Читать книгу The Family Album - Kerry Kelly - Страница 5

The roses on the nightstand gently bobbed their over-bloomed heads, lulled by the steady vibration of Jennifer’s foot tapping on the hardwood floor. As angry as she was, it still registered somewhere in the back of her mind that she’d need to be replacing them soon. She could never seem to turn it off, her eye for order, though she found it exhausting.

“So she just hopped in a cab and went over there … all on her own? This is what you are saying to me?”

“Yes. For the fortieth time, yes. That is what I am saying to you,” Tom replied in that infuriatingly patronizing way of his. Lately there had hardly been a conversation where he wasn’t either badgering her like a hostile witness or treating her like some sort of dim-witted charity case who’d garnered his sympathy.

She knew the story backwards and forwards, at least as much as he had been willing to share. She’d memorized every fact and minute detail, looking for any change in the timeline, any added snippets of conversation, and for hours now they had all been rolling around in her head like billiard balls on the felt, but she just couldn’t sink one. It simply made no sense. Abby going AWOL from school — God knows what could have happened to her — and ending up at his ex-wife’s house. And then, after a decade of Cynthia basically ignoring her existence, Abby was invited right on in for breakfast, no problems. Tom racing over to pick her up and then deciding it would be great to catch up over coffee like all of a sudden everyone had just decided to make up, everything forgiven and best of friends? And finally the whole stupefying idea of sending Abby over there again for some sort of bizarre after-school writing workshops? Who the hell suggested that? And why had the other agreed? Jennifer had heard it all, but she could not accept what she’d heard. She could not see past the craziness of it, or her growing anger. By the time three hours had passed, she had settled into a quiet and dangerous kind of furious tempered only by confusion and exhaustion, and the fact that they were going to be late for a dinner party.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Jennifer thought that, if nothing else, she could take comfort in the fact that at least she was dressed the part of the happy wife and expectant guest. Dress for the job you want, her mother had always told her. She was aware of the fact that she was beautiful. She was one of the lucky, vain ones who could truly believe it. The knowledge often gave her strength in difficult or stressful times, probably more often than it should have, but tonight it had no effect on her, and she sat on the edge of the bed in her tastefully expensive dress and an agitated silence punctuated with the occasional questions or declarations of disbelief, because she just could not fathom that this was how her evening had turned out. It was so unlike the way she had foolishly allowed herself to imagine when she’d walked in the door at the end of the day to find Tom and Abby snuggled together in a blanket on the couch, watching one of Ben’s idiotic sports-disaster movies and laughing hysterically.

Then she hadn’t been the slightest bit upset — even as she took in that Tom was wearing sweatpants and surrounded by a sea of dirty dishes with all of her expensive silk throw pillows tossed amid other random junk scattered from the kitchen to the living room. She had even bitten back her comments at evidence that the perfectly assembled tray of appetizers she had so painstakingly created earlier was going to need a major reno. She loved watching the two of them together and was thrilled to think that Tom had managed to extricate himself from his office duties to spend a little time with his daughter before the adults headed out for the evening.

Tom had been working so much lately. To see him there relaxed at home was worth the mess. In fact, at that moment, if Jennifer was the type of woman to allow herself the luxury of self-reflection, she would have considered herself perfectly content. And it was not a state she often found herself in.

It had been very short-lived, lasting only up until she broke the spell by asking what they were up to, to find they’d been in that same position for hours and that Abby hadn’t gone to school that day, or more correctly, that she had decided not to stay there. It was further eroded when she learned of the reason. Her ten-year-old daughter had stolen money from her purse, said goodbye to her mother with a straight face, before walking away from the schoolyard, not telling a soul, and hopping into a car with a strange man to travel to a neighbourhood she knew nothing about — to spend the morning with Cynthia Wilkes, of all people. For someone whose entire life experience up to this point could be the textbook example of the cautionary cliché “expect the worst,” Jennifer was surprised that she could still have those rare moments of naive optimism push their way through the weeds of reality, blooming so briefly, delicate and lovely. She always felt so betrayed when she couldn’t keep herself from thinking that they might survive.

