The Glass Wives (10 page)

“Why do Nicole and Luca have to sleep in the basement?”

“You like having your own room, don’t you?”

“But I don’t always want to sleep there.”

“I know. And that’s okay. But Nicole’s a grown-up and she needs her privacy. Plus, babies can make a lot of noise.”

“Are they going to live here forever?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Will Luca go to Eden when he grows up?”

“I don’t know, honey. But you like going to that school, don’t you?”

Sophie nodded. “I like math.”

“I know you like math! And you get to go back to school and do math in just a few days.” Evie felt guilty counting down the minutes until the twins were gone six hours per day again. They’d be safe, they’d be cared for, they’d be with their friends and teachers. And they’d be two miles away from Evie. She could be there in three minutes if they needed her, and if they didn’t, she could use the time to reconstruct the cornerstones of their lives.

Sophie, though, was still cornering her about Luca.

“What does Luca call you?”

Evie had no clue. “He doesn’t talk.”

“How about when he does talk?”

“He can call me whatever you want him to call me.”

“Will they be here on our birthday?”

“I don’t know, Soph. Go to sleep.”

“How about on Luca’s birthday? If he still lives here, can we have a party?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of cake would we have?”

Exasperated, Evie tried to remember that Sophie was searching for order, just as she did. And Evie couldn’t help but hear the lilt of excitement in her daughter’s voice—now something to be cherished, not taken for granted. “Something yummy, okay? And we’ll bake it.”

“I don’t like baking anymore,” Sophie said, her body stiffening.

“Oh.” Her daughter’s reply was unexpected. “We’ll go to Lakewood Bakery, then. Now you go to sleep and dream about that cake. From the bakery.”

Sophie softened and shut her eyes. Her eyelashes were long and curved and dark. If she listened to Evie, one day teenage Sophie would forgo mascara, maybe just use an eyelash curler. Evie crossed her fingers and wished for the day that makeup and boys and even car keys and curfews were their biggest concerns.

Then she closed her eyes tight to make that wish really count.

Chapter 7

S
OME PEOPLE WOKE UP EARLY
to exercise. Some people woke up early to work. Evie woke up early to breathe. So, when morning sneaked through the slots of the miniblinds, Evie slid out of bed and Rex jumped in. The dog looked at Evie, wagged his tail, and put his head on the pillow. Evie couldn’t remember the last time she washed the pillowcase or the dog, but she didn’t care. A little dry drool never hurt anyone. Evie knew what Rex was thinking:
You’re crazy, lady—even
I
don’t get up at five-thirty.
But five-thirty was Evie’s time—the put-her-head-in-the-sand-and-pretend-things-aren’t-how-they-are time. It was the only time she could drink her coffee without gulping to a throat burn.

She tiptoed down the stairs and heard the soft whoosh of her newest infatuation—a programmable coffeemaker sent by her parents. “One less thing to do in the morning,” her mother had said. Her dad admitted, “It’s like having a maid. Okay, not quite,” when Evie gushed over the gift. She smiled at her inanimate crush as boiling water dripped through the coffee—arabica breakfast blend mixed with a little cinnamon. After pouring the coffee into her mug, Evie retreated to the couch and tucked her feet under her favorite cotton throw. The weave had loosened from her wiggling her fingers and toes into it for the past eleven years, but like Sam’s stuffed frog and Sophie’s myriad of fuzzy, floppy dogs, Evie couldn’t get rid of it. Washed a million times, it still smelled new and clean, like a promise. It was the same one she’d draped over her shoulders on cold mornings when she’d nursed the twins. That lap-size blanket was a constant, always waiting where she’d left it the night before.

Evie looked out the window to the snow-covered swing set and pictured two little kids swinging back and forth, high and low. She closed her eyes and waited for the silence to break. She savored the calm, and the warmth on her face from the steaming cup. After three weeks of mothering fatherless children, she stole moments from sleep to think and to speculate, to ponder and to pretend.

