And so: squelch the anger, wipe it from his face and voice. If he could not shed it, store it inside, deep enough to be ignored for today and set it loose only when he was alone, not facing the wide eyes of these kids. Or Sara’s anger, which he had not thought to see turned on him.
“I apologize,” he said. “I was so angry I forgot everything else, and everybody else. Doug, I couldn’t talk that way about you. About any of you. We don’t know each other very well yet, but you all seem pretty smart and savvy, and I’ll bet if you choose to dislike a fool, it’s because he’s a fool, not because he’s black or white or prays on his knees or standing on his head.”
Carrie giggled.
“It’s the three of you I want to be with,” Reuben said, “not that gaggle back there; you’ve got nothing in common with them.” He held out his hand to Doug. “Am I forgiven?”
Without hesitation, Doug said, “Sure.” They shook hands gravely.
“What’s a gaggle?” asked Carrie.
“Literally, a flock of geese when not flying, but it also means an aggregation of people. Usually an uncomplimentary term.”
She nodded, then cocked her head, thinking. “The gaggle giggled,” she said happily. “I’m going to use that in a story about a bunch of people who were mad at somebody and then found out he was a hero in disguise and they all ended up happy and laughing.” She looked at Reuben. “But didn’t you mean ‘the four of us’?”
“The four of— Oh. Well, I said ‘the three of you’ to make sure Doug got the point that you three weren’t the target of all those adjectives. But Sara is always included. She’s at the head of the list of people I want to be with. In fact, to be honest, I’d rather be with Sara than anyone in the world.”
Abby burst into tears.
“Oh, Lord.” Sara sighed. “Abby, please try to stop. I know you’re unhappy, but we can have a wonderful day if you can stop thinking about—”
“Are we still going?” Carrie asked. “I mean, if Reuben is really upset, he may want to go home and drink.”
Reuben burst out laughing. “Carrie, you are the best tonic for being upset; no drink could come close. Of course we’re going.” Amazed, he heard the lightness and affection in his voice. Anger all squelched. When have I willingly put aside my own emotions to make others happy? “I can be upset tomorrow,” he said, “when I get back to the office and can do something about it.”
In the car, Sara said, “Thank you.”
They were on the highway again, driving northwest; there was little traffic and Reuben had set the cruise control, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. “For what?”
“For defusing the tension.”
“That I caused.”
“Yes, but you stopped it before it got out of hand. And also…” She paused. “Thank you for saying you enjoy being with me.”
He smiled. “That was not exactly what I said.”
“And saying it to the children instead of in private made it more like a…” She let the words float off.
“Declaration,” he said quietly. “And it was.”
Sara was silent. At last, Reuben said, “I owe you the greatest apology. I try not to lose my temper with people I care about (he thought of Ardis, with whom he was almost always out of temper these days, but it had been so long since he cared for her that he could not even remember what that had felt like) and I can’t imagine a worse way to start out with these great kids, when I want them to approve of me and lobby for all of us to be together often. It’s not the first time in my life that I’ve behaved badly, but I can’t remember regretting it more than I do now.”
“You know,” Sara said mildly, “it’s a little short of their discovering that you’re a mass murderer.”
There was a pause, then he chuckled. “I was overreacting.”
“You were. And those people,” she added after a moment, “the ones demonstrating, aren’t really all the same.” She told him about the young woman with the twins in the stroller. “I think a lot of them just don’t know what to do with the information they’re being fed by someone. Have you been doing anything in the past few months—neighbor-hood meetings for brunch, or dessert and coffee—to prepare them for such a massive project plunked down in their midst?”
“What does plunked mean?” Carrie asked interestedly.
Sara shook her head ruefully. She and Reuben had grown accustomed to being alone on walks, at dinner or lunch, at theaters or concert halls. Now, suddenly, there were five of them and conversations were not private. She felt a brief flare of worry that Reuben would not welcome, might even walk away from, intrusions into their privacy. “I haven’t found a man who’s interested in a woman with three kids,” she had said to Tess, not so long ago. “I can’t imagine any man being interested in me until Doug goes to college in seven years, and I’m alone.”
