The Glass Wives (17 page)

“Laney has a knack all right,” Evie said, ignoring Beth’s nudge and draping a scarf around her shoulders, which she then fashioned into a stylish noose. “I could do worse than to look like you.” Evie untwisted the scarf and stuffed it back into the drawer. Evie checked her fading roots in the mirror, grateful for poor lighting. Nicole had done a good job on the touch-up, but the cheap stuff from the box just didn’t last as long as the expensive stuff from the salon. “I’m wasting my time.”

“It’s not a waste of time to look nice tonight.” Beth rummaged through Evie’s closet, pulled out a cardigan, and put it back. “Are you sure I can’t call Laney? You can’t stay mad at each other forever.”

“She has to stop telling me what to do.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“You’re pretty close.”

Beth placed her hands on Evie’s shoulders and squeezed with gentle, Beth-like pressure, then let go and backed away. “Nobody’s perfect, Ev. Not Laney, not you, and certainly not me. Let me call her.”

“No.” Evie had missed Laney since she’d slammed the door in her face. She’d driven past Laney at least once a day and given a perfunctory nod. Other times she’d noticed Laney outside, so Evie stayed inside. She had not ignored someone since eleventh grade when Hannah Brooks betrayed her by joining the cheerleading squad instead of the pom-poms as they’d planned, but that exercise in silence and snubbing only lasted from lunch until seventh period. Evie hadn’t spoken to Laney in six days. She had almost called her countless times. But almost didn’t count.

“I’ll probably have to turn around when I’m halfway there because the kids are upset.”

“You’re underestimating Sam and Sophie—and Nicole. And me for that matter.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your kids need to see you going out and coming back. It’s the normal stuff that’s going to ground them. Besides, Nicole adores them and they adore her.”

“Don’t remind me.” Evie traded her gray blouse for a black knit tee and then back again. “What does that have to do with you?”

“I told Nicole I’d hang out here, keep her and the kids company.”

“You have a playdate with Nicole?” These shifting allegiances were making Evie dizzy.

“I’m helping out.”

“By spending the evening with Nicole.”

“Yes. You want us to be nice to her, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m being nice.”

Too nice, Evie thought.

Downstairs, with Beth as her escort, Evie spun around, wishing her long, black skirt were wide enough to twirl.

“Why are you all dressed up?” Sam said.

“I have a meeting.”

Sam stared at her.

“A dinner meeting with some businesspeople and…”

That was TMBI—too much boring information—for a ten-year-old. Sam went back to his video game, head near the screen, knees tucked to his chest.

“What do you think, Soph?”

Sophie shrugged and rolled the ball with Luca.

“Well, you look great,” Nicole said.

“It’s amazing what a little makeup and a flat iron can do.”

“Important meeting, huh? Just a meeting? Are you sure?” Nicole smiled without showing her teeth, an all-knowing smile, and Beth winked at her.

As soon as Evie was out of her driveway, the cell phone rang.
Please let it not be Sam or Sophie or Nicole or even Midwest Mutual.

“Where are you going?” Laney said.

“That’s what you say after a week?” This was obviously how the friend fence-mending was going to happen. On the phone. While driving. On Laney’s terms. As always.

“Chill. I just happened to see you pull away, and I noticed there were no kids in your car. And you look—well—you look
dressed
. I’m not mad at you anymore for slamming the door in my face.”

“Then I’m not mad at you anymore for being a pain in the ass.” That part was the truth, and it surprised Evie, but the reconnection soothed her.

“So Nicole is watching the kids?”

“Very good, Lane, you used her name. Yes, Nicole is watching the kids. She does live with us, remember? And Beth is there.”

“Beth is with Nicole?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Should it?” Evie turned up the volume on her earpiece. This conversation might get her most of the way downtown.

“Well, I don’t want to spend time with her.”

“You don’t like her. Beth does.”

“And that concerns me.”

It concerned Evie too, but she didn’t concede that to Laney. She was willing to share her house, but not her best friends. “She’s doing it for me, not for Nicole.”

“If you say so. As long as Beth doesn’t think the widow is hanging out with us when we have coffee.”

