“Relax,” she told him. “The house renovations have been more involved than we planned, so joining the Club isn’t exactly in the budget. He might as well buy a pony. Will you tell him that?”
“That he should buy a pony?”
Phoebe waited until he set the bowl down and then socked him in the arm. “I’m serious.”
“Ow. All right.” Perry was used to this. As much as his siblings ribbed him for being uptight, they never failed to queue up when things went down. To ask advice. To borrow money. To try and twist his arm into approaching one family member or other to twist his or her arm about one thing or other. Though this time he was secretly impressed by Phoebe’s unusual demonstration of financial restraint. Having bought the cottage was one thing, but the gut renovation was a whole other financial misstep. He couldn’t imagine where they’d come up with the initiation fee for the Club.
“Have you tried telling Rob this yourself?”
He watched his sister’s gaze land on her husband, who was standing by the window, talking to their father. The boys were back inside chasing each other in a hazardously widening circle around the guests. Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a little over budget on the renovation.”
He knew they would be, of course. What he wondered was whether Rob knew. As with many other things in their marriage that struck Perry as unusual, Phoebe had taken the reins of the entire building project. “How much over?”
Phoebe flicked her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“That bad?”
“Just forget it, Perry.” Now she was upset with him.
He scratched his head. “Listen, I wouldn’t worry about the lake Club membership. You guys use mine quite a bit anyway.”
“No, we don’t.”
They did. Every summer, in fact, but Perry did not say this. His bicep still smarted. Instead he said, “Just tell Rob that you want to wait until the house is done. That you want to keep a buffer.” He watched his sister’s eyebrows rise and fall, as they did whenever she was concentrating.
“I just ordered a three-thousand-dollar bathroom vanity. He won’t believe that.”
Three thousand? “Then blame it on me. Say it was my suggestion.”
Phoebe uncrossed her arms. “Well, that he’d believe.”
The doorbell rang and as he watched little sister trot toward the door, Perry found his hand involuntarily pressed to his pants pocket where he carried his wallet. It was only a matter of time, he feared, before she would be asking for more than advice.
Amelia and Emma flurried across the foyer in his direction. “I was starting to worry.”
“Hello to you, too.” Amelia pecked his cheek. “The car was low on gas. I was on the other side of town, near the Exxon.”
Perry flinched. “Three forty-nine a gallon?”
Amelia held up her hand. “I know, I know. Which is why I drove over to the other one, but it was closed. Which meant I had to drive farther south because at that point I was on empty.”
Perry closed his eyes. Amelia always did this. Ran the car until the gas light went on, then drove around without a care in the world, coasting on hope and fumes. With Emma, no less.
She smiled up at him. “Relax. We’re here.”
He knew better than to remind her of the hour. “I’m glad,” he said instead. And he meant it. By comparison to his family, his wife was a Zen temple.
Beside her, Emma gazed across the crowd shyly, unlike her flagrant cousins, who galloped by once more, so involved in their horseplay they didn’t even notice her arrival. Emma watched them, with a faint smile. Sometimes Perry wondered if they’d done her a disservice as an only child. “How was school, honey?”
“Fine.”
“Anything fun happen today?”
“Nope.”
He should’ve asked an open-ended question. That’s what the article in Parenting magazine had advised. “Coping with Teens” had been the title. Perry needed some coping strategies. He looked to Amelia, who hadn’t even seemed to notice Emma’s curt replies. But she wouldn’t have noticed. Emma still talked to her, if in exasperated tones. Perry could have settled for exasperation.
“You’re here!” Phoebe joined them, and Emma burst into a smile at the sight of her aunt. Perry couldn’t believe the transformation. “How’s school?” Phoebe asked.
“Pretty good. But I can’t wait for summer. I’m working this year as a counselor at our clubhouse camp.”
Emma had gotten a job as a counselor? He’d heard nothing of that. Perry spun around to his wife, who seemed to already know all of this. Why had no one told him? When Phoebe lifted her hand and Emma high-fived it, Perry’s heart gave a little.
