A Slender Thread (20 page)

Margot remembered Alex's hand shaking slightly when he handed her the papers requiring her signature. Margot had signed quickly, feeling uncomfortable. Had it been the topic of money or the fact that Alex had known about her finances that made her uncomfortable? Or was it due to being alone with him?

Margot stared out at the grimy snowbanks along the highway. How different this was from the late fall weather during her last visit. Today on the bus, she had envied the other passengers on their way to New Hampshire. For them it might have been just an ordinary winter afternoon as the bus rolled northward. One woman had brought out her knitting, and worked on what looked to be a baby's sweater, perhaps for a grandchild. Several people read newspapers, others fat paperback novels. An older man dozed peacefully behind her, awakened now and again by his own snores. Yet they too might be arriving to their own troubles, their own particular sorrows, hidden behind their complacent expressions.

Margot swallowed. She loosened the scarf at her neck. “How are things going?” she asked. The car was warm.

“There's no real change. We had another meeting with her neurologist in Boston. He said she might consider some speech therapy in the spring.”

“Would that help?” Margot asked, relieved to finally be talking about the problem.

“There are ways of making it easier for her to link words. Different coping mechanisms to ease fluency. At least for now.”

For now. How grim he sounded. “What about learning sign language?”

“Too difficult. If this progresses further . . .” He paused. They had come to a red light. “If it gets worse, all language deteriorates. Sign language is its own language. She wouldn't be capable of that.”

“Oh, my God,” Margot said. The enormity of Lacey's illness hit her once again. Eventually, Lacey would have no way of communicating her thoughts, her needs. She would become out of reach to them, shut inside herself. Margot's stomach flipped over in fear. Alex had said “if,” but the terrifying question was when.

Alex sighed. The light changed to green. He moved his foot to the gas pedal. His thigh was still long and thin. She remembered his skinny boy body, the way he looked wet from a swim long ago at Bow Lake—Alex out on the raft, his eyes following Lacey as she dove in to swim back to the dock, Lacey emerging from the blue water and calling back to him, urging him to race her to shore.

They reached the streets of downtown Portsmouth. Pedestrians hunched forward, buffeted by the wind. It was nearly evening. The decorative holiday wreaths that dangled from the light posts looked tattered. Margot wondered when the city would take the decorations down. They couldn't last long in the harsh winter storms.

“On the plus side,” he said, “she's weaving a lot. She spends hours in her studio.”

“Good,” Margot said, struck by the fact that she too had started to spend more time drawing this winter and, just recently, painting. Initially the brush in her hand had felt awkward. It was like being a first grader coping with a newly sharpened pencil and trying to keep the letters between the rigid lines of that funny school paper. Art was an escape for her. Maybe it was for Lacey, too.

“She also joined a gym,” he said. “Now with the snow she can't run outside. She seems to crave exercise.”

Margot pictured Alex on his bike. At Thanksgiving he had gone out every day, even after the weather turned cold. “What about your biking?”

“Not happening these days,” he said. “When the snow's gone, there's ice and of course the dark. I'm okay.”

Alex didn't look okay. He looked pale, somewhat gaunt, as if his skin had been stretched across his face. His Adam's apple protruded. Sitting in the car so close to him, Margot thought she detected tension in his jaw. He looked both angry and vulnerable in the waning light. It was obvious that Lacey was not the only one suffering.

“How are the girls?” she asked.

“Wink was home sick. Maybe the flu. She's better now. Still, it was a lousy way to start the new year. She missed the first few days of school and she hates falling behind. She takes after me. Worrying is her best subject.”

“And Toni?”

“Out with Ryan all the time. Lacey's annoyed because she hasn't finished her essays for the college applications.” He glanced quickly at Margot. “Toni will get them done. She works better closer to a deadline. She didn't catch Wink's flu, but she's been unusually withdrawn lately. It's like she knows something's up. That's why we have to tell them what's wrong.”

