The Glass Wives (12 page)

“I’ll be right back.” Nicole jumped up and ran through the kitchen, the mudroom, and down the basement steps, then back up the steps and through the house louder than Evie would have liked with the kids upstairs trying to sleep. Nicole sat back on the couch before Evie had had a chance to review what she knew and didn’t know.

Nicole reached into Luca’s diaper bag and pulled out a pink, nylon wallet. She peeled open the Velcro and withdrew a stack of scissor-cut photos. Evie squeezed the cushion. The padding squashed in her grasp. Nicole handed the photos to Evie, who held them like live grenades, flipping them from one hand to the other and back again. Then she shuffled through pictures of a freckle-faced, blue-eyed, red-haired baby, then toddler, and a blond little girl, always with the same skinny, teenage boy, also red-haired and freckle-faced. Evie tucked the photos back into the wallet.

“Where are they now?” Evie’s heart pounded. “Where are your
husband
and
daughter
?” she demanded.

Nicole lifted her clasped hands to her chest. “They were on their way to buy balloons. Lucy would’ve been two the next day.”

“Would have been?” Dread filled Evie’s belly and traveled to her throat. The leftover smell of a pizza lunch nauseated her, and she held her nose for just a second and then breathed through her mouth.

“They were killed by a drunk driver.” Nicole rocked back and forth and cradled a pillow like a newborn, holding it like a crescent moon. “Lucy would be twelve now.”

“Oh my God,” Evie whispered. Peter and Lucy
died.
Evie’s body was limp and heavy. She stifled an urge to put her arms around Nicole, which was easy because Evie was paralyzed. Nicole’s voice sounded distant, as if she were speaking through a closed door, a door to which Evie had had no key before now.

“We named Luca after her.”

They named Luca after two-year-old Lucy. Evie shuddered with shock. It was an unmitigated Jewish honor to name a baby after a deceased relative—but after a two-year-old who would have been his older sister? Although if there were still a Lucy, there would be no Luca.

“I was a good mom.” Nicole sniffed and nodded. Her voice was deep, the words emerging from the bottom of her throat and memory. “I surprised everybody, even myself. We were just kids, but we did the right thing when I got pregnant. Peter had already graduated, so he got a full-time job as assistant manager at the Green Ferry Hy-Vee, and then we eloped. We thought it was perfect. My mother was livid.” Nicole sighed. “She wanted me to have an abortion and go off to the University of Iowa like we’d planned my whole life, but I just couldn’t. I wanted to have the baby. And I wanted to stay with Peter.” Nicole’s face brightened, as if, for one moment, she forgot the past and the present.

Then, her expression morphed into a deep frown. “I never thought I’d go through this again, losing the love of my life. But this time is different. I have Luca. I’ll do anything for him.” She straightened her stance and strengthened her voice. “So, I’m not running away from here the way I ran away before. I’m not leaving the place with the memories. I’m going to make a life with the memories. For Luca.” Nicole pushed hair off her face. She picked up the wallet, kissed it lightly, and touched it to her chest.

The storm wall broke around Evie’s heart. She stood and turned away as the lump in her throat dissolved into sobs. Evie rubbed her eyes and dragged her fists down her cheeks. For once she was glad to be on a makeup strike, as any mascara would have been lost in the flood. For four years, Evie had judged Nicole harshly. What would
Evie
have been capable of after losing a husband and a toddler? She blubbered and gasped for breath. Empathy overwhelmed her. It riveted her to the floor, yet her impulse was to lurch toward Nicole, to comfort and care for her. This was how Evie felt when her children hurt, not when Nicole hurt. The maternal pang was unwelcome, but not unwarranted because Evie was the unintentional matriarch of this absurd newfangled family. She hadn’t been through half of what Nicole had been through. Thank God for that.
Losing Richard before I was really ready? Burying the twins?
A chill ran through her body and she shivered.

Evie flinched when Nicole’s hand touched her left shoulder and then rubbed her back. Nicole was comforting
her
.

“I am so sorry,” Evie said, hearing the same words she’d said and heard a thousand times in the past month. This time, she felt the simple, honest words lighten the air.

Chapter 8

A
QUIET HOUSE IN THE
late afternoon was glorious and magical and even self-indulgent. So why was Evie planted on the couch staring at the cushions? She patted the spot next to her, and Rex jumped up. Richard had never wanted the dog on the furniture, but Evie skirted that mandate every time he left for work. She’d overruled it entirely when he’d moved out.

