“I wasn’t so smart,” Cicily said. “Not like your dad, or your mother, either. It wasn’t so easy in those days for a woman to become a doctor and all. Even to get into that medical school! I think she got the highest scores on those tests they’d ever seen. And she’d already had a couple of babies. She was a tough lady, Dr. Rubin. I always admired her for that.”
Isabel sat with her hands around the sweating glass of tea, thinking about all the people over the years who had told her how much they admired her mother. Women whose babies she had delivered, nurses who had worked with her, old friends. Your mother made me feel like I could push that baby out, they said. Or, The only reason I got a job when Tommy went to school was because your mother made me see I could. Isabel had always let these remarks sweep through her, confident that she knew better. Now she said, “I never thought of her that way.”
Cicily laughed. “No,” she said. “You never did.”
A loud yowling started up in the yard, and the birds all went still on their perches. “Must be that darned cat,” Cicily said. She got up and went to the back door. “It’s been coming around all week. I don’t want to feed it, that will just encourage it. On the other hand, it’s half-starved. I can only think it’s been catching a sparrow or two to keep body and soul together.”
Isabel got up and stood beside Cicily. A small gray cat with a white paw sat by the door. Behind it, in the flight, a red-tailed hawk stood on a post, watching it. Cicily filled a bowl with milk and slipped it out onto the stoop, careful not to let a budgie hopping near the mat escape. The cat arched its back and stalked toward the bowl on cautious feet, as though worried that the milk, like a mouse, might get away.
When Cicily came back in, she looked tired. “Now I’ll have to take it to the SPCA and hope for the best,” she said, and sighed.
“I see the red-tail back there,” Isabel said. “What else do you have?”
“That one’s got a wing that never healed right. There’s a blue jay that was shot with a BB gun, and a crow on the mend.”
“Do you have room for another? I have a little owl that needs to be looked after for a week or two and then released.”
“Let’s take a look.” Cicily opened the box. “Lord, if he isn’t a prepossessing little fellow. Somebody didn’t want him for a pet, did they? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“How selfish and terrible people are,” Isabel said. She looked at the bright yellow eyes of the little owl and out the window in the direction of the blue jay that had been shot, and she thought of Theo, and Soren, and of Anthony, too. “No wonder you live alone.”
“I hardly call this alone,” Cicily said.
“You know what I mean.”
“The reason that I live without another person is that I haven’t found anyone yet to match Paul. Not even close. I’d rather be alone than settle for second best.”
“You used to tell us not to pin our hopes on a man,” Isabel said. “You used to say we should rely on ourselves.”
“Certainly. Rely on yourself. But I never told you not to recognize a good man if and when he came along!”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever met one of those,” Isabel said. “I only seem to meet the other kind.”
“I thought you got yourself married,” Cicily said.
“I did. I’ve been married for almost twelve years.” Twelve years, she thought.
“You hitched up young, then.”
“Like my parents,” Isabel said.
Cicily nodded.
“Now I’m getting divorced.” Isabel’s words felt cold and heavy in her mouth.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Cicily said. Just like that—as though Isabel had come home from school crying or run in from the backyard with a scrape on her leg. Isabel’s chest felt tight, the past and the present collapsing.
“My husband, Theo. He had an affair with Tina.”
Cicily’s eyes narrowed. “Your sister Tina?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, she was always grabbing, wasn’t she? That girl! Taking this, wanting that.”
“She says I shut her out,” Isabel said, beginning to cry now, at Cicily’s kitchen table covered with its clean, vinyl checked tablecloth. She pressed her hands to her eyes, remembering how Cicily used to hold her when she cried, and she half expected the strong arms to go around her now.
“You didn’t really shut her out too much,” Cicily said gently. “Not more than any older sister would have. Not as much as Alice did, that’s for sure.”
“Alice and Tina get along fine now.”
“Oldest and youngest,” Cicily said philosophically.