“It’s no big deal, Lane. It’s just a few hours.”

“Whatever. Where did you say you were going?”

“I didn’t, but I’m going to meet with—with—with my lawyer.”

“On a Friday night?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Well, it doesn’t matter why you’re out, I’m just glad you’re out of the house with lipstick on.”

“Thanks.” Evie laughed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Come for coffee. I’ll hold the door wide-open.”

“Sounds perfect,” Laney said with a chuckle. “Just one more thing.”

Evie merged into Friday traffic where the express lanes were clogged but the local lanes flowed. “Fine. One more thing.”

“Tell Scott I said hello.”

*   *   *

Evie parked the minivan and checked her hair and lip gloss in the rearview mirror. Only then did she dare look at her watch. Twenty minutes early. Out of the car, she slid her debit card into a parking meter and picked the maximum amount of time—three hours.

She walked up Taylor Street toward Café Rosa. Streetlamps, trash cans, and newspaper boxes lined the curb in Little Italy, which was not so trendy when she used to go there with Richard. Evie strode slowly, with purpose. Her intention was not to be too early and to look as though she belonged. Only a few months back, driving into the city to have dinner with Scott was commonplace yet exciting. She’d have spent the evening, then the night, then the weekend, at his Lincoln Park condo. They’d have brunch at Nookies, meander through the zoo, or walk along North Avenue Beach. They’d often concoct a late-day feast from findings at Green City Market. Evie shivered, and the memories fell away. Navigating Chicago for six months had earned Evie her grown-up city stripes—but in the past two months she’d been demoted to full-time suburbanite. Now every step reminded her that heels hurt, she sweated when she was nervous, and the city was colder than Lakewood. The aromas taunted her. The drama of strangers’ conversations baited her. And the hum of the motors and the pop and slam of car doors, the whistle of buses and swish of their brakes, all begged to replace her current life in Lakewood.

Disappointments overwhelmed her lately, and there had been enough of them to last a lifetime. She focused on Café Rosa, two corners ahead. One step at a time would get her there; even with baby steps she’d arrive on cue. The temperature was still cold enough to keep the snow atop the awnings looking fresh and her breath like puffs of white smoke, but not so cold that she would arrive at the restaurant with teary eyes. She was grateful for the small things, or tried to be.

The windows showed her reflection. The transparent image revealed grown-out layers: full hair where she wished it were flat, and flat hair where she wished it were full. Her trench coat was no longer fully double-breasted. The mirror at home was much more forgiving. Or maybe she was ambivalent when she looked into that mirror. When she was there, it didn’t matter who looked back.

People scurried along the street, toward buses and idling cars. Some people sauntered and window-shopped. They were seeking the perfect apology bouquet, the right dessert for their weekend dinner party, or the latest edition of the newspaper. Evie searched through the glass for her newest identity.

Café Rosa had a wooden façade with an oversize revolving door that turned automatically. With her first step Evie knew, had she just kept going, she could have left the restaurant the same moment she entered it. Instead, she landed at the foot of the wine bar.

She positioned herself on one of the black leather barstools and folded her coat over its back. She crossed her ankles.

“What can I get you tonight?” the bartender asked.

“Shiraz,” she said with assurance.

The wine was in front of her in an instant. Evie slid a few bills across the bar, sipped, examined her claret lipstick stain on the wineglass, and looked around for an inconspicuous way to detect Scott’s entrance behind her, perhaps in a reflection from a wine bottle or a wall mirror. She counted the decorative bottles lining the wall to her left and lost count at eighty bottles. Using her thumb, she twirled her delicate divorce-ring around her finger. Someone touched Evie’s shoulder.

She spun around, disarmed, for just a moment.

“Scott!”

They eased into a hello hug. He kissed her cheek and grabbed both of her hands.

“You look great,” he said.

Scott, in a knit turtleneck and sport coat, with his receding hairline unapologetically gelled to one side, was such a cute liar.

He motioned for her to walk ahead of him to their table, pulled out her chair, put his hand on her back as she sank into the tufted seat as if to make sure she didn’t drown in the white tablecloth. Evie smoothed the napkin on her lap for something to do, tucking it just under the hem of her gray silk blouse. At five foot four, her legs never made a ninety-degree angle when she sat at attention, so cloth napkins had an annoying way of sliding to the floor.