“Lacey must know that.”

“She won't talk about it.” Alex drew his mouth into a tight line. They crossed the first causeway leading to the island. “I thought couples grew closer in difficult situations,” he said. “Every time we talk about it we start to argue. We never used to fight.”

“I'm so sorry,” Margot said, remembering how she and Oliver had argued when she decided to cancel her trip to California. They had returned to the apartment after their dinner at Nice Matin and gone to bed without speaking. That had never happened before. The next morning when she started to explain how she felt, he had snapped at her, “You've made up your mind. I don't want to talk about it.”

Since the Christmas holidays Oliver no longer lingered at home in the morning while she sipped her tea. He left the apartment for his studio with no indication of when he might return. More books on mythology had appeared on the living room coffee table, and after dinner each evening, he would bury himself in the ancient stories. Margot didn't mind too much. She had learned to recognize when he was in one of his intensely creative spells. She also went more often to her old apartment in the early mornings before going to the gallery to work. Her drawing was improving and it helped to keep her mind off Lacey's situation.

But after their argument at Nice Matin, Oliver and Margot had spoken only briefly, and then only when absolutely necessary: she asking him if he had anything for the dry cleaner, he letting her know that he would be late on Thursday and to eat without him, she telling him that the plumber was coming back again to try to fix the drip in the bathtub. Once, she had tried to initiate a conversation by asking his opinion on a controversial article in
Art News.
He told her he hadn't had time to think about it. Another evening she set out a large wedge of his favorite cheese, Saint André. He helped himself without remarking on it. It had been a miserable week.

Oliver's silence had upset her. The atmosphere in their apartment was unfamiliar. Margot knew she had brought about this change. She felt exposed and raw, as if she'd lost a protective layer of skin. Oliver's withdrawal made her feel fragile, almost like she was going to get sick. Yet part of her was annoyed at Oliver. She had made a choice, maybe the wrong one, but he didn't have to be in such a snit. Why couldn't he just get over it? Rather than argue further, Margot said nothing.

He had been quiet in the taxi to the airport. Soon the entire breadth of the country would be between them. Then, while the cab hurtled over the Triboro Bridge, Oliver reached for her hand. “You okay?” His familiar grip reassured her. She nodded and stared out the window as the city skyline grew distant. When the driver reached her terminal, Oliver spoke again. “I love you, Mags.” She kissed him, fumbled briefly with the door handle, and hurried inside to catch her flight.

Now, in Alex's car, Margot stared at the passing scenery. The Piscataqua River looked turbulent and uninviting. There were few boats at this time of year. She knew the area so well, but on this visit she had the strong feeling that this was not where she belonged. Alex passed the New Castle post office and the white Congregational church at the center of the village. They were five minutes from the house. “I'm so relieved you're here,” he said, breaking the silence.

Margot pulled at a loose thread in her scarf. It was a pale blue one that Lacey had woven for her several winters ago. “I'm not sure what I can do,” she said. The image of her sister arguing with Alex was unpleasant. She was uneasy about entering this controversy. Margot had always agreed with Lacey. She couldn't recall ever having to take opposing sides, not in anything that really mattered.

“I hope you can get through to her. Now that she's sick it's harder to talk to her. I don't want to upset her. I don't want to leave for Chicago without letting the girls know what's wrong. Maybe if Lacey hears it from you, Margot, she'll agree.” He lifted his shoulders and released them, as if trying to shake off a burden. “After all, when is it wrong to speak the truth?” His voice had taken on an angry edge.

“I'll do what I can.”

“Please, do it for me.”

If he only knew what it was costing her. Oliver's parting words at the airport had comforted her, but this was the first time they had gone through a rough patch. Sure, they had had small disagreements—her annoyance when he was in a bad mood, his impatience with her when she had misplaced her keys or forgotten to buy coffee on the way home from work. Those arguments had been superficial, like a minor cut that would heal overnight. Her decision to give up the trip had caused a rift between them, a deep wound that would take time to mend.