(It was true that Reuben did not seem to mind, in fact seemed oddly content to have the children around. Still, she thought, better to space out the times she came to him encumbered with youngsters, or the novelty could quickly pall.)
“Plunked,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Set down. Or, rather, dropped. At least, set down forcefully.”
“Like, dumped?” Doug asked. “Are they mad because you’re dumping a town on them, or because they don’t know what it will be like?”
“They should know,” Reuben mused. “We’ve had brochures and letters out to them for a long time. I’m more interested in who’s behind this. Some kid, the estimable Charlotte said, who gave Ted all kinds of ideas. I’ll pay a visit to Ted tomorrow night. Where are we, by the way?”
Sara laughed and gave him directions, using the map she had been marking earlier. “And what else did Charlotte say?”
“They’re against higher taxes, too many kids, congestion, African-Americans, Jews, Mexicans, anybody who’s different from them. I’m with them on congestion; obviously we haven’t made it clear how much open space we’ll have, and how much the facilities will be available to them. But the most peculiar thing Charlotte said, two things, in fact, were phrases that sounded completely out of character. One, she said Carrano Village wouldn’t have even a token grandparent. One of those clever phrases certain people use, but not like the rest of her speech. And there was a phrase she said she liked—meaning she’d heard it from someone else—about too many different kinds of people. She said they’d destructively destroy a decent town. Another odd phrase.”
Sara frowned.
“Mack talks like that,” said Carrie.
Reuben looked at Sara. “Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty far-fetched, I’d think.” There was a pause. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Carrie!” Doug cried. “Look at the horses! They’re galloping. With nobody on them!”
“Oh, fabulous,” Carrie breathed. “Abby, look. They’re so beautiful. Come on, look. Right now you need lots of beauty in your life.”
“How do you know what I need?”
“I have empathy. I’m a writer. Having beauty in your life helps when you’re tragically suffering. Quick, look, they’re almost gone!”
Sara and Reuben shared a smile. “A little more drama than I’d expected for today,” he murmured.
“Heightened,” Sara said, her voice low, “by three youngsters who create drama every time they walk across a room, or even sit in a car. They whip it up, like a huge froth of emotions they wallow in quite happily.”
“They’re great fun.”
“A three-ring circus.”
“And very attractive.”
“And lovable. The dearest people I know. They’ve had a rough time, and they’ve handled it wonderfully.”
“I would think that describes you.”
“Well…I was older; it didn’t shatter my life the way it did theirs.”
Reuben, who thought her life had been, if not shattered, thoroughly dislocated, and who continually found additional reasons to admir
e her, admired her now, in silence, and they drove in silence across the state and into a lush valley and then to the town of Galena. As they approached the outskirts, Sara felt time slide away. The town looked as if it had been lifted from a picture book of early-nineteenth-century America, with restored houses, hotels, and businesses seemingly unchanged from those days. Some were brightly scrubbed and gleaming in yellow, brown, or red Midwestern brick. Some were frame, painted deep magenta or yellow, blue or blinding white, all of them with white, extravagantly carved trim. Their peaked roofs were like raised eyebrows above symmetrical windows and doors; their front yards were small and manicured.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Carrie exclaimed. “Come on, Abby, admit it; it’s really a pretty town.”
“Right,” Abby grudgingly conceded. “Except that everybody in the world is here.”
It was true; Main Street was traffic-clogged and nothing moved at more than a crawl. “Saturday,” Sara said ruefully. “We should have known.”
“A million people come here every year,” said Carrie. “I looked it up on the Internet.”
“Would you like to walk?” Sara asked. “We can meet you at the end of Main Street. You’ll probably beat us there.”
“Great idea!” Doug cried, and was out of the car before Sara could change her mind. Carrie followed—“Thanks, Sara,” she said graciously—and waited for Abby, who did not move.