But the final blow was to learn that this bad, so extremely dangerous and unacceptable behaviour, the lying and the risk, had been practically endorsed by her husband — who hadn’t even bothered to call her when he found out about it. Who had since said nothing to their daughter about her actions, except making some vague statement to “follow your heart, but use your head next time” while plying her with attention and crappy food, leaving Jennifer in shock and without any forewarning to play the heavy and send Abby fleeing to her room in tears as she aimed a series of “I hate yous” like tiny daggers straight into Jennifer’s heart.

“So she just went there and spent the morning with your ex-wife. And you just think this is all fine and dandy?”

“No, of course not. But what do you want me to do, crucify her? She’s ten and she’s precocious and she was curious, that’s all. She has been asking questions, you know that, and you know it was hard on her having Matthew go back to school this year. It’s lonely being an only child, especially one who is too smart for her own good. I think she just wanted to see where the other kids spend their time.”

Abby had been asking questions, more and more lately. The other day he had found her rooting through the bottom shelves in his office where he kept some old albums, not hidden exactly, but kept discreetly out of Jennifer’s view. He knew that Abigail had flipped through them before from the times that he had done the same, but he had never offered her the chance to do it with him.

In a way Tom knew this whole escapade was his fault. He had up till now neatly avoided any conversations his daughter attempted to broach on the subject of Cynthia and his previous life. Cynthia had been the central piece of that life, his memories for so long — they’d met as kids — but out of respect for Jennifer, he had made almost his entire childhood an off-limits area for the girl. He did it even though he knew she was burning with questions, and that she probably had a right to be. A father’s history isn’t his alone, no matter how much he’d like to keep it that way, or to try to rewrite or erase it. The truth was, he hadn’t been protecting Jennifer as much as Abby or himself. He wanted desperately to keep her unaware, for a little longer, for as long as he could, about the nature of her birth and the foundations of their current family structure, wanting to hold on to the one member of the family who still might consider him a bit of a hero.

But she was too smart and the questions had been getting too precise and more frequent. He should have dealt with it instead of letting her take matters into her own hands. Instead, he let her make the choices. He knew that she had made dangerous ones, and he was just living with the fallout. It was sort of a pattern with him.

“Now she has seen the place, and met their mom, you know that she listens to Cynthia’s show, even though she thinks its some kind of crime. She probably thinks Cyn’s some kind of celebrity, and kids get a kick out of that. We have never really told her it’s okay for her to talk about it, and let’s face it, we don’t think it is. So now it’s done and she is home and safe and no worse off for it except for a tongue-lashing — well-deserved — and a little too much sugar.” Abby was being raised on the low-sugar, low-fat, low-preservative, low-taste diet Jennifer enforced to keep herself thin, her daughter healthy, and her aging husband alive long enough to see Abby through college. His other kids complained bitterly.

“I cannot believe that woman feeds her kids that trash. Toaster tarts? Why didn’t she just give her arsenic? She probably did.” It was a ridiculous thing to say and Jennifer knew it, but there had to be some way that Cynthia was at fault in some of this. The only innocent bystander as far as Jennifer was concerned was herself.

“Well, it’s not like Cyn was expecting her, you know. We should just be thankful she was even there to take her in.” This he said fully aware of the risk he took in defending the other Wilkes woman.

“Oh, that’s right, Saint Cynthia. Mother to the world’s children,” Jennifer hissed, but the tirade was cut short when another wave of very real panic suddenly swept over her. “She could have been kidnapped or killed or something.”

“She wasn’t.”

“Anything could have happened to her, Tom. Do you not get that? This is not some small town.”

“It didn’t.”