“That’s awesome! I worked at a theater camp when I was your age. I studied drama in college, as one of my minors.”
Phoebe was still studying drama, as far as Perry could tell.
“I can’t wait. My campers will be in first grade, so that should be fun.”
“They’ll love you!” Phoebe gushed. Perry had to agree. But before he could ask Emma about her summer job, there came a small commotion by the front door. His father waved a hand. “Everyone, Jake’s here!”
With that, his family abandoned him and joined the stampede for the front door like lemmings. Perry would stay right where he was, thank you very much, and watch from a civilized distance.
It was then he noticed his grandmother creeping up behind the outskirts of the crowd. Elsie held her hands out to her sides, shuffling unsteadily as she went. “Nana!” he called.
Just in time he got to her and guided her back to her chair. “I’ll ask Jake to come to you,” he promised. How typical of Jake to make a scene of an entrance, with no thought to its consequence. Perry was just about to find his little brother and tell him just that, when he heard his name.
“You must be Perry.” He turned.
Perry had only ever taken one art class in the entirety of his comprehensive education, a required and impractical elective. But for the first time in all the years since, it made sense. The woman who stood before him was a subject stepped off the canvas of a Baroque painting and into his parents’ living room. Perry exhaled.
“I’m Olivia.” She extended her hand and Perry found himself taking it. He glanced down at their entwined fingers. Hers were diminutive in his own. When he looked back up, she was studying him curiously. Quickly, Perry let go.
“Excuse me,” he stammered. “You’re Olivia.”
“I am.” She laughed and swept her dark hair back. Perry had never cared for short hair on women, and yet he found himself fighting an urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear for her. “And this is my daughter, Luci.”
An elfin child peeked out from behind Olivia’s knees then hid behind her mother again. The spell was broken.
No one had said a thing about a child. It was then he saw the dog.
Behind the two of them stood an oversized mongrel of a dog. “Oh, and that’s Buster.” Buster gazed up at him, a viscous trail of drool dangling from his cavernous mouth. “He’s our therapeutic rescue dog.”
Perry blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Well, he’s a trained therapy dog. But first he was a rescue dog. From Texas.” As if that explained what the giant canine was doing in his parents’ Connecticut living room, at his grandmother’s ninety-seventh birthday party. Olivia bent to rub its floppy ears fondly. “Though I’m not sure who rescued who.”
Ah, she was one of those.
“So, you rescue dogs?”
“Just this one. But I’d rescue them all if I could. I could own a hundred! They’re just so grateful.”
Perry cleared his throat. The new girl was an anthropomorphic soon-to-be canine hoarder. Flustered, he glanced about for his family. Had no one noticed the four-legged intruder in the living room? But true to form, Phoebe and Jake were huddled together by the door, chatting away as if nobody else in the world existed. His parents, having already welcomed this circus, had twirled off into th
e gray-haired crowd, probably to pour more champagne. Just what the seniors needed.
Thankfully, Amelia rescued him. “Olivia! We’ve heard so much about you.”
They had? Perry focused on keeping a smart distance between himself and the encroaching dog. He was allergic to dogs. Already he could feel the ominous tickle at the back of his throat.
But Emma was besotted. She kneeled beside Luci. “Your dog is so big. And so cute!”
Luci ducked behind her mother’s knees.
“Thank you!” Olivia said proudly. She apparently thought nothing of the fact that she was standing in the Goodwins’ formal living room surrounded by a sea of guests, any of whom could be allergic to or afraid of dogs. Like himself, for instance. “He’s Luci’s therapy dog. We take him pretty much everywhere we go.”
So the dog attended more than just birthday parties.
“And what kind of dog is… Buster?” Perry inquired.
Olivia turned to Luci, but the child said nothing. “Pure mutt,” Olivia answered.
