“I should have told you awhile ago how I felt. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not a natural, like your mother or mine. I can’t be like them.”
Peter threw down the cloth and stood up. “Well then, what the hell are we going to do? Can you answer that? Can you figure that out? We’ve ignored the obvious too long—Savannah deserves more than we’re giving right now. This is making me crazy. Just goddamn crazy.”
He picked up the bike he’d been working on, and for a moment, Caroline feared he’d fling it across the room. He lifted it and tensed his arm. Then he slowly lowered it down.
“You’re a mother now.” He spit each word out as though wanting to raise welts.
She didn’t answer.
“There are some choices you don’t get to make anymore,” he added.
Everything locked inside Caroline gave way. An unbearable sadness and feeling of failure washed over her. “What you’re saying, it doesn’t even make sense to me. Maybe it’s just not working. Us. Maybe we’re not working.”
“You have to jump there? Is that what you think I’m saying? I’m just trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re telling me I don’t get to have things the way I want them to be. But somehow, somehow you do, Peter. You wanted a child, and so we have one. And I love her. I really love her. I love you. But I’m crumbling. I see how much I’m failing Savannah, and it’s killing me. I just don’t know what to do.”
Peter remained silent.
Caroline didn’t have the will to fight. “Sometimes I have to take pills to get through,” she almost whispered. “That’s how I try to manage, Peter. And it’s not working. I want to make you happy. I want to make Savannah happy. But maybe I just don’t have the right stuff. Maybe you’re both better off without me.”
She walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?” He ran to the garage door. “Answer me.”
“Out,” she said. “Just out.”
• • •
It was past one in the morning when Caroline came home. Peter sat in the family room, an unopened magazine on his lap. The room was cleaned of tools and the oilcloth.
“Where were you?” he asked. “You didn’t answer the phone.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t.” She stood in front of him.
“Where were you?” he asked again.
“Thinking. I went to my office. I don’t have anywhere else. It’s not like we’re bar types.”
“But we’re pill types?”
“I became one,” Caroline said. “I didn’t know how else to stay quiet.”
“You thought you had to stay quiet? Are you frightened of me, Caro?”
“I’m frightened of us. Who we’re—I’m—becoming. Our life seems to make you happy no matter how awful I feel.”
“I hate that also, Caro.” He took her hand and tugged her down. “It’s true, though. I want you to change. How did we get here?”
“I couldn’t admit how awful everything was . . . is for me,” she said. “I can’t do that anymore. It just backfires.”
“And here we are. You’re unhappy. Savannah is a wreck. And I charge around like a raging bull, as though I can make everything the way I want it by stubborn will.”
“You’re only trying to make a family.”
He raised his shoulders, as though indicating big deal.
“What are we going to do?” Caroline lowered her head to her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose us, but I don’t know what to do. I honestly can’t keep going like this.”
“Are you leaving? Are you asking me to leave?” he asked.
She couldn’t answer because any way she turned, she didn’t see a life she wanted.
“Caro? Answer me!” He put a hand under her chin and forced her to look up. His eyes were wet. “Please don’t ask me to choose between a life with you and Savannah and one without, because I can’t.”
She’d never seen him cry before. It wrung her out, seeing him pucker his lips and press them together. Savannah did the same thing when things got bad; she’d done it when Tia moved to hug her.
Caroline had been ready to pry Savannah away in that moment.
Caroline knew the truth now. She knew she might not love spending time with Savannah, but she loved her as deeply as any mother loved her child. She’d gladly suffer wounds to her own flesh to keep her from harm.
She was Savannah’s mother—maybe not a very good one; maybe even a reluctant one—but she’d never have given away her child. It had probably been the right thing for Tia to do, but Caroline couldn’t imagine it.
Oh, who the hell knew? Here she was practically running away from her child, judging the woman who’d at least been honest about what she couldn’t do. How did you reach for that kind of truth? Juliette was probably the only real mother among them.