But Tom got it. As calm as he was trying to be for the both of them now, by the time he’d arrived at Cynthia’s place, he had been near panic himself thinking of all of the things that could have gone wrong with this seemingly innocent introduction. He was in such a state of impotent rage and euphoric relief that when he saw Abby sitting safe in Cynthia’s kitchen, he was filled with an almost irresistible urge to slap her. He couldn’t explain it now; he’d only ever experienced it once before years ago, when a five-year-old Matthew, not paying attention to the warnings, had run and slipped off the edge of the dock at the cottage one early spring, scaring them both senseless. The smack had surprised the little boy but hadn’t seemed to have held a lasting effect, though after seeing the look on his face, Tom had not believed he could ever hit one of his kids again and be able look them in the eye.

Seeing the look he was giving Abigail, Cynthia had sprung into action and managed, in that seemingly effortless way she possessed, to defuse the situation, physically standing between father and daughter, soothing him as well as Abby, who had started crying when he burst into the kitchen. As Cynthia calmly recounted her understanding of the morning’s events, she offered to make them all something hot to drink, guiding Tom firmly to a chair as his adrenaline ebbed and he felt his knees about to give way.

The three sat there for over an hour. Abby spoke shyly to her father, trying to explain why she’d made such an ill-planned and dangerous trip. Cynthia assured them that while the visit had been very unexpected and was certainly not something she would ever advise Abby to try again on her own, that she was impressed with the girl’s writing and the girl as well.

Tom took this in, too overwhelmed to do more than sit in a grateful silence, simply nodding and sipping his tea, allowing Cynthia to carry the conversation. This led to a discussion about why she was home that day and what was going on at work. He had been following the work stoppage — anyone archaic enough to still opt to listen to the radio while in the car had to be somewhat aware of it — but he hadn’t known how to ask how Cynthia was coping without it coming down to an awkward conversation about money and support payments. She didn’t need for anything, she’d have assured him, a fact he was already well aware of.

They also chatted about the other kids, bringing Matt home for the holidays, and Julia’s school applications. She asked after his mother and he her parents, who had all retired to the same small town where Tom grew up and Cynthia had spent her summers. They managed, miraculously, not to stumble on any of the unpleasant, taboo, and hot-button topics strewn like mines in their typical conversations. This was especially impressive, as the most volatile of these was embodied in the curly-headed girl sitting between them, sipping on instant hot chocolate and hanging on every word.

As awful as it had started and as awkward as it still managed to be, Tom was sorry when he noticed his cup was empty. It was one of the best conversations he’d had with his ex-wife, with anyone for that matter, in a very long time. There had once been a time in his life when he had been able to talk for hours, until the sun came up. Not proselytize or argue or debate, but actually think and talk and discuss, conversations that filled you up instead of draining you.

It felt as though they had stumbled back onto a familiar rhythm they had once followed so effortlessly. This was the part of the story Tom had not relayed to Jennifer, though he was sure that, even unspoken, it was the part making her so angry. He was feeling calm and serene and curious about the day, and he knew she could sense it and did not understand, and how could he possibly explain it?

“I know how scary this is for you, and how bad it could have been. I do understand it. But nothing bad did happen. Aren’t you thankful for that? Trust me, after the way you went at her, I don’t think Abby will be planning any solo cab rides in the near future.” He had meant to lighten the mood, but as so often seemed to be the case these days, he had misread it entirely, and he actually heard the thud as Jennifer sprang up from the bed.

“How I went at her? Right. How terrible of me to be a parent. If it was up to you, next time she’ll take the car? Oh no, wait, since they are going to be email pals now, I guess she’ll be able to just drop her a line whenever she feels like it and ask her to come pick her up!”

This was in reference to what without a doubt had been the worst decision Tom had made that day, he decided. As they were leaving Cynthia’s, Abby, so wonderfully, childishly oblivious to adult subtext, and obviously quite thrilled to see how well everyone had gotten along, had decided she’d been wrong to think that there had ever been an issue about getting to know Cynthia. Her initial plan, which even to her had seemed a bit unlikely to ever come to pass, now seemed less unreasonable, so she made the bold move of inquiring when she would be able to come back for her next “lesson.”

