time ago. Matty has a father in America.” She thought of Rose, back in Carroll Gardens. Rose had sounded lonely and afraid. “And another mother too.”
Sebastian stood up and moved over to the fire. “We can’t nearly get together every fifteen years, Liddy. Next time we’ll be in bloody wheelchairs. I can’t wait.”
She pulled a couple of stray thistle flowers from her hair. A relationship in your forties is like sex in a field, she decided: you might fantasize about it, but painful thorns pierce your butt and you end up shivering in the cold with itchy regrets, like dirt in your underpants.
“I know,” she said. “Why would you?”
Slam! The door of the gate lodge burst open. Matty and Will tumbled in.
“I’m squiffy,” Will announced, “but I promised I’d get this young man back to you before he started having too much fun. That’s the kind of chap I am, Liddy, responsible, reliable. You can trust me, you know. I’m a doctor!”
Resigned, Sebastian drained his glass. “Believe it or not, that’s actually true,” he said, drily. “Unsuspecting patients allow him to remove their internal organs. Good night, Liddy.”
He kissed her perfunctorily on both cheeks.
“Good night, Matty!” he said, then he looked at Will. “Come on, you reprobate, let’s get you back. I am a bit drunk, and I intend on getting drunker. We’re about to send Mum and Harvey off.”
And without a backward glance he grabbed Will’s arm and they walked out the door. It was as if the magic hour and the butterflies and the flickering firelight had never happened. In fact, as Liddy watched them leave she wondered if she had imagined it, imagined Sebastian as a hero of romance and herself as, well, a completely different person. Or rather, the person she might have been if she had taken the road more traveled.
“Call Rose,” she said to Matty, and as he went to his room, she sat down again.
She poured herself another drink.
Liddy was woken early the next morning by a car driving fast down the track, scattering gravel as it passed the gate lodge, rattling the cattle grid. She tried and failed to go back to sleep, so she walked along the jetty and stood looking out at the water with only the dragonflies and the sunrise for company.
She heard the soft kerplunk of an oar and turned to see Storm on her paddleboard, minus the large dog. When Storm saw Liddy she paused and said, “Hey there!” and even though she was at quite a distance, Liddy heard her perfectly.
“Morning!” said Liddy as Storm came closer. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah,” Storm replied. “Sebastian woke me as he left.”
“Oh,” said Liddy, remembering the revving of a car, the driver desperate to get away. “He woke me up too.”
Storm floated to the shore.
“It’s none of my business, Liddy, but Sebastian can be an imbecile sometimes.”
“It’s okay, Storm,” said Liddy, but she could not keep the disappointment out of her voice. “It’s just bad timing.”
“He wasn’t the reason for, you know, the way you were that first night?”
“No!” said Liddy. “That was a whole other thing.”
Storm shook her head. “I don’t understand, Liddy. Whenever you were together yesterday, he never stopped smiling.”
Storm pushed the board back out into the water. She raised her arm to paddle and Liddy saw under her strappy vest a livid stripe of scar where a scalpel had cut away her left breast.
Liddy took an intake of breath in a way she thought was imperceptible, but Storm had heard the sound, which had traveled.
Storm paused.
“I was going to do the reconstruction,” she said, “but it got infected, so I have to wait.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Liddy.
Liddy deeply regretted her “bad timing” comment, not to mention the “ups and downs” of before, but Storm understood. She looked over at Liddy.
“I don’t like going on about it,” Storm said. “I’m going to be fine. And you will be too.”
Liddy nodded. She sat down on the rocks, and the vivid yellow glow of the dawning sun illuminated all around.
“Mommy! Where are you?”
She turned to see Cal running out of the house toward her.
“I’m here, baby.”
He came and sat beside her, his head heavy against her arm. Then they heard a movement from the woodland and they turned to see a small group of last night’s revelers swaying slowly down the driveway toward the main road.
Storm waved at them; then she lifted the oar to start paddling.
And as Liddy watched her friend drift away, she thought about the wedding and marveled at the shared, convivial energy of this ragtag bundle of relations and friends. She saw that Roberta Stackallan’s greatest performance was in this place. Roberta had created a family despite everything; she had smothered love, like gloopy icing, over the messes she had made, the traumas and tragedies she had lived through, and the convoluted relationships that they had all survived.
Their home was not the grand house but the people in it and the life they shared. No fire, storm, or tempest could destroy it.
She put her arm around Cal’s shoulders. “Cal,” she said. “There are all different kinds of families in the world.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said.
“Matty has me and Peter and Rose and their new baby, and you have me and Matty,” she continued.
“And Peter and Rose?” asked Cal.
“Yes, of course,” said Liddy.
“But I don’t have a dad,” said Cal.
“No,” said Liddy. “Your dad and I had a lovely time together, but he went away before he knew I was having you and I haven’t been able to find him.”
“He’s never seen me?”
Liddy shook her head. She leaned over and put her hand on his cheek.