“I wanted time alone and now I have it, Rexy. What should I do?”

She wanted to take advantage of the nothingness, to revel in being alone, but instead she petted the dog, stretched out her legs, and decided that an hour wasn’t really long enough to do anything. She could soak in a bubble bath, polish her nails, or dig through her closet for something to wear to Laney and Herb’s for dinner on Friday. She could close her eyes for a nap, finally try yoga, or bundle up and take Rex for a walk. Or, Evie could clean out the fridge, go through the bills again, talk to Millie, call her sister without hiding in the bathroom. She could call Midwest Mutual again. But nothing appealed to her.

Evie fidgeted, uncomfortable in her own house. She sat straight, slouched, crossed her legs, snuggled Rex. It didn’t help. Maybe she was just uncomfortable that Sophie and Sam had gone back to “the house” with Nicole to pick up mail, more clothes, more baby supplies. Nicole’s four o’clock mission made their living arrangement seem more permanent. The more stuff Nicole had in the basement, the more the basement was Nicole’s. Evie knew that. But what could she do? She needed Nicole’s “rent” to pay her mortgage, and she needed Nicole’s presence to—to what? To give her an hour or two alone so she could spend the whole time deciding what to do?

Off the couch and into the kitchen, Evie dialed Lisa and wiggled in her earpiece so it wouldn’t slip. Lisa had demanded a daily report after Nicole moved in, and this would be the first time Evie spoke above a whisper.

“There’s no good food in this house,” Evie said to herself, forgetting she was on the phone. She stared into a cabinet in an effort to conjure up a delicious dinner.

“What happened to all the food we left you?” Lisa said.

“We ate it. That was a month ago.” Lisa sometimes forgot there was a world outside of Lisa.

“I hope Nicole is paying for her own food. It’s bad enough you have to let her live there, she better pull her own weight.”

“She is, don’t worry.” Evie hadn’t figured it out down to the penny; with Nicole’s check and the Social Security checks and her holiday bonus from Millie’s, all the bills were paid. But next month was a different story.

But first, the cabinets. What
had
possessed Evie to stock up on Triscuits as if they could save the world, and who put them between the Tetley tea and cans of tuna? She accumulated bags of generic, unsweetened cereal that looked like Styrofoam peanuts, and the bags were stacked next to a jar of Cheeze Whiz. Someone had been messing in Evie’s pantry.

Lisa interrupted Evie’s inventorying. She turned away from the soldierlike cupboard contents. Her thoughts should only be as orderly.

“Has Sam gone back to school yet?”

“No. He will soon though, I can tell. He checks the clock starting at about ten in the morning to see when Sophie will be home.”

“Well, when you have more time, I think you need a hobby. Not to mention, a job.”

“I have a carton of that soy milk you like. And there are kumquats with the oranges. When did I get those?” Evie deflected. She noticed color-coded jars of baby food stacked behind organic, unsweetened applesauce.

“I don’t drink soy milk, and I don’t know a kumquat from a kiwi. You better throw them out. Don’t ignore me. You need a job
and
a hobby.”

“It must all be Nicole’s,” Evie said, sibling directives be damned. She shifted the pesticide-laden Delicious apples to the front of the fruit drawer.

“She’s taking over your fridge. Your life is next. Wait and see.”

“I thought this was sister-bonding time, not widow-bashing time.”

“Same thing in my book. So, how
is
the job search?”

“I haven’t really started,” Evie said, inspecting the empty deli drawer.

“What are you waiting for? You taught for ten years before the twins were born. You have a teaching degree
and
a freaking master’s degree in history. I told you not to become one of those stay-home moms. It melts your brain.”

“I’m not having that fight with you right now, Lisa.”

“Look, you have to be able to support yourself and the kids without a widow in the basement, which, frankly, sounds like the title for a scary movie. Have you gone back to Third Coast?”

“Not yet. But Millie said I could whenever I’m ready.”

“Good. That’s Plan B. Now, look for something that actually pays. Or at least has potential. Something challenging and out of your comfort zone.”

“My life is challenging and out of my comfort zone.”

They laughed, but it wasn’t funny. Evie was weary of new and different; she wanted humdrum and monotonous.