“Oh,” Isabel cried, feeling how much she had missed. “Oh, I wish we had stayed in touch!”
“We wrote a few letters back and forth, as I recall,” Cicily said. “And cards on your birthdays.”
“I missed you,” Isabel said. “I felt like you dropped off the face of the earth.” She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t wanted to accuse Cicily. But she waited tensely to hear how Cicily would respond.
Cicily nodded. “It was sudden,” she said. “With me and Paul. I was—distracted.”
“Love at first sight?” Isabel said dryly.
Cicily shook her head. “No,” she said, and an uncomfortable look settled over her face. “Well, this is how it was. I might as well tell you. I had known Paul for a long time before that. Only he was married.” She paused. “Well, we would see each other every now and again. He was a deacon at the church. That was where we got to know each other. He was tall and thin and strong! Worked in the lumberyard. The gentlest man, with a smile like an April morning. And her . . . well. I won’t talk about his wife, except to say she used to go and visit her sister for a week at a time down in Virginia, and we would see each other then.
“We both knew it was wrong. So we would stop, for a while. A month, half a year. Then, after a time, find ourselves starting back up again.” Her face looked different than Isabel ever remembered seeing it. Her sharp, evaluative certainty was gone, and in its place was an openness. Doubt. “And then one day his wife went to visit her sister, and she was killed in a car accident on the road. A van full of drunken teenagers hit her.” Cicily raised her brown, bright eyes to meet Isabel’s. “It was a terrible thing. But for me, it was a blessing. Paul and I hadn’t seen each other hardly at all for about a year at that time. I thought it was over. Dead. But suddenly, my whole life opened up before me.”
“Yes,” Isabel said.
“I was so happy,” Cicily said. “And I felt so sick about it, too! Sick about being happy about something like that. I think I did just disappear. I was so absorbed in my own life.”
“Of course you were,” Isabel said.
“I wasn’t thinking about you girls too much.”
“I’m glad you were happy.” Isabel reached across the table and took Cicily’s hands. They were thin and hard and rough, like a bird’s feet.
“You didn’t hardly seem to need me all that much,” Cicily said. “But I know sometimes children need you most when it seems they don’t. I knew that then, only I chose not to think about it.”
“I wish I could have met him,” Isabel said. “Paul.”
“I wish I could have had you all to the wedding. I thought of it, but it was just the two of us and our witnesses. Under the circumstances.”
“Of course,” Isabel said.
“Still, you would have liked him,” Cicily said. She leaned back in her chair. A parakeet that had been hopping along the rim of the table flitted onto her wrist and sat there, its head cocked, warbling. “Pretty little Mabel,” Cicily crooned softly, and ran her finger across its feathers.
Isabel thought Cicily might ask her more about her life, or her marriage, or what had happened with Tina. But she didn’t, and Isabel didn’t feel she could bring it up again. They chatted about the birds and the heat, and Cicily showed her the new bedroom set she had saved for, a cherrywood bed and a matching dresser and
a nightstand that was empty except for a lamp and the remote control for the television.
When Isabel left, Cicily walked her to the car. The gray cat leapt out from behind a tree and threw itself at Isabel’s ankles.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take him, honey,” Cicily said. “You’d be doing me a favor. Not to mention probably saving a life.”
Isabel knelt and ran her hand along the cat’s thin, bony, silken back. The word honey on Cicily’s lips melted her. “I don’t even have a place to live. What would I do with the poor thing?” she said.
“Or maybe you know somebody who would want him,” Cicily said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Isabel got off 95 and took the Schuylkill back into town, which brought her near Simon’s place. As she cruised down his block, half looking for a parking space and half deciding whether to stop, she saw him out in the yard playing football with his children. Simon tossed the ball high in the air. The boys watched it with a competitive intensity, then threw themselves on it as it bounced in the weeds. They were like small wild animals, cute from a distance but not, Isabel knew, to be underestimated. She parked the car and picked up the cat. She could feel the ribs under its fur as it pawed her shirt.
