Good Faith (37 page)

The pool area was empty, and the door to the rest of the house was half closed. Susan was jumping up and down in the middle of the pool, going under and then leaping out with her arms in the air, then going under again. She was shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” each time she emerged. I laughed, threw down my towel, and jumped in after her. Just then, the door to the rest of the house opened and Mack peered in. He said, “You guys all right?” just as Susan emerged naked from the water up to at least her waist. I called out, “We’re fine! We’ll be there in a moment!” The door closed. She jumped out again. She looked beautiful—firm-breasted, her hair flowing in a watery stream down her back, her fingers spread and her arms wide, as kidlike as when we had been making love, and in fact, I felt a little old and a little on the spot, as if she were my responsibility and I didn’t quite know how to manage her.

Just then, the door opened and Mack came in again. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a sport jacket. He was very drunk by this time, and he walked right over to the middle of the pool and squatted down, staring at Susan. He said, “You need anything? Is there anything I can get you?”

Susan stopped jumping and began to tread water rather modestly. She said, “No, thanks. We really should get dressed. I’m sorry.”

And then the door opened again, and one of the other builders, Sam Reading, wandered in, too. He said, “Everything okay in here?” He went up behind Mack. Mack stood up. They stood there.

Within five minutes, they were joined by five other guys, very casually, who were all concerned that Susan might need help of some sort. They milled around for at least another five minutes, until Betty swept in, laughing, and shooed them out, caroling, “Give the poor girl a chance to get out of the pool, you-all; good Lord, this prime rib is gettting cold! Joey! Dinner!”

When Susan and I got back to Mack’s office and began changing again, we started to laugh and could hardly stop.

CHAPTER

26

B
UT OVER BREAKFAST
the following Monday morning, Marcus was not laughing at all.
                           I said, “The whole party was a little wild. I mean, there was food in the pool.”

“You offended the wives.”

“
I
did?”

“We could hear you two in the office. Crosbie’s wife was standing right next to me. She said, ‘I think that sort of behavior is just awful.’ The chair was banging against the wall.”

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Enough for people to know what you were doing and start talking more loudly.”

I scratched my ear for a second and then ate some more of my hash browns, but I really didn’t know what to say, since I had been very much enjoying doing what everyone knew I was doing. “All the men—well, some of the men—came out into the pool area. That was—”

“Very awkward. And don’t you think that offended their wives even more? I mean, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Thank God for Betty. I mean, she got the whole party started again, and she was laughing and making light of it, but the whole stark deal of a bunch of forty- and fifty-year-old men filing out to have a look at someone the age of their daughters—”

“She’s thirty. Almost thirty-one.”

“—the age of their
daughters,
I’m telling you, was not to the taste of any of those wives, and will certainly lead to guilt on the part of the men and a rather disapproving attitude toward
you,
who’s the one they may end up working with.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“I think you should write some notes of apology.”

“Oh, Marcus! Who do you think you are? I’ve been around here forever. I knew everyone at that party.”

“Who do you think
you
are? This is not 1969 anymore, and we’re not in our twenties. Don’t you understand that?”

I scraped my fork around my plate. Even though I didn’t like being talked to like a child, I saw his point. And then for some reason, maybe just to hear him go on about this sort of thing, maybe because it was still bothering me, I said, “A couple of weeks ago, she gave me some—uh, coke.”

Marcus looked at me, a forkful of hash browns right in front of his mouth, for a long second, then he opened his mouth and put them in it. He chewed. He said coolly, “Ever try that before?”

“No.”

“What did you think?”

“It was okay.”

“What did you really think?”

“It was fine.”

“I’m not kidding. I want to know what you really thought.”

“Well, I guess my feelings were complicated. It wasn’t like anything else I’ve ever tried.”

“It wouldn’t be.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Yes.” That would be why he was calmer about this than about the other.

“What did you think?”

“Well, my thinking changed over time, and I’ll tell you how. There are only a couple kinds of luxuries. Some kinds have a chance to profit you in the end—fine art, say, or racehorses. Others profit you right now, because they get you in contact with people you want to know, like golf, or even boats, but boats are so time-consuming that the people you meet who also have boats usually aren’t in the market for anything. Some kinds of luxuries just make your wife feel better, like fancy clothes, but that’s okay. That’s what you owe her. I guess I would put charity, which I consider a luxury, in that category. But myself, I don’t see how that particular luxury you are talking about has any profit potential at all.”

“Well, I wasn’t—”

“I have to say I have second thoughts about Susan. This is a perfect example of what I was talking about.”