Evie opened her eyes and scanned the room, skipping over the photos of Richard that Sam and Sophie had dusted and placed on every shelf. Most were photos of the four of them, from the eight years they were a
regular
family, tethered, Evie believed, by their
ketubah,
a Jewish marriage license, and a common goal of raising kids in a family with
their
two parents. During the day Evie looked to the past with kind eyes, but she disinvited Richard from her personal sunrise. It was not disrespectful, it was necessary. She would suffocate if she couldn’t get away, even if getting away was in the midst of the
mishegos,
the craziness. For the moment the craziness was quiet—and all hers. But Evie knew the memories and the rest of the morning were waiting at the bottom of the giant mug. She sipped extraslow, but not slow enough.

“Good morning,” Nicole said, tiptoeing into the room.

“Good morning.”

“Do you mind that I came upstairs? I can go back down, but Luca won’t be up for another half hour or so. I thought I could help with whatever you’re doing. I heard your footsteps.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” And Evie was. Because alone time wasn’t alone when someone walked in.

“That’s okay, I don’t sleep much.”

Evie sloughed off the feeling of being cornered. She had invited Nicole to move in with Luca. There was no need to be annoyed except with herself. “Want some coffee? No, you want tea, right?” Evie said, heading toward the kitchen.

“I’ll make it.”

Nicole went to the right cabinet for the tea and the right cabinet for the sugar and the right cabinet for the mug. She programmed the microwave for a minute and thirty seconds, exactly the right time to bring the water to a boil. Nicole had been paying attention.

Settled across the table from Evie, Nicole sipped. The steam would have fogged up glasses if she wore them.

“Have you heard from your mother?” Evie asked.

“By e-mail. She still wants us to move back to Iowa. But I won’t go back there. Ever.”

“I’m sure once you settled in, reconnected with your old friends … I bet lots of them are having babies now or have little ones already.”

Nicole rolled her eyes like a defiant teenager. Evie pushed away hard from the table and went back to the couch, reclaiming the morning. Peering into the living room, Nicole sipped her tea and stared.

“Yes?” Evie said.

“I’m sorry. I’m not going back home. Anyway, I thought you wanted us here.”

“You know it’s only temporary.” Evie didn’t know if
temporary
meant six weeks or six months, but she knew it meant not forever, and while that was daunting, it was also comforting. “So, your hometown … is it really that bad?”

Nicole nodded, and Evie imagined littered streets, trailer parks, cars on cement blocks, and crack houses where pinball arcades used to be.

“It’s a dangerous area?”

“Oh, no, it’s perfectly safe.”

“Bad schools?”

“Great schools.”

“No jobs?”

“Actually it’s a great place to raise kids.”

“Then why don’t you want to live there?”

Nicole turned away. “It’s not the right place for me and Luca.”

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t it the right place?” Evie placed her cup on the end table hard enough to make a noise, but not hard enough to break it or spill the contents. Nicole whipped around.

“It’s just not. You don’t want to go back to where you’re from, do you? I heard you say so. Why should I?”

Evie did not want to go back to Delaware, but she hadn’t lived there since she was eighteen. Plus, she was woven into the fabric of Lakewood. Sam and Sophie were entrenched in school, sports, and friends. Nicole, on the other hand, was on the cusp of a life. She could plant her roots anywhere. Why choose Evie’s basement?

*   *   *

“I can’t go to school,” Sam said.

“Sure you can.” Evie patted Sam’s back through the comforter. “You and Soph have already missed a week—you’ll be okay. It’s time.”

Sam burrowed under his blanket as if in a long-ago game of blanket monsters with Richard. Although this time the monsters were in Sam’s heart and Evie couldn’t get rid of them by turning on the lights or tickling him. But it was time to go back to school. He’d get up. He’d get dressed. He’d muddle through today, and tomorrow would be better. She left his room and headed to Sophie’s
. Seven-twenty.

“Soph? You ready to get up?” Evie put her hand on Sophie’s shoulder.

“School today?” Sophie squinted even though it was still dark in her room.

“Yep.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone what happened.”

How long was Sophie thinking this that it was the first thing out of her mouth? Not “I’m cold” or “I’m hungry” or “I have to pee.” A little girl should not have to protect her own heart until she’s grown. Evie would do it for her.

“You don’t want them to know about Dad?”

“No, I want them to know, I just don’t want to tell them.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone anything, sweetie. They know. When the kids went back after winter break, Mrs. Thomas told them. Remember? They went back last week.”