“I was at school and a man came and looked at me through the door and went away. I thought it was him. I thought maybe he didn’t like me.”
“No,” said Liddy. “That wasn’t your dad.”
“So it’s just us?”
Liddy nodded. “It’s not your fault, Cal. Lots of families have just mommies or just daddies. It’s okay,” she said.
“Sarah Jayne in my class has two mommies. And Arun lives with his grandma,” said Cal calmly.
“Exactly,” said Liddy.
“Where’s my grandma?”
There was a pause.
“Your grandma Breda lives with Grandpa Patrick in Orlando, remember? Would you like to go and see her when we get home?”
Cal nodded.
“You know that they were born in Ireland and I was born here too.”
“I like Ireland,” Cal said.
“So do I,” said Liddy.
“What was my dad’s name?” asked Cal.
“Gavin,” said Liddy. “You and Matty are the greatest gifts of my life and I love you both very much.”
“I love you too,” said Cal. “Do you want a wonder hug, Mama?”
“What’s that, my precious Cal?”
“It has all the hugs in the world in it.”
&nbs
p; “Then I would like that very much.”
They wrapped their arms around each other.
“I miss Coco,” said Cal.
“So do I,” said Liddy. “And when we get home I’m going to get us a new little house with some outside space for Coco to run in. But you and Matty are going to have to promise to help look after her.”
He thought about this for a moment. “I don’t like picking up dog poop.”
“I’ll do that,” said Liddy. “I was thinking you could brush her every day.”
He took her hand and, side by side, they looked over the water.
Because Liddy had been brought up a Catholic she had a sudden impulse to pray. She whispered the Irish blessing Druid Brian had recited at the wedding.
Deep peace to you
Deep peace of the running river to you
Deep peace of the flaming sun to you
Deep peace of the silent earth to you
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Liddy gave thanks she was alive.
She kissed Cal’s hair and thought of Matty, snoring exuberantly, inside the house.
She knew what kind of love she still believed in.
CURIOUSLY OPTIMISTIC
The C-section was booked for August 25, but the baby had other ideas, wriggling and announcing its impending arrival eight days before while Peter gave a workshop on Portrait of a Lady at a summer school upstate. Rose called her doctors, picked up the small bag she had packed, and got a cab to the hospital, where, in complete contrast to the various emergencies of the previous months, she was quickly and naturally delivered of a healthy baby, who lay sleeping peacefully in her arms when Peter finally arrived.
Afterward, people asked her if she had minded giving birth alone, and although Rose dutifully expressed her disappointment that Peter had not been there, at the time she had been so overwhelmed by the experience that she did not notice. She had closed her eyes and panted and imagined herself retreating into a dark, deep cave, like an animal with a job to do. It was only when she emerged, a mother at last, that she looked for him, and his absence reminded her of the strange tension that had arisen between them and her fear that birth might be an end rather than a beginning. But the moment Peter met his child he seemed to relax.
“She’s so precious. What shall we call her?” said Peter, entranced by the perfect face under the tiny cream cradle cap.
“Grace,” said Rose.
“Perfect. When did you decide that?”
“I just thought of it. It feels right.”
He nodded. “Hello, Grace,” he said. “Welcome to the world.”
Now that the pregnancy was finally over, Rose delighted in becoming herself again. Barbara had warned her about the “baby blues,” and to expect a dramatic and inexplicable darkness to engulf her in the week after she gave birth, but this did not happen. Rose was tired, of course, but she had been bedridden for so long that walking down the road to the coffee shop practically made her whoop for joy. This return of energy and love of life came at a price, though. Her thoughts no longer muddled through her head like splotches of ink; and so the vulnerability of her situation came into focus with horrifying sharpness.
Rose would come upon Peter in the library holding Grace in his arms. She would sit on the footstool beside him and in those moments they would talk in shared awe about sleeping and feeding. Then they would count Grace’s eyelashes. She learned firsthand how children are a glue that sticks parents together, not always on a deep emotional level, but often on a more practical one—that there is always something to talk about or some mess to clear up.
But after a short while, Peter would stand up, the veil of silence and preoccupation returning, and leave the house, often for hours at a time, apparently to visit the library or walk in the park, although Rose never knew if that was the truth and she never asked him.
The morning they had brought Grace home, Rose had stood by the window in the nursery and looked out at the redbrick houses and the green trees. Below, Peter came into the little garden and she had tapped on the glass so he would notice her and wave, but the builders working on the house to the right had turned up the radio so he did not hear. She watched as he collapsed on the stone bench by the fig tree. What caught her attention was not the somnambulism of his movement, but the sadness on his face. He leaned over and wiped moisture off his cheeks with his fingers.
Rose told herself this was sweat, not tears, because she could not bear to see him cry.
It was Peter, not her, who needed bed rest all the time these days, and when Rose saw this, she felt empathy for him and clarity about the situation. Peter had looked forward to spending more time on his own studies. Now he would be eighty years old when Grace finished college.