Did Peter have a clue who Caroline was? God knows she could never tell him about the temptation of Jonah. Carrying that toxic secret alone would be her punishment. The same Peter who would never have denied his child’s existence was the man who’d never cheat or even contemplate doing such a thing.
Caroline probably wasn’t going to be a great mom, but what if she was the best one available? Could she walk away from that?
CHAPTER 31
Tia
“Now I’ve lost both of you.”
Dignified homes and flawless gardens flew by as they drove away from Caroline and Peter’s house.
“You lost both of us many years ago,” Nathan said, not unkindly.
Tia wished she could hate him, but he’d been so good with Savannah, while she’d been so awful. She’d said horrible, stupid things. Everything inside her ached at the memory of holding Savannah.
Tia’s mother would have loved Savannah. She seemed like such a special little girl. Did Caroline and Peter know? Did they care enough?
“Don’t you think she was special?” Tia asked.
Nathan didn’t answer, but Tia realized he was thinking, not avoiding her question. He was probably a good father to his sons, boys who were real to Tia for the first time.
Savannah’s robust build pleased Tia. It made her happy that her daughter seemed sturdy and safe. Tia had resembled a strand of wire at that age. Her father had been sinewy and powerful, seeming as though he’d take off like a jet plane any minute. Everything about Tia’s mother looked durable and practical except for the screwy curls leaping out in all directions.
Savannah’s face blended together her and Nathan in a way that she’d never tire of seeing. Was that motherhood? Did Caroline spend time staring at Savannah until each feature made indelible tracks in her mind?
“Your question answers itself.”
“Thank you, Buddha.” Tia moved as close to the door as possible and leaned against the cool glass. What would it be like to wake up and see Savannah every morning?
“Actually, I think you mean Roshi. That would be a Zen teacher.”
“Actually, I meant Buddha, Professor. Silent Buddha.”
He laughed. Give Nathan credit: he was usually willing to laugh at himself. “Yes. Savannah seemed special to me, but the thing about being a parent is that your own child always seems special.”
Tia turned to face him. She tucked a leg up and reached out to touch his arm. “Then she does feel like your child?”
“I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Did she feel like your sons feel to you?”
“Oh, Tia, of course not. I was there when they were born. I’ve been with them all their lives, and I always will.”
“So she’s secondhand. Like me.”
“You’re being reductive. Reducing a complicated problem to a simplistic one-dimensional thing.”
“I know what reductive means.” What the hell did he think of her?
Perhaps the best thing about having Nathan back in her life, however briefly, was seeing how ill suited they were. Be careful what you wish for. Robin had sworn that the worst thing that
could happen to Tia would be having Nathan leave his wife for her.
Robin had also said that seeing Savannah was a mistake. But Tia didn’t think it had been, except maybe how it made her hungry for more.
• • •
Tia had spent all of Memorial Day searching Macy’s sales rack for a suit. Nothing in her current wardrobe remotely resembled a proper interview outfit. She supposed she must have worn something decent when Richard interviewed her, but whatever that outfit had been, it was long gone.
Now, wobbling a bit in her brand-new high heels, she climbed down the dingy concrete steps of the Merciful Sisters Senior Center, located in yet another church. This one was Catholic and in the basement. The location provoked equal measures of remorse for the years she’d spent avoiding Mass and anger at the guilt always coloring her life.
She’d had Savannah. She’d stayed true to the teachings there, voting with her heart when she got pregnant. Choice for everyone except Tia seemed to be her position on the politics of abortion.
Tia reached a large, open space divided by furniture rather than walls. Three desks were jammed into one corner. A tall lean woman wearing black trousers and a mannish white shirt occupied the first desk. Thick white hair, coiled in a bun on the top of her head, accentuated the clear blue of her eyes. The empty desk beside her held the look of recent activity: an opened file, a pen laid down, a newspaper ready to be read over a lunch of yogurt and almonds.
