The Glass Wives (19 page)

Nicole smiled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side. I mean, again.”

“That would probably be your best bet.”

“Hi, Evie, hi, Nicole.”

More unwelcomed, long-unheard-from neighbors. At least Tina and Belinda had the moxie to address them by name.

“How are your kids, Evie?” Tina said.

“It’s been really, really hard on all of us,” Evie said, putting her arm around Nicole. No time like waiting in line.

Belinda knelt and put her hand out to Luca. “Babies are a good thing. No matter what.”

Evie and Nicole both smiled. They knew it was true.

Tina said, “I’m sure it is hard. But one day at a time, right?”

“Right,” Evie and Nicole said. Oversimplified to say the least, but still right in many ways.

“So is Sam coming back to school soon? Tyler misses him.”

Tyler played with Sam twice a week after school, and they were on the same soccer team.

“I’ll tell Sam that Tyler says hi.”

“We’re going to get to the back of the line,” Belinda said, sliding her hand away from Luca. “Good to see you.”

“That was an easy one,” Evie said to Nicole, who nodded. “I guess not all hope is lost.”

The line moved quickly, and between ordering and juggling Nicole’s Pop-Tarts and her own burning coffee cup, Evie avoided any further questions until they were back in the gym, their seats occupied by a gaggle of library moms. Had she forgotten to return books?

“Hey, Evie,” Lynn Rosenberg said. She was benign. It would be another easy nonconfrontation.

“Hi, Lynn.” Evie nodded toward Nicole. “I’m not sure you’ve met Nicole.”

Lynn shifted in place. “We met at, we met at, we met at…”

“I remember you,” Nicole said. “Nice to see you.”

“Same here,” Lynn said. “So, Ev, how
are
the kids doing?”

“It depends on the day.”
It depends on the minute.

“Well, that’s great. I’m glad to hear it. Let me know if you want to start volunteering at the library again. We could use your help—and a donation of course if you’re feeling generous. Or if Nicole is feeling generous.”

Oh my God, Lynn didn’t even want to know about the kids. She was hitting Evie up for money. Darcy’s news of their living arrangement had obviously not reached this do-gooder. A loud whistle blasted. For one second when Evie turned toward the court, she expected to see Richard. The memory lapse brought the glazed doughnut into her throat.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to sit and watch Sophie play the second half,” Evie said. “We’ll let you know when we can help you, though, thanks for asking.”

Someone tapped Evie on the shoulder. The entire town seemed ready to pounce, to infringe on her personal space as a way to osmose information. She guessed it was more fun to do it in person than on Facebook, Twitter, or through text messages.

“Hi, Penny,” Evie said.

“I don’t want to bother you, but I wanted to ask how your kids are doing.”

Evie turned to Penny, huffed, and then looked at the court. Pressure built on the top of Evie’s head, as if it were going to implode. She ignored the rage. Sophie had the ball and was dribbling, dribbling, dribbling. All Evie wanted to do was cheer, but yelling echoed inside her. When Sophie passed the ball, Evie relaxed. She could squander a moment—just a moment—on regaining calm. Then, Evie turned to find Penny looking at her, eyebrows raised. Evie wondered, if Penny stayed that way through the whole first quarter of the game, would her eyebrows freeze halfway up her forehead? The thought made her smile. Perhaps she could get Penny to cross her eyes too.

“Evie, I said, how are your kids doing?” She put her hand on Evie’s back and looked deep into her eyes.
Foiled.
Penny always wore too much eyeliner, and it flowed like brown creeks into the fine lines beneath her eyes. Evie wanted to watch basketball, drink her now cold coffee, and suck the sugar off her fingers. She wanted everyone to make space and keep quiet.

“It’s terrible for them.”

“Oh.” Penny sat up and leaned back. Again, fear of contamination permeated the air. “But Belinda said that Gwen said that you said they were coming along fine.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Penny blinked fast, rummaging through her mental list of answers. She didn’t find one.

“They’re not fine. Their father died. How would your kids be if Stephen dropped dead two months ago?”

Penny’s eyes widened. “I just wanted to know how your kids are doing. You don’t have to get defensive. But I realize it’s not the real you talking. You’re under a lot of undue stress.” Penny glanced at Nicole and back at Evie.