Sara sighed, but her voice was cheerful as she said, “Abby, would you check out a few antique stores? I thought we’d find a rocking chair for your room. You need another chair for when your friends come over.”
Abby’s face brightened. “Really? And can I get a cushion for it, too? One of those embroidered ones that look French?”
“What a good idea. Pick out some things and we’ll look at them tomorrow morning.”
Abby was gone; they all were gone. In the stalled traffic, she and Reuben leaned into each other, and kissed.
The tapping of a horn behind them, beneath the palm of an amused elderly man, pulled them apart. Reuben drove twenty feet until forced to stop again, and again they came together, smiling at the humor of it. “Drive a few feet,” murmured Reuben against Sara’s lips, “kiss, drive a few feet—”
“Kiss,” said Sara, and they did.
And then drove another few feet as soon as the traffic moved. “All three of them are wonderful,” Reuben said, “but I like having the two of us together.”
“So do I.” Sara struggled—that flash of worry back again—and finally settled on the simple truth, unmitigated. “I know they’re an encumbrance, but the four of us are a package.”
“You’ve always made that clear. And today was my idea, because I wanted to meet them, and I wanted them to know me. I would never ask you to choose between us, but I hope you and I can find time to be together.”
“Of course we can. We will. I want that as much as you do. As long as we know that if something comes up—”
“They come first. There’s no question about that. They’re your family, in your care. You could no more walk away from them—”
“Goodness, is that what we’re talking about? Or just getting away for an evening?”
He laughed and shook his head ruefully. “I tend to get carried away.”
“It’s all right when you’re carried away with me,” she said, smiling almost to herself, and he glanced at her in pleased surprise at her directness. “It’s strange, being away from home,” she said, in oblique response to his look. “Everything seems simpler.”
“Then this will be the first of many trips.”
They reached the end of the street. Doug was sitting on the curb, eating an ice-cream cone; Abby and Carrie stood beside him, sipping lemonade through straws. All three, even Abby, looked pleased with themselves, and, in the car, they chattered about the shops and people while Reuben finally was able to drive straight to their inn, drop their luggage, and drive on to the Pine Ridge trailhead.
“Reuben and I have lunch in our backpacks,” said Sara as they all took packs and walking sticks from the trunk. “So if you think you might like food at some point, I suggest you don’t wander off and lose us.”
She shook her head in mock despair as Doug and Carrie ran on ahead, Abby close behind, and in a moment were swallowed up by the thick bushes and tall grasses that crowded in on the trail. “They’ll find us as soon as they get hungry.” She and Reuben kissed, and then they, too, entered the lush, hilly wilderness of towering cliffs, canyons, and rivers that was Apple River Canyon State Park.
Later, Sara was to look back on that afternoon as the beginning of a perfect moment in time: twenty-four hours of harmony and laughter and small delights that she would have treasured forever, but that were driven out of her thoughts soon after their return home the following afternoon. But until then, everything was bathed in a magical, golden light. The sun was at its highest point on this, the longest day of the summer; the air shimmered with heat waves and dancing reflections from the sunlit stream alongside the trail; leaves and tall plants quivered as insects darted from branch to twig to leaf; and the footsteps of Reuben and Sara and her family were silent on the soft earth as they glided through a green-and-gold world.
No one spoke. Amazing, Sara thought, that anything could keep Doug quiet. Sun-dappled, moving in and out of the shade of great trees, gazing up and up at canyon walls of variegated vermilion, buff and brown, with intrepid bushes growing horizontally from the tiniest of cracks where their roots could take hold, they all drank in the beauty in a silence that acknowledged it more meaningfully than any exclamations would have done.
“Guys, look!” Doug cried, and Sara laughed, because of course, with Doug, silence could not last. “Is than an eagle?”
It was an eagle. “Wow,” Doug breathed as Carrie photographed it five or six times, and then kept her camera turned on as they spotted, in the next twenty minutes, two fawns, a squirrel that stopped halfway up the trunk of a tree, as if posing for its photograph, a ptarmigan and its two babies huddled under a bush, and a rabbit, frozen in fright, hunched on a rock close to the trail.