“I’m glad you wanted to see me. I’m sorry it couldn’t be last weekend,” Scott said, folding his hands on his closed menu. He leaned forward just a few inches, an attentive gesture Evie had forgotten. She swatted her hair from her shoulder, and the dos and don’ts of dating resurfaced as if they’d been waiting on the bench to be called into the game. Smile. Keep it light.
Keep it light. Focus on the positive
.

“You got called away, I understand.” It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he had wanted to see her, and now she was on a date.

“Good! Now tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I applied for a job at County College,” she said, genuine excitement resonating in her words. “To teach history.”

“That would be perfect for you.”

He was right. And he knew Evie well enough to
be
right.

“I hope you get it,” he added. “I’ve been known to have crushes on my teachers.” Scott reached across the table, tapped Evie’s hand, and slid his hand into it. With the other hand he then opened his menu, his eyes zigzagging across the page too fast to be reading it. Evie’s heart thumped in her ears. The back of her neck perspired. “How are your kids?” he said without looking up but with a little squeeze.

A hollow dread replaced the fluttering in Evie’s chest. She dropped her gaze to the list of appetizers. He didn’t want to hear about the nights she’d lain awake waiting for Sam to throw up or the mornings she pored over scores of websites hoping to find an extra dollar coupon or the job of the century. It wasn’t easy to explain the strange connection with Nicole or how she had begun noticing nuances about Luca. Scott might have insight into Midwest Mutual’s runaround, but did he really need to know her finances were a mess? Like her reflection in the shop window, Evie’s thoughts revealed what people feared most.

The truth.

Scott’s and Evie’s knees touched beneath the table. She didn’t know if it was an accident or a nudge but didn’t take it as a push to purge.

“Things are getting a little better every day,” she said. That wasn’t a lie. It was enough. And it was what people wanted to hear.

“I’m glad.”

“So,” Evie said, invoking one of the most important rules of dating, the one she wished more men adhered to.
Turn it around.
“Tell me what’s going on with
you
.”

Scott’s flair for storytelling rivaled his knack for listening. Evie laughed through her salad course. Their linked fingers stayed attached atop a few scattered bread crumbs until the waiter arrived with their entrées. Evie’s cheeks ached with evidence of happiness, her long-lost friend. It was good to be out with Scott; Lisa was right. Belly full of laughs and dinner, she could admit that. Maybe they would pick up where they’d left off with the rugelach, and maybe dates would always be as easy as a cheap dye job and two willing babysitters.

Then her phone buzzed in her purse.

Evie deflated. “Excuse me,” she said, glancing at the phone. Home. She didn’t ignore it but pretended to.

“You should answer it. I don’t mind.” Scott tore a piece of bread and searched the table landscape for the pats of butter, which were right in front of him. She and Scott had never experienced kid intrusions on their weekends before because the kids were with Richard. Scott didn’t know Evie the mom, only Evie the woman. And she knew more than ever before the two Evies were not always the same person.

“I do mind. We’re having a nice dinner and I don’t want to change that.” She smiled and poked her fork into something beige, then pushed it off the fork. Interruptions were not good for the appetite. She felt as though she’d disappointed him—and didn’t like that feeling. It was hard to date men without children. They didn’t get it. Or that was what Evie told herself so she could blame someone besides her kids.

The phone buzzed seven more times. “I’m sorry. I need to call home.”

Standing in the ladies’ room, Evie dialed Beth’s cell phone.

“What’s going on there?” Evie said without saying hello.

“Nothing,” Beth said. “We’re doing great. Why did you call? Go back to Scott and have fun.”

“My phone keeps ringing.”

“Hold on a sec.”

As if holding on while standing in the bathroom of Café Rosa were better than actually talking on the phone in the bathroom.

“Nicole said she didn’t call you. It must be your kids calling from the basement phone. They keep going down to bring up new toys for Luca to play with. Hold on.”

Evie felt her whole life was like this phone call.