“The undue stress came from your question.” Evie stood. “I know you’re interested…” She was going to say,
I know you care,
but that wasn’t what she meant. The people who cared called, stopped by, and put in useful two cents when it was welcomed and even when it wasn’t. “I am really just tired, Penny.” Evie didn’t want the Lakewood ladies as enemies, but they weren’t her friends and she was tired of pretending otherwise. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure.” Penny turned to walk away and turned back. “I do hope you and the kids are okay.”

Evie forced a smile. “Thanks.” She knew that exchange would make an excellent Bunco snack.

Nicole pulled on Evie’s shoulder. Evie was sweating, her pulse racing and her throat dry. Without a word Nicole handed Evie her bottle of water.

“I want to say something,” Nicole said.

With the hum of the spectators behind them, the bouncing ball, and the referee’s whistles, it was easy for Evie to pretend she didn’t hear. “Excuse me, what did you say? It’s hard to hear you.” Evie didn’t want another confession or inappropriate remark or heartfelt admission. She just wanted to watch the basketball game.

Nicole made a megaphone with her hands and leaned toward Evie. Thank God for peripheral vision. Evie grabbed Nicole’s hands and pressed them to the bench between her and Nicole and held them there.

“I’ve always loved watching the kids’ games. I didn’t know if it would make me happy or sad today—and it made me happy.”

That was too much information for Evie.

“No matter what happens from here on out, I just wanted to tell you how much Luca and I appreciate being part of your family. I know it will work out. I know it will always work out for us.”

Evie gulped Nicole’s water as the ref’s whistle blew.

*   *   *

Sam nudged himself between Nicole and Evie, his sweaty head gleaming under the bright lights. “Jacob called me a baby. Then they were
all
calling me a baby. All they want to know is when I’m coming back to school. I told them to shut up, that I didn’t have to go back to school, ever, if I didn’t want.”

Evie blanked. “Well, saying ‘shut up’ wasn’t very nice. Plus, it’s the law, you have to go school eventually.”
There was that law cop-out again.
She took his hand and he pulled it away. He was too old for public comfort, something she didn’t like but knew was right. “Oh, here come the boys!” Sam winced. “Oh, I mean
guys
. Here come the guys. I bet they want to apologize for teasing you.” She knew boys at that age didn’t apologize without prodding from their parents, and Evie was comforted by the unexpected, invisible hug.

The four boys walked over to the bleachers, passing Nicole without a nod or notice.

Jacob gave a rehearsed, three-cough, throat-clearing “Mrs. Glass?”

Nicole’s head popped up. “Yes?”

“He means me,” Evie said.

Nicole tipped down her head and nodded.

“Sam punched me and my mom says he has to apologize,” Jacob said, staring at Evie, taking a stance like Superman. He
had
been well rehearsed.

Evie flinched. Sam punched Jacob? Sam didn’t say he punched Jacob.

“I saw the whole thing.” Gwen skittered over to Evie. Where did she come from? Gwen “Miss America” waved to Nicole and stood with her shoulder touching Evie’s. Evie took one baby step to the left. “They were teasing him, yes, but Sam really overreacted.”

“If you saw the whole thing, why didn’t you stop it?”

Gwen raised her eyebrows in a meager attempt at self-defense.

And wait, was there no free pass for a kid with a dead parent?

Sam twiddled with the bottom of his T-shirt, not making eye contact with anyone. Evie turned her back to Gwen. “Sam? You punched Jacob?”

She wanted to blame Jacob for bothering Sam, taunting him, teasing him for staying out of school. But Sam hit him. Neither she nor Richard spanked or hit the kids—ever. They had considered it old-fashioned, ineffective, and barbaric. And now their son was swinging his fists. Was he simply defending himself?

Sam looked up, eyes red in anger not sadness. He talked through a tight jaw. “He was bugging me about going back to school.
I told you
.”

“You didn’t tell me you
punched
him!”

The boys stared at Sam. Two had their arms crossed and stood in a slouched hip-hop pose, and one shifted from foot to foot as if he had to pee. Jacob now had his hands in his pockets. The left side of his mouth twitched, and his eyelids had an inherited droop. The posse would have been intimidating—if Evie were ten. She could feel the almost-tweens trying to ooze testosterone.