Tom, who knew this to be an absolute non-option from his wife’s perspective, assumed that it would be for Cynthia as well and was shocked to hear her say that it was something Abby would have to check with her parents about, and they could let her know. She’d gone on to say that in the meantime, if Abby ever wanted to send her some writing to take a look at, she’d be happy to do it.

This could have been nothing more that a magnanimous gesture from the non-parent passing the bad news buck, but somehow to Tom it didn’t seem that way, and he was touched by the interest Cynthia was showing in his daughter. It seemed more than simply polite to him, and he thought he still knew her well enough to tell. He found himself strangely proud to find a chance to show Abby off, a way of somehow proving that he could make something good on his own, that Abby had been worth it.

As Abby began to explain that she wasn’t allowed to use the Internet yet, he heard himself promising to make her an email account just for this educational purpose and agreeing to talk to her mother when they got home about the occasional in-person visit. In spite of, or maybe because of Abby’s delight, regret started to rear its head before he’d even put his key in the ignition.

That regret would have been felt even more keenly if he had been standing in the bedroom with his wife that moment. Now, with her arms crossed and the squint in her icy blue eyes, Jennifer cut a surprisingly imposing figure for someone who in her heyday was commonly referred to as a living Barbie doll. But Tom couldn’t see her. He just sighed wearily and turned on the shower, hoping to drown her out and steal a little peace. This had been an unexpected day for him too, but with all the harping and multi-generational estrogen pumping, he hadn’t really taken any time to deal with it.

From safe within his warm-water cocoon, he was spared the sight of Jennifer storming over to pick up the clock on the nightstand, its big hand pointing to the top of the dial, the little hand on the seven. She set it back down, cursing, and the delicate roses shook again even harder. She bounced around the bedroom, yanking out suit jackets and socks as though these few actions would somehow change the fact that they were now, without a doubt, going to be obscenely late.

Tom also knew they were late. And he knew it was his fault. First forgetting they had plans at all and sending away the after-school sitter, forcing Jennifer to call, apologize, and ask her back. Then the admittedly rather immature handling of the whole thing with Abby, as well as his absolutely immature refusal to get ready until Jennifer was nearly in tears asking him to — not that she hadn’t been in tears the whole damn time she was home. He also knew he was going to be paying for this tardiness for the rest of the evening.

Still, after all the useless, stupid bickering since she had walked in the front door, Tom smiled at the thought of her wandering around the bedroom aimlessly checking the seams of her dress and the curl in her hair while she waited for him. The smile widened when he remembered her exasperated look as she pleaded for him to “hurry the hell up.” She was not a woman worth fighting with about these kinds of things, because what she lacked in his brand of reasoning, she made up for in lung capacity. So, as usual, he decided to opt out and just luxuriate for a minute under the warm, steady pressure of the water. It felt somehow like a victory. He didn’t stay long, though, because it also felt like he was being a real prick.

He emerged from the bathroom and dressed in the sweater she’d laid out for him, wearing the cologne she always bought for him. She was fiddling in her jewellery box trying to act like she hadn’t been pacing the entire time. Walking up behind her to grab his suit jacket, he caught her eye in the mirror and came to stand beside her. She was still so very beautiful. And even though he was older, with the grey in his hair less the appetizer than the main course, he thought he was holding his own.

They made a striking couple, if not at that moment a happy-looking one. Currently they resembled some modernist revision of American Gothic; no smiles, stern eyes. He thought that was pretty clever but bit back the thought before it popped out of his mouth. It was not the time for jokes, he remembered; not nearly time for them to be friends again. As they passed Abby’s room, Jennifer opened the door a sliver just to say goodnight but received only a snuffled “G’night DAD” in return for her trouble.