When they found a picnic spot, they paused in setting out their food to watch hawks soaring far above, and when their gaze returned to earth they saw, in a sweeping glance, dozens of varieties of ferns and unfamiliar flowers none of them could name.
“And,” Sara said to Reuben that night, “no one complained that the hike was too long or the sun was too hot or the mosquitoes were annoying.”
“They were having too good a time to complain.”
The two of them were sitting on a broad porch overlooking the river, cognac and coffee on the table before them, a crescent moon suspended in the black sky with Jupiter below it, as if hanging by a thread. Abby sat on a swing at the other end of the porch, not brooding, it seemed to Sara, but dreaming, perhaps reflecting, with more calmness than she had shown since her disastrous night with Sean. Carrie and Doug had gone to their rooms with books and a game of Scrabble they found in the lobby.
The hotel was a converted mill, with a glassed-in restaurant overlooking the Mississippi River. Their five rooms took up the entire second floor, on both sides of a wide corridor. Abby’s eyebrows had shot up when she discovered there were five rooms, instead of four. Standing in the doorway of her room, she had said incredulously, “You and Reuben aren’t in one room? I mean, how old-fashioned. I mean, you didn’t have to do that for us; we all know…I mean, even Doug knows…you know.”
“That we’re sleeping together?” Sara asked. “How do you know that?”
Abby flushed. “Well, because…everybody does. When they’re in love, I mean. And you and Reuben look like…you know, like you’re in love.”
“Everybody?” Sara asked.
Abby’s flush grew deeper, and she looked away. “I don’t,” she mumbled. “I mean, you know, most people. Anyway, people who are grown up, who can… handle it. I didn’t mean me.”
Sara put her arm around Abby and held h
er close. “I’m glad you believe that. It’s hard, when you’re young, to understand how much more there is to sex than sex. So much to deal with.”
“You taught me that.”
“Yes, but we don’t always know how much soaks in.”
Abby clamped her lips shut, to keep from asking if Sara and Reuben were sleeping together. It wasn’t really her business. Maybe, later, she’d hear Reuben’s footsteps going to Sara’s room when they thought she and Carrie and Doug would be asleep. No, he’d be barefoot. She could keep her door open a crack, and see if a shadow passed by when everything was quiet. Except that his room was right across the hall from Sara’s, and he could get there without passing Abby’s door. Maybe that was why Sara allocated their rooms that way. Probably it was.
Abby tried to picture Sara and Reuben naked and in bed. When they’d been walking hand in hand that morning, they’d looked really good together: they were both slender, and Sara was almost as tall as Reuben and they moved with the same kind of rhythm, their steps the same length, their heads turning to each other at the same time. It was hard to imagine kissing a man with a beard and glasses—well, obviously he’d take off his glasses—but otherwise she could see the two of them stretching out in bed, their bodies long and warm pressed against each other, and his hand would be…
She couldn’t stand it. She slammed shut the door of her room and threw herself on the bed, as aroused as if Sean were touching her all over, whimpering deep in her throat because she wanted him, and if only he’d suddenly be there, at her side, smiling at her, she’d never make fun of him again.
And give him what he wants?
Oh, I don’t know!
By dinnertime, she was calm again, surprising herself by having a good time. Reuben was great at word games, they discovered, and he told stories about New York, funny stories and sad ones, and got them to tell him about their classes at Parker, and Carrie’s latest story, and Abby’s play (“I’m sorry I missed it,” he said. “I’ll make sure I don’t miss the next one,” which meant, obviously, that he intended to be with Sara for a long time, which, to be honest, Abby had mixed feelings about), and then Doug ran upstairs and brought down a balsa-wood carving he’d made just before dinner, and it was the rabbit they’d seen on their hike, hunched in terror on the rock, and it really looked afraid.
The Real Mother Page 19