The third desk was swept clean. Limp cardboard that once could have been called a blotter covered worn oak; perhaps that desk waited for her. Was she supposed to brighten it with knickknacks, anchored by the glass paperweight Bobby had bought her for luck? She’d tried to smile when she’d seen the multicolored globe of the world nestled under white tissue, tucked in a satin-lined box, padded with foam—Jesus, it would survive an attack from Mars—and labeled with the shop’s name in gold script, but her smile felt like a grimace. They were moving into the presents-for-no-reason stage of their relationship. Bobby kept moving ahead as though they were predestined.
He talked about custody in a tone so deliberately even that Tia knew he’d love to discuss it constantly. She kept telling herself this was only an exploration, though letting Bobby pay the legal bills added a weight of expectation.
Ultimately, she feared there’d be a price. She teetered between Bobby’s optimism and Robin’s warnings, and kept staring at the picture of Savannah that had made its way to her wallet.
Any possibility of custody meant having a job. The lawyer said that was an immutable fact. He’d also hinted about her relationship with Bobby in a way that made Tia think that being married would help enormously.
Not that she’d stay with Bobby for that, but couldn’t it be a side benefit without becoming an indictment of her intentions?
“You must be Tia.” The white-shirted woman rose and came to greet Tia, holding out her hand. “I’m Sister Patrice.” Tia felt the woman’s strength and saw kindness in her gaze. Elders deserved someone like her at the head of their senior center. Perhaps in working with her, Tia would learn to be satisfied by doing good works. Maybe she’d yearn less, learn to be present through devotion.
Apples and cooked sugar scented the air, as though pies had been baked recently. Arts and crafts supplies filled plastic bins. Piles of old greeting cards sat waiting to be pasted on cardboard boxes. Soon the cards and boxes would be decoupaged together, lined up in neat rows, like the ones she’d seen in the lobby.
Tia could already imagine herself at Fianna’s in December, begging friends to save their Christmas cards. They’d bring in bags of them. Year after year, she’d drown in Hallmark, her request tapping into people’s desire to be charitable with a minimum of effort.
At the other end of the room, a pale woman tapped at a computer. Tia couldn’t tell whether she was staff or a client. Pictures of soldiers lined half a wall.
“These are the soldiers we’ve adopted.” Sister Patrice swept her arm toward the pictures. “One for each of our clients.”
“You certainly have a lot of clients.”
“We do.” Sister Patrice’s smile revealed perfect teeth. The nun was at least in her early seventies, so they were probably dentures, but good ones. Only a smattering of wrinkles lined the woman’s pink skin, but still Tia felt her age. She’d worked with seniors long enough to have a feel for people’s ages. All the Botox in the world couldn’t take away the aura of age.
“Come. Sit.” The nun put a hand under Tia’s elbow and led her to a set of club chairs angled toward each other. “Would you care for a cup of tea? Coffee? Thank you for coming early. I thought it best we meet before the hordes arrive.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Tia imagined seniors descending the steps, using their canes to tap their way over to sing around the old piano. Her stomach contracted as she envisioned Mrs. Graham humming and smiling. Tia should have connected her with a group such as this. Mrs. Graham liked music.
Tia’s failure with Mrs. Graham was too immense to dwell on for more than a few minutes. Once again, she chased away the memory.
“You seem more than qualified for the job.” Sister Patrice looked up from a brown manila file, which probably held Tia’s resume and cover letter. “But I see no references. Why is that?”
The need not to lie became stronger than her desire to impress this good woman. “I totally screwed up my last job. Excuse my language, Sister.”
Sister Patrice’s face creased into another smile. “Intensely truthful words for an interview.”
Tia tipped her head. “Is that good or bad? I could use honesty at the moment.”
“From me or from yourself?”
“Probably both,” Tia said. “But I suppose more from myself.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Sister said.
• • •
“A toast to Tia!” Michael Dwyer lifted his glass. “Once again, a working slave like the rest of us.”