At the car, Tom got into the driver’s seat, though they were taking her car, and by the end of the night, if history was any indication, it would be obvious that he would be in no condition to drive home. Even though dinner was at her friends’ house, a place he’d never been. It was what she expected, and it was the least he could do. He circled around to open her door as she grasped her elegant appetizer, now more of an apology than an offering. The guests would be far too hungry to care about it by the time they arrived. He looked at the assortment, newly arranged on a silver tray, and even through the excessive layers of cling wrap, it was a pretty display.

Tom, now somewhat ashamed of his earlier behaviour, became more so when they pulled onto the highway to find traffic backed up forever. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her yank out her cell phone and construct her apologies, punching them out on the keyboard pad. His fingers mimicked the action, tapping steadily on the steering wheel.

Seconds later the phone rang and Jennifer picked it up, her voice bright and caustic. “I know. I know. Ha ha. Sooo sorry. Had a crazy day with Abby, wait until I tell you, unbelievable. Yes. I know. I told him we were going to be late again, how could we not be when he never steps into the shower until I’m almost apoplectic with rage about the fact that we are most certainly going to be late? Ha ha. They’re all the same, I know. Okay, we are on our way. Oh yes, yes sure go ahead and start, we totally understand. Bye.”

Tom saw the disappointment spread across her face, then the resignation. He knew that she had tried to make this a nice night for them, a chance for them to get out together. She tried so hard at everything, too damn hard. He felt bad for her, and sorry for himself as well. He was hungry and his eyes searched in the rearview mirror for the tray in the back seat, knowing it would be mutiny to suggest another taste, even though the meal was apparently about to begin without them. He could see the condensation beading on its surface, the delicate asparagus wilting, smothered by layers of protective plastic wrap.

Jennifer hung up and said nothing. Tom, angry at being the butt of her little hen party jokes, filled the silence. “You bring it on yourself, you know. You’ve raised the getting ready stakes to the point where anything less than an amber alert meltdown on your end makes dressing a pale, unexciting task stripped of all sexy danger and risk.”

He didn’t know why he’d said it. Ostensibly he could say he had wanted to cut the tension, but as soon as it came out of his mouth, he know he’d just dug his hole a little deeper.

She didn’t even look at him. She couldn’t. It was just little joke, she knew, exactly the kind of idiot line he threw out when he was feeling guilty or defensive, but she still couldn’t believe he’d said it. After all the crap he had put her through that night, jokes were just cruel and insensitive. And he wouldn’t stop. She wanted to hit him.

She hated him sometimes. At first that had surprised her, more than that it had terrified her, to realize how much she could despise him. It was a feeling far beyond offence, or distaste, a real, intense, and passionate hate. It made her sad beyond measure to think about it, even though she knew it was a common feeling between spouses. Her friends even laughed about it. “Two sides of the same coin are love and hate,” they would say. Or something like that. Something vaguely literary that made them sound clever and always made her feel stupid and inadequate. “We can’t imagine why you’d think you two would be above it.”

But her friends hadn’t started their marriages by breaking up another one. They didn’t get their engagement rings because they were asking for two. Their unions weren’t based on the fact that another woman had bowed out of the race. And that made a difference. You knew from the beginning that people were capable of doing things they swore they never would. Or that the line between doing what you wanted and making do was paper-thin. Seeing for yourself how the strongest bonds could snap, it made you careful, very careful.

Tonight she also despised her friends, people who had always been there to feed on her misery and the scandals, and who were always willing to share their best gossip about anyone’s problems as long as they were out of earshot, but who refused to hold dinner for an hour so you could enjoy it with them.

“Screw it,” Jennifer said quietly. “Screw them, and screw you. Just take me home.”

“Jen, we are already on the highway, it won’t take that long.”

“I said, take me home.”

“Listen. I’m sorry, okay. I know I’ve been a bit of an ass tonight.”

“Just take me home. Now. Please.” With that Jennifer closed her eyes and rested her head against the glass. Tom turned on the radio and looked for the next exit, understanding that her mind was made up.