The following day, a beautiful bunch of yellow roses had arrived from Liddy. Rose stuck them in a vase in the downstairs cloakroom, disappointed and ungracious about the gift but refusing to acknowledge why. It was Barbara who verbalized it at their next appointment, as they sat together in her office, keeping the windows closed as the stale late-summer air was hotter outside than in.
“I thought she’d give you a stroller,” Barbara said, deftly peering into Grace’s ears. “One of those top-of-the-line Stokke ones that you can jog behind.”
“I wouldn’t be jogging.”
“Or at least a complete set of babywear. Tasteful organic cotton. Ribbons on the boxes.”
“Those days are gone, Barbara. Liddy’s flying back tonight, but I . . . we . . . don’t have much of a clue about her plans.”
This was true. During their daily calls, Rose had attempted a gentle inquisition of Matty on the subject, but he had demurred and merely told them another funny story about something Liddy had done. (The other day apparently she had accidentally locked herself in the woodshed and had escaped using a shovel and ski pole. Afteward, she had laughed so much she went cross-eyed.)
“All we know is that she’s rented a small place in Prospect Heights—she got a Skype tour and made the broker hold an iPad out the window so she could check the noise levels—and she’s been doing restorative yoga. You have to hold the positions for twenty minutes. I’ve never seen Liddy be still for twenty seconds!”
Saying this out loud, Rose’s brain whirred into life, and tension spiraled through her body, stirring Grace awake. Grace mewled like a kitten and unfurled her tiny paws one by one, the inevitable precursor to an almighty scream.
Rose lifted Grace up and tried to feed her but was unsuccessful because Grace was confused and agitated, and they both ended up in tears of frustration.
“There’s a legal agreement between her and Peter, isn’t there?” Barbara continued, as she helped Grace to latch on.
“No. They never had a formal settlement, and if they did, it wouldn’t hold up in court, apparently. Liddy was far too generous.”
“Guess you can’t get blood out of a stone.”
“I was going to say you can’t kick someone when they’re down. But, yes, you’re right. No blood. No kicking. It doesn’t matter what Peter and I think about the situation. If she decides she wants more time off, that’s it. I just wish I knew.”
Rose relaxed as Grace began to feed.
“Looking after kids isn’t exactly time off,” ventured Barbara, typing Grace’s notes into the computer.
“She made this big point that she needed to be Matty’s mother. Why did she say that?”
“She is.” Barbara was refusing to commiserate with Rose and Rose knew why. And for once, Barbara was on Liddy’s side, which made it worse.
“It’s just I thought I knew what kind of woman she was,” Rose said, for she wanted Barbara to understand.
“I know,” said Barbara calmly. “You thought Liddy was different from you.”
Rose’s eyes filled with tears of shame.
“I
thought she was invincible,” Rose said, remembering their previous conversation about Coriolanus. “Who’d have guessed? ‘Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out.’”
“I like her better now that I feel sorry for her,” said Barbara. “But I think that might mean I’m a terrible person.”
And they both thought about what Barbara had once said about Liddy’s hubris, and what Rose had said about nemesis. Now that it had struck, what on earth could happen to Liddy next? Rose reached out a hand to grab a pen and the pad on Barbara’s desk. She scribbled a note (something she had not done for months), as she had an idea about the course on Shakespearean tragedy, and a new question for the students: Should hubris always be considered a negative flaw?
“What happens to a tragic hero after they fall?” said Barbara.
Rose shuddered. “Mostly they end up dead. Or alone.”
“That’s not good,” said Barbara, and she rested her hand very gently on Grace’s head to check the fontanel.
Afterward, Rose pushed her secondhand stroller to Carroll Park, where she sat under a shady tree. She picked Grace up and held her to her breast, watching as small children ran laughing through the water sprinklers. She saw one sandy-haired boy, an energetic seven or eight years old, twerking vigorously in the center, his floppy fringe falling over his eyes. She decided she would visit Liddy tomorrow. She would scream, I love your son, don’t take him away from me.
But of course, Liddy might well scream back at her.
Rose pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Peter to find out where he was. It clicked straight through to voice mail, so she left a neutral message about Grace’s weight. She stood up, settled Grace back in the stroller, and headed home.
She called for him as she came through the door, but there was no answer. Grace was asleep so she parked the stroller in the hall and walked the rooms, searching. But it was to no avail. Once again, Peter was out.
Deflated, Rose went into the library, the coolest room. She sat down in Peter’s armchair and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she saw that the red light on the answering machine in the corner was blinking on and off. It was such an unusual sight that for a moment she thought she was back in 1990. She walked over and tried to remember how the machine worked. Fortunately there was a button labeled PLAY, so she pressed that. It was Liddy, looking for Peter, her tone short, sharp, and strange. She said she’d listened to some garbled message from him on Matty’s phone about meeting them at JFK, but they were about to get on the flight in Dublin. It ended with Liddy demanding, “What’s going on?”
The Real Liddy James Page 24