If Simon was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. His cheeks were flushed from the game, his hair askew. “Boys, say hello to Isabel,” he told them.
“Hello!” Ethan yelled, more to the football than to her, as he threw it hard against the fence and flung himself after it.
Bill walked up to her and glared. “Where’s my owl? When are you bringing him back?”
Isabel looked at him, scowling and dirty, holding himself awkwardly as though his limbs were growing faster than he could get used to them. He was going to be tall, like his father. “Owls weren’t bred to be pets,” she said.
She thought he might yell, but he said nothing. His pale face got a little paler, and he went and stood next to his father. Simon put his arm around him.
“I took him to someone who can get him ready to be released,” she said. “Someone trained to do that. She’ll teach him how to hunt so he can survive in the wild.”
“A rehabber,” Bill said.
“That’s right.”
“What’s a rehabber?” Simon asked.
Isabel waited for Bill to explain, but he didn’t. He slipped out from under his father’s arm and walked stiffly into the house.
“Hey, where you going?” Ethan yelled after him.
“Bill!” Simon called. But Bill ignored them both and let the screen door slam.
Ethan hurried after his brother. “Hey, Bill!” he yelled again.
“Ethan, leave him alone!” Simon said, but Ethan was gone. The screen door slammed a second time. “Never mind,” Simon called to the silent face of the house. “Do whatever you want!” He turned back to Isabel and shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“He’ll get over it.” He picked up the football and tossed it disconsolately in the air.
“I don’t know if there’s any chance that you would be interested in this cat? It’s looking for a home. I know it’s not exactly the same.”
Simon looked at the gray sack of bones in Isabel’s arms. “Does it catch mice?” he said. “The house is infested with them.”
“Probably.”
He stepped toward her and scratched the cat behind the ears. Close up she could smell his hair, and the cotton of his Flyers T-shirt, and the grassy scent of his Saturday afternoon sweat. The top of her head just reached his chin. The cat purred and turned its head to bring Simon’s fingers to the perfect spot. “Thank you,” he said. “That was thoughtful.”
“Only you have to take him to a vet and get him looked over. He might have worms, or feline leukemia.”
“Can’t you examine him?” Simon said.
“They need to do a blood test,” Isabel said. “Take him.” She leaned forward to transfer the cat into his arms. For a moment they made a cave together over the animal, their arms touching, Simon’s shoulder against her hair. Then Isabel stepped back. “I got your e-mail,” she said.
Simon rubbed his cheek against the top of the cat’s head, cradling it like a baby. “Oh, God,” he said. “I hoped maybe it had disappeared into cyberspace. The moment I clicked the button I wished I hadn’t sent it. I know I said some terrible things, but I’ve been trying hard not to remember what they were.”
“It was fine,” Isabel said. “I was more defensive than I needed to be. Or more offensive. I understand that you had good intentions.”
“I’m hopelessly interfering.” He laughed unhappily. “Marla used to say I was like one of those dogs. You know, Newfoundlands. They use them to rescue injured swimmers, but they don’t know when to stop. They’re always coming up to you in the water and dragging you back to shore, whether you need rescuing or not.”
“You care about people,” Isabel said. “That’s very nice.”
“I was stupid about the owl. I appreciate your finding someone to take care of it.”
“Anyone might have done what you did. I don’t have children. I don’t know what it’s like to see them unhappy. I had no right to say what I did.”
“Hey,” Simon said, “I’m a news guy. I can handle the truth.”
They stood awkwardly in the yard, each embarrassed by the other’s apology, neither one of them able to move the conversation back to more neutral ground. Isabel felt that her words sounded false and insufficient, but she didn’t know what else to say. They were both grateful when Ethan came banging back out of the house, yelling, “Dad! Bill locked himself in his room again! I told him you said he couldn’t do that, but he’s ignoring me!” Then, catching sight of what his father was holding, he said, “Hey, what’s that?”