“When was that?”

“About caution. You aren’t in love with her, are you?” He leveled a suspicious look at me.

“I like her.”

“These are red flags.”

“Oh, lighten up.”

“I’m not kidding. I mean, everyone is innocent until proven guilty, but if I am your partner and I see something going on that’s a threat to the partnership or a threat to you, then I have to speak up, right?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not the Lone Ranger anymore, with the faithful Bobby at your side. You’re part of a team.”

“I don’t think these two little things have such far-reaching implications.”

“Well, be careful and pay attention.”

I thought of Jane’s outburst and, a little ticked off at his self-righteous tone, I asserted, “I don’t know that your recent behavior has worked entirely to the benefit of the partnership.”

He knew exactly what I was talking about. He said, “Whatever Jane has been telling you, she is wrong and she knows it. If she were a guy, I would give her the poke in the nose that she deserves. You know, I haven’t told you this because I thought I could keep her under control, but Jane is a pathological liar. Always has been. I mean, I don’t blame her. My older brother John is the reason. He was always getting her in trouble and leaving her to pick up the pieces, and kids who have fathers like ours have to lie to survive, but I said to her when she first got here that I was on to her and that part of going to work with this deal was playing it straight. I only believe what Jane tells me if I have independent supporting evidence. It’s so much a habit with me that I don’t even think about it, but if she’s coming to you with lies about me, I think my loyalty to her on this score is misplaced, and I am giving you fair warning.”

“You and Jane seem pretty close. I mean, apart from the odd argument or two.”

“We are close.” He leaned across the table. He said, “Your parents are so upright and sincere that you think moral failings in a person are a reason not to love them or commit yourself to them. You think character matters. Well, in the larger scheme of things, of course it does. But what I found out growing up is that it doesn’t matter what shits your parents are, you love them anyway. That’s your burden. Brothers, sisters. They drink and they steal from one another and they embarrass you and they lie and they commit every single one of the seven deadly sins, and you still love them. Ask me why, I don’t know. So I don’t even think about what it means if Jane lies through her teeth. She lies because she lies and I’m close to her because she’s Jane. That’s the way it is, but I’m not stupid. I still think it’s my responsibility to make sure that her lies don’t hurt me or the partnership and that my own kids know that lying isn’t right or acceptable.” He scraped up the last bits of food on his plate and ate them.

And then it was Thanksgiving again. By the time I got to Gordon’s, I was in a very good mood. For one thing, it was a beautiful day. Bright blue and cool, every winding country road bordered with crisp leaves. The road, the tree trunks, the barns, the fences were wet and vivid, and so was the grass, which was that last rich green of the year. Bushes by the side of the road were hung with brilliant red berries. I was pretty much alone in the landscape, but expected, welcomed, a guy with places to go and people to see.

My parents were especially jovial, I think for the sake of the two elderly sisters they had invited to share our meal. One was a widow and one was a spinster. My mother whispered to me when we were dishing up food in the kitchen that the younger one had decided to go to a nursing home, and both of them were worried about it. “You know,” she said, “Selma doesn’t drive, so they just won’t see each other unless someone takes her over there. It’s a shame. I only pray to the Lord she can stay home through Christmas. At least they can have that.” She shook her head sadly.

But in the dining room and the living room, she was very lively and bright, and she had done an especially good job with the dinner. The turkey was moist and the gravy was dark and savory and the mashed potatoes were delicious, and the two women ate heartily, even though they had been talking about not having much of an appetite and nothing agreeing with them lately. After we ate, I did the dishes while my mother sat down at the piano and played hymns and my father sang. The ladies sang along, quavery but happy, and the house was warm and bright and I could hear them from the kitchen without having to join in. My parents harmonized very prettily, and the songs they sang, I suppose to keep everyone’s minds off the future, were happy and hopeful. As I was leaving to go to Susan’s, their minister was pulling up to the curb, and I waved at him, knowing they would all feel especially blessed that he had stopped by for coffee.

The ride through the misty twilight, cool and solitary for a few minutes before the onslaught of Baldwin activity, was very refreshing. I thought I was living a good life, and I looked forward to making a home someday myself, a place where future single guys who lived in condos would feel happy to come.