“What if I start crying in the middle of the day?”

“Then they’ll call me and I’ll come spend time with you or take you home. You’ll be fine.”
You have to be fine. Just from nine to three, then you can fall apart.

“Okay.” Sophie rose from her bed and headed to the bathroom. The door closed. One click closer to normal.

Seven-thirty.
Back to Sam’s room.

“It’s time to get up, Sam. You’ll be late.”

Sam didn’t move. Evie sat on the bed and put her hand on his back. The slow motion of his breathing was always a relief.

“I can’t go,” he mumbled. “I can’t do math or listen to science. When I try to think about something else, I can’t think about anything but Dad. I wish I could just spend every day with my friends.”

His burden was more than that of missing Richard; it was that he knew his own mind and heart.

“But your friends are all in school.”

“I want to be home. I want to be with you and Nicole and Luca and my friends and not go to school. I want to go, but I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” He shook his head until Evie put her hands on his face to stop it.

“Kids have to go to school, Sam, it’s the law.” She looked into his blue eyes and he looked away. When she mentioned “the law,” it was always the last resort. When the twins were little, it was “the law” to eat fruits and vegetables.

Evie’s trick was past its prime.

What she didn’t say was that she wanted—no, she needed—some time to herself. How would she have enough energy for the long nights if they weren’t
both
at school all day? Evie needed to sort out the bills and call Midwest Mutual again. She had to look for a job or at least start to think about a job. She didn’t expect them to be happy or fine or the same as before, but she did expect her kids to go to school. Was she delusional?

“I don’t care. I’m not going.”

Sam’s tone was calm, not belligerent. He was matter-of-fact. Evie didn’t know what she was going to do. It never occurred to her that after an extra week at home both Sophie and Sam wouldn’t be itching to get out of there, back to building snowmen at recess and turning carnations blue during science. But if Sam had a meltdown in public, that would push him even further into misery.

She looked at Sam
,
shook her head no, but said, “Okay. But just today.”

*   *   *

Sophie picked at her fingernails. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s not going today.” Evie picked up Sophie’s lunch and placed it in her backpack, maneuvering it into the perfect spot so it wouldn’t get squashed. “He
can’t
go.”

Sophie nodded. She understood in a way Evie did not.

The kids stored their grief on a shelf when they could. Sophie did that to go to school. The shelf was out of Sam’s reach, at least today. That coping mechanism kicked in when needed. Evie read that online, or in a book, in the middle of the night. She didn’t remember. And Sam needed it big-time. He would draw his legs into his shell at bedtime every night—the darkness would bring about the pain. He stared at the ceiling, he cried, he hyperventilated. In the light of day, the prospect of friends and video games and a potential snowball fight overrode any adult tendencies to mourn constantly. But now he was faced with school, not fun, and with teachers and classmates, not just friends. He would not be able to go into the bathroom or his bedroom at will to fall apart and regroup. He would not be able to emerge from a classroom and touch his only parent just to make sure she was still there.

“Stay home today,” Evie said, back in Sam’s room. “I have to take Sophie to school and walk her in. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Nicole’s in the basement if you need anything.” She’d never left the twins alone for more than a few minutes, such as if she ran to Laney’s to check out a new purse or Beth’s to pick up a basket of whatever she’d grown in her garden. But Sam wouldn’t be alone. The benefit of having a boarder. A tenant.
A widow.

Evie spotted Rex in the hall and snapped her fingers. The dog padded over and Evie pointed to Sam. The furry lump jumped onto Sam’s bed, and Evie sighed knowing Sam would have some company close by. “We’ll figure this out when I get home,” she said. Or not.

Sam nuzzled his face into Rex’s neck and clicked on the TV he’d negotiated into his bedroom when Richard had moved out. Classic TV reruns had lulled him to sleep for the past three years, and Evie wished it were that simple now. Considering divorce simple, that was a switch. How she would love to hear that noise in the middle of the night and have her trip down the hallway result in just pushing the
OFF
button. In those days, Sam was able to get up and go about his boyhood business because Richard showed up at the door every Wednesday at six and every other Friday at seven.