She yanked Sam next to her. “Say you’re sorry for hitting Jacob.”

Sam raised his head but turned away from Evie with a smug air of defiance. He had not been reprimanded in months.

“Say you’re sorry, Sam. Now. I’m not joking.”

He looked in Jacob’s direction. “Sorry.”

Now, the real order of mother-business. Evie knew she was using her outside voice, but the acoustics in the gym sucked. There was no whispering in basketball or in boyhood scrapes. Evie crouched to nose height with the boys and put her hands on her knees for stability. The boys stared at her, expecting another apology, maybe a lollipop.

“Now,
you
apologize,” she said with maternal authority.

A jumble of
We didn’t do anything
s and
He hit Jacob
s and
My mom said
s came at her.

“Did you tease him for not being in school?”

Silence.

She glared at Jacob, bitterness rising in her throat. “Did you call him a baby?”

Jacob looked at his shoes.

Velcro. Someone should teach the kid how to tie a bow.

“His dad died,” Evie said, almost spitting. “Look at me.”

She looked deep into each boy’s eyes, her pupils searing theirs. These boys were free of pain, verging on arrogant, but tinted with fear.

“His. Dad. Died.”
She hated being blunt with Sam next to her. She hated playing the dead-father card, but it was time for the boys and the bleachers to know that everything had changed. No more whispering. No more
everything’s fine
. No more
thank you for your concern
. She would acknowledge Richard’s death out loud.

And while Sam didn’t need a reminder, it worked. The other boys’ lips quivered. Feet shuffled. Shoulders sagged.

“Say you’re sorry.”

A quartet of mumbled apologies followed.

Evie nudged Sam toward the boys. “Be nice to each other. All of you. You’ve known each other since you were two. Now get out of here and get doughnuts or something.”

The boys skulked away in a line, Sam included. He looked back at her, and Evie pointed toward the door, although she wanted to open her arms for one more hug, give a thumbs-up, or blow a kiss across the air that would land on the soft summit of his cheek. But that wouldn’t help with name-calling or punching. It all reminded Evie of when the twins were three and she scolded a five-year-old on the playground for cutting in line for the
little-kid
slide. Five-year-olds looked gigantic when Sam and Sophie were three. Almost as big as ten-year-olds.

Gazing into the well-coiffed bleacher crowd, Evie realized no one was looking, but she knew they saw her wrangle the boys. She turned and looked at Nicole, knowing
she
would not look away.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Evie said. “Sorry I had to do it,” she muttered to herself.

“You did the right thing. I would have done the same thing for Luca. We have to stick up for our kids. No one else will.”

“I’m so tired of this.”

“Of basketball?”

“No, I’m tired of acting like everything’s okay, and I guess Sam just pummeled me out of that. My kid who is being teased for not going to school clobbers one of his best buddies—that’s not okay. But every time someone asks, I say we’re just fine. That the kids are ‘coming along.’ I don’t want to tell anyone our business, but the truth is, it’s exhausting trying to pretend that nothing has changed when every single thing has changed. And I can’t believe that people don’t know that, so I don’t know why they ask.”

“They’re trying to be nice.”

“Now you sound like Beth.”

“Thanks!”

Evie had not meant it as a compliment.

Nicole handed a plastic, chunky cell-phone toy to Luca, who stuck the thick, blue antenna into his mouth.

Evie reached into the basket under the stroller and pulled out a bib and a zwieback. “Try this,” she said, handing it to Nicole as she realized Nicole had already dealt with teething, and more.

Nicole took the offerings and smiled but held them in her lap. The whistle blew and both women woo-hooed and clapped in unison.

God, they reeked of family. And that was another thing; Evie was tired—no, exhausted—from defending her decision to let Nicole and Luca move in. Everyone but Beth made it seem as though the new living arrangement were the end of the world when it was really just the beginning.

*   *   *

“Great game, Sophie-Trophy,” Nicole said as Sophie bounded over during a break in the game.

Evie’s stomach lurched. Just when she was feeling all family-ish, Nicole invaded Evie’s personal mama-space.
Sophie-Trophy
was a term of parental pride or a brotherly whine when Sophie’s team won more games than Sam’s. Not another
Sophie-Trophy
!
Sophie-Trophy
was off-limits.