“Okay.”

When they pulled up in front of the house, Jennifer told him to wait in the car so he could take the sitter home before she disappeared inside. By the time he’d dropped the girl off, with a full night’s pay and a fancy veggie tray by way of apology for the repeated inconveniences, and made it home, the lights were all off downstairs. In no rush to head up, he cobbled together a meal from the fridge and poured himself a good stiff drink. When he finally climbed the stairs, he peeked into Abby’s room, knowing he would find the two of them together, Abby, forgiving in sleep, curled up in Jennifer’s arms.

They both looked young and fragile like that. He remembered the months when Jennifer was pregnant with Abby. How hellish and heartbreaking it had been at home, but also how he and Jennifer had come together under all of that pressure and judgment and committed to making a home for their child. She had been so scared and told him how much she needed him. And it had felt so good to be needed, to be able to fix something. To be the one who could soothe her in the night, his arms strong around her, her forehead pressed tightly into his chest, breathing in her clean scent.

That scent was how he fell for her in the first place. She smelled of soap, not passion fruit or eucalyptus or roses, just plain old bar soap. It was what had disarmed him against her other womanly charms. The ones a married man knew to watch out for, at least a man not looking to ruin his life: too much leg or breast exposed, long hair, and longer eyelashes. But her scent was so clean and good. Virtuous. He just couldn’t get enough of it. And when he’d first been with her and she would come fresh out of the shower, her face bare and glowing and her hair all piled up in a towel exposing that expanse of skin between her shoulder blades and up to the nape of her neck, he was intoxicated. That smell could right the world’s wrongs. And it caused a number of them as well.

It had been such a heady time when they were first together. He thought that even then he knew there was no coming back from the infidelity, even if Jennifer hadn’t gotten pregnant. She offered him something that Cynthia couldn’t ever have. Cynthia was too focused, too confident, and too strong. She could live without him and he’d known that even before she had had to prove it. He had resented her for it. It was never really that she was successful at what she did, no matter what people thought. He had never wanted her to be less. He loved her and was so proud of her for all she was and what she’d done, but somehow in comparison he’d always felt less. Then Jennifer had come along, so beautiful and smart, though she didn’t know it, so young and seductive and in love with him. It had made him feel strong and like a real man, if not a good one. He knew the first time he asked her for a drink after work that he had crossed a line, and he knew that to risk all he had with Cynthia was both unthinkable and inevitable, because a man never feels more powerful, more godlike than when actively destroying his own life. He had called it “living.” Being with Jennifer had made him feel alive, so he dove in, hoping in his way that it would all work out in the end.

And maybe it had. But when he’d first heard about the baby, he had been devastated. His love for Cynthia was not something that had ever been in question, not even now. He had been bored and felt neglected, and on the surface was a little jealous of the attention she was getting for her work, the time it was demanding of her. His affair, as exciting, lusty, and erotic as it was, was always supposed to come to an end. Even when the fear that his actions would be the undoing of his life with Cynthia and the kids became a reality, he still could not face it. And when Jennifer had told him she wanted to keep the baby, the first thing he had said to her was that he wished she wouldn’t.

It was something he regretted the first time he saw Abby’s heart beating on a monitor at the hospital, and something he had not been able to forget or forgive himself for since. That moment, his first introduction to his little girl, was also the moment he knew whatever the cost to him, and so heartbreakingly to those around him, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Even at the expense of his marriage, even if it meant hurting his other children, the ones he had welcomed from the beginning.

He’d stood by Jennifer when she was so frightened and so very much alone. And she let him be there for her, let him take control and make the decisions about how they were going to be a family. In doing that, in believing he was capable of making this life for both of them, she have given Tom the chance to become a better man than he’d been before. She had made him better, a better man, and he knew it. For that, and for Abby, he was grateful to her. And he did love her and he was sorry that the comfort she needed right now, she didn’t want from him.