Alex slowed the car. His body, so close to hers, smelled of the outdoors and of a wool sweater, clean and reassuring. His lips, grown-up lips now, were pale and chapped.

“I know telling them is for the best.” He reached over and put his hand on her arm, clutching her wrist. He held her firmly, as if trying to squeeze his message right into her bones. His awkward gesture was connecting them, bringing them together in this unexpected alliance. She considered placing her other hand on top of his, touching his skin, making a pact. “I'll try to convince Lacey,” she said without moving.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He released his hand and Margot felt adrift once again. Her task wasn't going to be easy. Alex's reasoning made sense to her; making Lacey see his point was another matter. But as Alex pulled the car into the driveway, Margot became less sure of his argument. What was wrong with letting Lacey try to keep their lives just the way they were? Would it do the twins any good to know their mother was ill?

Margot stepped out of the car into the cold New Hampshire air. What was she doing here and not with Oliver on a plane to California? The gray clapboard house loomed large in front of her. Alex grabbed her bag and slammed the car door shut. Where did she belong?

 

Alex stood up from tending the fire and took a seat beside Lacey on the sofa. He, Margot, and Lacey had just finished dinner. Wink and Toni had gone off to get pizza with an old friend, a girl who was still home on winter break from her freshman year at college. The twins probably wouldn't be back for a while.

Alex was fairly certain that Margot hadn't said anything yet to Lacey about telling the twins about her diagnosis. He had left Margot alone with Lacey in the kitchen while she made the butternut squash lasagna for their meal. At the table Margot hadn't avoided his questioning looks, but she had seemed to be making an effort to keep Lacey in good humor. As much as he wanted to get the tough conversation over with, it was probably wise to have Lacey in a good frame of mind. He hoped she would be more understanding of his point of view with Margot there. All during the meal Margot had been great, keeping the conversation going and never speaking of Lacey's illness. Alex thought Margot was giving him secret signals now and again, with a glance or a nod, as if telling him that it was important to make everything seem normal and to be patient until the time was right. Or was he imagining that?

The house still smelled of cooking and of the pot of herbal tea Lacey liked to serve after dinner. Alex would have liked a brandy, but decided against it. With repeated prodding, the fire seemed to take hold and amazingly it didn't smoke. After all these years he still didn't understood how the flue would somehow draw without a problem, and then the next day fill the house with smoke. Margot sat in the wing chair opposite them. Lacey, tall and athletic, glowed with health, while Margot, the smaller, darker version, had deep circles beneath her eyes. He marveled at the bond that held these two women together.

The house was quiet without the girls moving about upstairs. Margot had been telling Lacey about Oliver's trip and the possible show in San Francisco. Alex noticed how Margot's hands shook slightly as she lifted her cup from the saucer to take a sip of tea.

“Why does he care so much about . . . California?” Lacey asked.

“Partly for a change,” Margot said. “New York's a bit dreary at this time of year. Also, his career. You have to keep putting your work out there. It's part of the job of being an artist.”

“So you think it's likely?”

“I hope so,” Margot said.

“Maybe we could go?” Lacey said, turning to Alex.

“What?” He had stopped paying attention. He thought again about fixing a brandy.

“To San Francisco, to Oliver's art show.”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure, depending on when it is.” Since he had agreed to take on the consulting job away from home, Lacey had seemed a little less tense around him. She had actually laughed the other night at dinner when he told her about the cast of characters who ran the fertilizer business in Chicago—the uncle who refused to sign a paycheck for his nephew who came to the office at forty seconds past nine, and the elderly grandfather and founder who had his sons so terrified they wouldn't speak up at board meetings. He had described how one son, the only one who really knew the business, had to contact Alex by cell phone from out of the building, as his two younger brothers were threatening lawsuits. Lacey had suggested that Alex show up wearing a Superman costume when he arrived to save the day.