“Huh.” Perry was no expert, but he would’ve guessed wolfhound mixed with mastiff. Or some kind of Rottweiler jumble. Impossible to insure. High incidence of bites.
Emma—unaffected by the fact that whatever the beast was, it had pressed itself against her—stroked its head absently. “We were just about to sing happy birthday. Do you like cake?” she asked Luci.
The child glanced uncertainly at her mother.
“Who doesn’t?” Olivia answered, again for both of them. She turned to Luci. “Go ahead with Emma. Mommy will be right there.”
Perry watched in horror as his wife and daughter whisked the child to the dessert table, as if there was absolutely nothing amiss leaving him standing alone with the new girlfriend and her uninsurable dog. “Would you like some cake?” he asked Olivia, unsure of what else to say. “Or would he?” Perry gestured to the dog.
Olivia seemed to find this wildly funny and tossed her head back. The trill that followed was crisp and girlish. Again, Perry was momentarily entranced.
“I’m sorry Luci didn’t answer you or Emma. She has a condition that makes it hard for her to talk in public places.” She glanced down at her shoes, which Perry saw were poppy red.
“Oh. What kind of condition?”
She glanced back up at Perry. “Selective mutism. It started when she was two. We have a counselor who specializes in speech pathology, but it really comes down to time and practice. And me.” Her voice drifted, and Perry found himself leaning in.
But suddenly there was Jake, blue eyes gleaming. He took the leash from Olivia’s hand and slid his arm around her waist. “Perry! How’s it going?” There was a lightness about his face. He turned to Olivia. “My big brother is boring you to death, isn’t he? Should I get you coffee to keep you awake?”
Again, there was that trill of laughter from her throat. “Perry and I are doing just fine, aren’t we?” She grinned at him.
“Just fine,” Perry echoed, though he wasn’t so sure. He glanced around. Amelia was so much better at these things. “You know, Nana was trying to get to the door to greet you. She almost fell.” He paused, aware that he was saying this in front of Olivia and perhaps best not. “Have you said hello to her yet?”
Jake’s tone flattened. “She was the first one we said hello to.” Already Perry could feel his little brother pulling away. He hadn’t wanted to start things off like this, but it had always been the way of their relationship. Jake did what Jake did, and Perry was left to sweep up behind him.
Olivia put her hands together. “I’d better go check on Luci. Perry, it was nice to meet you, finally.”
To Perry’s dismay, she did not take her dog but instead glided toward the dining room, where everyone seemed to be gathering. As if on cue, a large glowing cake was carried out, illuminating the faces around the table. Upon seeing Olivia, Perry and Jake’s mother waved her over, pulling her into the family fold.
Jake shook his head. “Isn’t she something?”
Perry didn’t know where to begin. “Is that an accent I heard?”
“Her father is French.”
“So she’s from France?”
“Yeah. She was born there. But she’s lived in New York for most of her life.” He frowned. “She’s American. I think.”
“You think? And her daughter…”
“Luci. Isn’t she cute?”
She was, no doubt. But that wasn’t what Perry was getting at. Before he could say anything else, Jake grabbed both his shoulders. “You can’t tell the others. But I’m going to marry her, Perry.”
“Marry her?” Perry choked.
From the dining room voices rose in a lopsided rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
“Why not? She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Jake shouted over the singing. He tossed back the remains of his beer, handed Buster’s leash to Perry, and set off for the dining room with a look of foolish love plastered on his face.
Phoebe
It was her fault that they’d bought the musty fixer-upper. It was probably also her fault they were two months behind schedule and already squeezing the budget. And yet she’d do it all over again. If only she could get her paint samples and get the hell out of the hardware store in time to pick up the boys from preschool.
The woman in front of her in line at the paint design counter would not shut up. Phoebe checked her watch. Five more minutes—that’s all she could afford. She glanced at the color strips in her hand, trying to channel the soothing mood of her blue-and-gray palette. All right, maybe ten more minutes.