All the BMWs were lined up in the driveway, and several other cars as well. I looked for Marcus’s Caddy, but I didn’t see it. The house was ablaze with light and the front door was open. I parked and walked toward it, and who should be coming out, a dark figure in the light of the doorway that I recognized immediately, but Felicity. I came up the steps and said, “Hey!” and she barreled toward me and threw her arms around me and pressed her head against my chest. I put my arms around her. Then she looked up at me, her hair dark and unruly around her head, and she said, “Oh, God, I miss you, Joey.” She lifted her face and kissed me on the lips. All of this was hurriedly done, and when she stepped away, I was still startled. She turned back into the house, calling, “Here’s Joey! I’m leaving now!” And she ran down the steps.

Betty was standing in the entryway, a dish towel in her hand. She stepped toward me and put her arm in mine. I said, “Where’s she going?”

“I’m not sure. I was in the kitchen, and then I heard the sound of a quarrel, and when I came out here Felicity was putting on her coat, and she looked upset, but she waved me off when I asked her if there was a problem, and ran out the door. Did she say anything to you?”

“Just—uh, hi.” I heard the sound of one of the BMWs starting up and zooming out the driveway.

“Well, she’s been very prickly all fall. Just not herself at all. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But she’s a grown-up, and if she isn’t voluntarily going to say anything to me or to Leslie, there’s not much I can do.” She turned and led me down the hall toward the family room. She said, “You know, when Sally was killed, the one I worried the most about was Felicity. I just couldn’t imagine how Felicity was going to make a life without Sally, but she picked herself up and went on, and all these years I’ve been a little relieved that she had the strength to do that. So always when she acts a little funny, or desperate, or unhappy, I go back to that worry, and I think—oh, here it is at last. This is what I’ve been waiting for.” She stopped me and whispered in my ear, “And Hank is the wrong man for her. It’s not his fault, but they are in different universes.”

“I’ve kind of thought that too.”

She continued to whisper. “You should have—” But then she thought better of her remark. We glanced at each other. Then she said, “You were very badly behaved the other night. Very devil-may-care.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Nothing wrong with a little of that, dear.”

“Do you think I should send notes of apology?”

She laughed in her Bettyish way and we came into the family room, where the football game was ending and several other things were going on too, including a game of Monopoly around the coffee table that was a chaos of grandchildren and game pieces and beer bottles and chip bowls. She whispered, “Apologies are never a mistake, dear,” then said, “Turkey in ten minutes! I need some helpers!”

I greeted Gordon and Hank and Norton and Bobby and Fern, and then Bobby and I followed Betty into the kitchen, where Leslie was making the gravy and Norton’s wife, Margaret, was browning almonds in butter. Betty had a huge restaurant-style gas stove, and every burner had a simmering pan on it. The turkey was already on its platter, twenty or more pounds. Betty said, “Joey, you can carry that to the table. It took three of us to get it out of the roasting pan.”

“And we dropped it twice,” said Leslie, “but don’t tell anyone. We kind of pushed it back into shape with big spoons.” She glanced at Betty. “Was that Felicity?”

“It was. She left.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t even know who she was arguing with. There wasn’t anyone around,” said Betty.

“I told you, Mom. She’s so touchy lately.”

She glanced at me, obviously weighing whether to go on. I said, “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be picking up the bird here.”

“It’s okay. Mom, I think you should take Hank aside and ask him what is going on. Maybe he knows.”

I said, “Maybe he doesn’t.”

Betty gave a rueful smile and said, “Joey’s right. Maybe Hank doesn’t know anything.”

Leslie sighed.

Betty said, “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. And it’s her own fault if she misses dinner, because everything’s ready, and we can’t wait for her. She’ll snap out of it. You remember the Cushings? They lived at the end of the street when, until about seven years ago? Frank Cushing had two sisters, and they came to Thanksgiving and Christmas at his house every year—oh, for twenty years or so. And you know what? The sisters weren’t speaking to each other that whole time! What were their names? Oh, Edith and Letitia. Caroline Cushing didn’t dare invite one and not the other one, so they would just come and glare at each other! Frank said a couple of his uncles were the same way. There we go.” She laughed, tossing off this example of human strangeness as if it could have nothing to do with her or her family, I thought.

All this time, she had been dishing things into serving bowls and garnishing them with parsley and chives and sprigs of mint, and now the dishes were ready to be carried into the dining room, and so we did, me leading the way with a very heavy turkey on a very big platter, which I set in front of Gordon, who said, “Didn’t I tell you we should go out? A nice buffet at the Hollister Cafeteria? The kids would have loved it, the way they always have the desserts first.”

Betty laughed and everyone pulled out their chairs. The mothers began setting the children up at a card table in the living room, and it was warm and comfortable. Gordon was smiling, so I knew he didn’t mean it.