“It’s our new dog,” Simon deadpanned. “Like it?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was after six when Isabel got back to Devon. She parked the car and let herself in as quietly as she could, but instead of the mournful, hushed atmosphere she had expected, voices and laughter drifted down the hall from the living room. She went in and found her parents and Alice drinking champagne out of the glasses Dr. Rubin’s mother had brought with her from Germany. Isabel couldn’t remember ever seeing them used before.
“Isabel!” her mother exclaimed. “Sweetheart! Come in, where have you been? Have you heard the news?” She wore a pink robe over her nightgown, and her feet were bone white in fuzzy pink slippers. Prince lay on the rug at her feet, panting alertly.
“What news?” Isabel said.
“He’s getting a divorce! An official, legal, legitimate divorce! Isn’t it wonderful? William, pour Isabel some champagne.”
“But what happened?” Isabel asked, sitting down and taking the glass from her father.
“I always knew he was a reasonable man. His great-grandfather was my grandmother’s uncle. They had a margarine factory outside of Heidelberg, and a house by the river.”
Seeing that she was unlikely to get any useful information out of her mother, Isabel turned to Alice.
“He just seems to have seen the light,” Alice said. “Tina called about an hour ago to tell us.”
Why was anyone surprised? Isabel thought. Didn’t Tina always get what she wanted, in the end? If Soren Zank was what she wanted, Isabel wished her luck.
“Didn’t she sound happy?” Dr. Rubin said. “You could hear it in her voice. I must say it’s gratifying to see things work out so well. What’s more important than finding someone to love and starting a family? Surely you and I, William, for all our professional achievements, are proudest of our girls!” She picked up Prince and stroked him, and he licked her face affectionately with his small pink tongue.
Judge Rubin looked pleased as well, but he couldn’t let go of his skepticism entirely. “What really persuaded him, that’s what I’d like to know,” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘really’?” Dr. Rubin said.
“I mean that a sud
den conversion for no apparent reason is suspicious. I asked Tina if the wife had agreed to take less, but she said not.”
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Dr. Rubin said.
“Dad,” Alice said, “is it so hard to believe that after a few days to think it over, Soren wanted to do the right thing?”
“Marriage,” Judge Rubin said, “is a serious business that requires as much patience, perseverance, and application as any career. Whether either your sister or her Romeo is capable of such sustained effort remains to be seen.”
“Really, William,” Dr. Rubin said impatiently. “You make marriage sound like digging the Panama Canal!”
Alice stood up and reached for her handbag. “Good night, everyone.”
“Where are you going?” Dr. Rubin said. “We haven’t eaten yet.”
“I have a date.”
“A date! With whom? Oh, Alice, I knew you’d bounce back!”
Alice smiled. “I’m going salsa dancing with Marco.”
Dr. Rubin was caught off guard. “Marco?” she said. “Marco the gardener?” The dog, sensing her change of mood, jumped down and growled, dilating its black nose to catch a scent of the intruder he couldn’t see.
“Oh, Evelyn,” Judge Rubin said. “Let the girl be happy if she can.”
CHAPTER FORTY
After dinner, since Alice had taken the Civic, Judge Rubin gave Isabel a ride back into the city. “You’re going to need to get a car,” he said as they crossed the river.
“Eventually.”
“I know someone who has a dealership. He has some good secondhand things available.” Isabel didn’t answer. They drove for a while in silence, and then Judge Rubin said, “And you can’t live with your sister forever, either. If you don’t want the Quince Street house, you’ll have to find an apartment. If Theo is giving you a hard time about money, I hope you’ll let me know.”
Isabel looked at her father, but in the dark his expression was hard to read. He spoke in his usual dry, neutral voice, but the acceptance of her situation his words implied made it difficult for her to speak. When she felt ready to match his steady tone, she said, “I’ll be all right.”
This Side of Married Page 21