“Like I said, you need a hobby—something just for you—even if you only do it once in a while. You know, like me and yoga.”

“My hobby is figuring out how to make a life out of this mess Richard left, and with Nicole and Luca in the house. I haven’t heard back on the insurance, and I’m hearing all over the place that people usually get life insurance payouts in a matter of days, not months. It’s almost February.”

“Call them every day. Twice a day if you have to.”

“If I annoy them, it will only take longer.” Evie didn’t have the energy for more than one call to Midwest Mutual per day. It drained her. Not knowing exhausted her. The prospect of what might or might not happen terrified her more than the first time she was alone with both twins and they cried for three hours. And she felt just as alone even in a full house.

“I’ve got it. Call Scott!”

“For a job? Are you nuts?”

“No, for a date. You’re bored, you’re scared, you’re lonely. Call Scott. You can knock out all three.”

Lisa was man-crazy. She met men for drinks, she dated, she led a single Jewish lawyers’ group in Georgetown that met once a week. Lisa claimed she never wanted to get married again, but she spent a lot of time scouting potential husbands. She claimed it was for sport.

“That’s your idea of a hobby?”

“Consider it a necessary distraction. When I got divorced, that’s all I wanted. Someone to take my mind off what’s-his-name. Nothing takes your mind off reality like a handsome face, a good meal, a bottle of pinot, and a roll in the hay. You know that.”

Evie did know that. She also knew that calling Scott would set her up for disappointment. He’d say no. But what if he said yes? What would she wear? How would she look? What would they talk about? A month ago she’d not have given any of it a second thought.

“Think of it as a fact-finding mission,” Lisa added. “Maybe Scott has some insight into the whole insurance thing. You let Nicole move in, so make her do something useful and watch the kids at night when you can actually go out and have fun and not use the time to clean your kitchen and talk to me. When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Who?” Evie had tuned out her sister when she’d spotted the past week’s leftover sandwiches next to two jars of spicy mustard and behind a supersize container of wheat germ that stood next to an unopened bottle of Kahlúa circa 2002.

“Scott. When was the last time you heard from Scott? Pay attention to me. The crap in your fridge can wait.”

“I haven’t heard from him since he asked me to call him when things were normal.”

“Give him a call.”

“But life
isn’t
normal and I’m
not
ready.”

“You know what I always say!”

“A girl’s gotta eat.” Evie giggled.

“Just leave out the bit about the widow and the baby.”

“I can’t, Leese.”

“You have to. You never tell the bad stuff on the first date. You know that.”

“This isn’t a first date.”

“See? You do want to go out with him.”

Exasperated, Evie shook her head at the inadvertent confession. Lisa was skilled at getting Evie to say and do things. In high school Lisa spent four nights leafing through the prom issue of
Seventeen
magazine, dog-earing pages, saying, “Mrs. Lisa Feldman, Mrs. Lisa Feldman, Mrs. Lisa Feldman,” even though Lisa was a sophomore and couldn’t go to the prom. The next day Evie asked Howard Feldman to prom. He said no, but at least she asked.

“He’ll say no,” Evie said.

“He won’t say no if you ask the right way. Tell him you need some advice and have been so busy that you’d really like to go out. Being busy makes you sound interesting.”

“You mean I’m not interesting?” Evie snorted. This would have been a good time for her sister to lie. “I’m really fine at home, most of the time.”

“Don’t tell me that you like having them there?”

“It’s okay.”

“You better be careful.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. So far the worst part is that the food in the pantry is alphabetical.”

“Rearrange it.”

Evie had already started. She couldn’t hear it but she knew Lisa was tapping her fingers. Lisa tapped when she was nervous.

“There aren’t a lot of women who’d become the willing landlord to their ex-husband’s widow or let them organize the kitchen,” Lisa added. “No matter how many catastrophes the bimbo racked up.”

Evie squirmed. The name-calling reminded her of her history with Nicole, the reasons she hadn’t wanted Sam and Sophie around her. Did any of that matter? Of course it did. Evie could take a loan from Beth and Alan and ask Nicole to leave. She’d given Nicole ample time to pack up her things, alphabetically and in size-order, of course. Evie wasn’t heartless. Then that heart of hers thumped. It sounded and felt like Rex’s running down the stairs complete with a thud at the bottom.