“I just love orange. Such a cheerful color. With all the horrors on the news these days, everyone needs a pop of color, don’t you think?”
Phoebe eyeballed the woman in front of her. Tan pants, gray shirt. Even her sensible shoes were of the sand-colored variety. Hypocrite.
The sales associate ignored Phoebe’s pointed gaze and nodded encouragingly at the “greige” woman. “Have you looked at our Aura line? The right shade of orange or red can be positively galvanizing.”
Phoebe would have liked very much to galvanize the woman right out of line. She could not be late again for the twins’ preschool pickup. Sweet, smiling Mrs. McAllister had not been pleased when she showed up late last Friday. Listening to Phoebe’s convoluted excuse for her delay, Mrs. McAllister had distractedly twisted her alphabet necklace until Phoebe feared it would burst. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Riley. But our school policy is that if parents are later than fifteen minutes, we have to place the boys in the extended hours program.”
Upon hearing that, the boys had leaned against Mrs. McAllister’s pillowy side and glared up at their mother. How quickly toddler alliance shifted. And from her own offspring. “I’m sorry.” Phoebe groveled. “It won’t happen again.” The problem was, she knew it would.
Finally, the woman in front of her paid for her orange paint and vacated her place in line. Phoebe surged forward. “I’d like some samples, please.”
The saleswoman smiled as she ticked through Phoebe’s choices. “Sea Salt. Tranquil Moments. Healing Aloe. Classic colors.”
Phoebe beamed. Her favorite was Healing Aloe. It conjured something warm and gooey Phoebe could smear across her face while she sprawled in a hammock.
“I love the names,” her mother, Jane, had said when Phoebe shared her paint chips the evening before at her grandmother Elsie’s birthday party. It was after all the guests had left, and the family lingered in the kitchen, picking at the remains of the hors d’oeuvre trays. Perry had winced. “Tranquil Moments? Sounds like new-age voodoo nonsense, to me.”
“Now, that’s a paint name,” Jake had said.
Perry wasn’t totally off the mark. Phoebe’s life was so chaotic, it was no longer recognizable to her. She knew how ungrateful that sounded. For starters, she had the twins. Two healthy boys whose legs pumped beneath their sturdy frames as they careened through the suburban square of their Connecticut backyard. A husband, whom she’d not
only met and fallen in love with in college, but whom she remained deeply in love with, something her friends routinely commented on. Before starting their family, she’d worked as a copy editor for a local printing business, and Rob still worked for a marketing group. They’d bought their starter home, had kids, and unlike many of the couples they socialized with on the rare occasion when they weren’t too burnt out or busy, they were still stable and solid. But something had been missing, something that left Phoebe feeling edgy and itchy. It wasn’t being a stay-at-home mother, though that was exhausting and, in her opinion, far harder than her day job had been. It wasn’t anything about the boys, who were thriving. Or the husband, whom she adored. It was something else. Something that she needed yet could not name until that fateful fall day she stumbled across it while driving with the boys. It was a house.
In truth, she had not exactly stumbled across it. The lakeside cottage was a thing she’d admired since childhood. Back then, it had been the crisp white of new-fallen snow, its slate roof and cherry-red door bestowing upon it the air of a storybook cottage. Her childhood friend, Jessica, had lived three houses up on the same windy lakeside lane, and Phoebe had spent the better part of her elementary school years passing the house without giving it much thought. Until one summer day when the girls pulled their bikes up alongside the mailbox, which was teeming with soft pink balloons. “They just had a baby,” Jessica said. “Looks like a party.” Indeed, guests were arriving, arms laden with frilly gift boxes and wobbly Jell-O molds. A man in a seersucker suit walked by toting a giant stuffed giraffe. And there, on the front step, stood the young mother with the new baby swaddled against her floral dress. Phoebe had stared at the couple in their lush green yard, welcoming their well-dressed guests amid the haze of pink balloons, and thought to herself, That. That is what my future looks like.
The View from Here Page 2