Everyone at the table yelled “To Tia!” in unison. Moira, Deidre, and Michael had already been at Fianna’s when Tia and Bobby arrived.
“I’d have stayed on unemployment until the very last check came,” Moira said. “You impress me.”
Moira’s sister tipped her beer mug toward Tia. “For real, hon. Good job. By the way, if the place is run by the Sisters of Notre Dame, it’s an up-and-up place. The one who hired you, she’s got a good reputation. My aunt told me.”
Moira and Deidre thought their place in heaven was secured by having an aunt who was a nun. They mentioned her at least once a night, perhaps as a reminder to God. Still, it was nice to hear.
“Not like that jerk who fired you.” Bobby put a proprietary arm around Tia. “I’m proud of you. Plus, it’s in a great neighborhood.”
“I worked in a good neighborhood before,” Tia said.
“Yeah, sure. Nothing like having a courthouse, a cemetery, and a T stop as neighbors.” Bobby winked at Michael, which made Tia want to walk away and never look back.
He’d deny it until his tongue fell out but she could feel his racial fear leaking out. She knew he hated her living in a neighborhood where cultures and races were so mixed up there wasn’t even an apparent majority. Bobby didn’t mind a bit of melting pot, as long as the soup was on the pale side.
“That cemetery is a treasure.” Tia doubted Bobby had ever been there. Khalil Gibran, e. e. cummings, and Anne Sexton were among the writers buried there. Chimes, sculptures of spectrally dressed trees, and decades-old statues lined the paths, along with crypts so ornate and dignified that dying didn’t seem truly awful if you got to spend eternity in one of them.
“You’re right. It’s a terrific place,” Michael agreed. He liked to show everyone how sophisticated he’d become since working for the city. His stamp of approval meant that Tia’s opinion could now be accepted.
“Okay, but that T stop is a pit,” Bobby insisted.
“What exactly do you mean by pit, Bobby?” Tia asked. “Not e
nough white people?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Bobby gave her a sideways hug. “Your prickles are showing.”
He was playing to the crowd, that’s all. Pressed, he’d always do the right thing. She believed that. Bobby’s goodness wasn’t the kind that came out in words but in deeds. Unlike Nathan, who could talk your ear off about his beliefs, but had he ever come through for her?
Moira and Deidre smiled fondly at Tia and Bobby. Somehow, without Tia noticing, they’d become the Chandler and Monica of their crowd—finding each other after years as friends.
“Bobby, get me another drink. Please.” Tia forced herself to smile.
“We’ll get the next one at dinner,” he said. Bobby’s we sounded irritating and overly loud.
“Why don’t we all get a bite?” Michael suggested.
Bobby held up a hand. “It’s gonna be just us tonight. No offense.”
“None taken, pal. New romances need room, right?”
Even when they were kids, Michael had acted as though he were the godfather of their crowd. Bobby kept telling Tia not to let Michael get under her skin. He means well, he’s good people, Bobby would say, always needing to defend him—to defend everyone in the group.
Bobby looked at her as though he’d won the biggest prize at the fair. “How new can it be, huh?” he replied to Michael. “I’ve known her forever. Now I just have to make sure it stays this way.”
• • •
They drove to a restaurant on the waterfront. The tables had candles, white linen, and three different kinds of bread in the baskets. Tia tried not to compare it to the places she’d gone with Nathan, even as she remembered Helmand, the Afghan restaurant in Cambridge, decorated like a Fabergé egg, where the food had been served on hand-painted pottery. Nathan had ordered tasting plates, offering her bits of magical pumpkin kibbe and crisp bread dipped in exotic sauces.
“This is nice.” Tia sat in the chair Bobby pulled out for her.
“You look good dressed up like that.” He bent and kissed the top of her head.
“You think so?” Tia asked. “I thought I looked a bit corporate for a job in a church basement.”
The Comfort of Lies: A Novel Page 26
