The Glass Wives (30 page)

“I trusted you when everyone told me not to. I invited you into my home. I feel betrayed
and
foolish. That sticks with someone. Especially the second time.”

“You don’t have any reason to feel foolish.” Nicole put her hands in her jeans pockets and looked Evie in the eye. “All I wanted was a family, and I did everything to mess that up. I know that now. I’ve lost my family twice. Four times if you count the fact that I’m hundreds of miles from my mother. I had a real family growing up. I had a real family with Peter and Lucy. I had a real family with Richard, the twins, and Luca. And I thought
we
had a real family.”

“So did I,” Evie said, her throat vibrating.

“Are we okay?”

“Sure.” The word was easy to say with Nicole heading to Iowa.

Sophie walked over with Luca and handed him to Nicole. “His nose is running, it’s gross,” Sophie said as she turned back to the court.

Nicole pulled a crumpled Kleenex out of her pocket, wiped the baby’s nose, and shoved the tissue into the side pocket of the diaper bag. “Guess I better get this guy home for his afternoon nap.”

Evie looked at the clock and wondered where Sam was; he hadn’t gotten any time with Luca. Nicole buckled a yawning, runny-nosed Luca into his stroller and handed him a bottle filled with water. He sucked and batted his eyes slowly. He’d be asleep before Nicole was out of the parking lot.

“I’ll call you later so we can make plans to get together. Will you answer the phone?” Nicole asked.

Evie nodded but she wasn’t sure.

Chapter 23

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE MY KIDS
agreed to sleep at your house,” Evie said, walking into her kitchen from outside, with Beth and Laney behind her.

“They’ve slept over before,” Laney said, ignoring the significance and opening the fridge and then shutting it.

“You deserve some time to yourself,” Beth said.

“And they’re having fun camping out in my basement. Jocelyn and Jordyn have it all under control.”

“They’ve got one up on me then,” Evie said.

She and Beth walked into the living room and each snuggled into a corner of the couch, leaving the middle for Laney, who stayed in the kitchen.

“I’m thrilled they wanted to sleep over,” Evie added. “Maybe more for me than for them.” That was hard to admit. “But, I’ll probably be up all night worrying about them.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Beth said. “Your kids are comfortable enough at Laney’s to wake someone in the middle of the night if they need you. But they’ll be fine. Be positive.”

Positive, schmositive.
Evie kicked off her shoes. She knew
fine
could end without any notice.

“Do you have anything sweet?” Laney said.

Evie heard the freezer door slide open.

Laney gasped and yelled, “Where are the cookies?”

“No cookies,” Evie yelled back into the empty airspace. “Trying that new thing we talked about—healthy eating?” She patted her stomach, aware the take-out burgers and fries she’d just consumed weren’t part of that plan. “Don’t worry though, I’ve already started thinking about Passover desserts!”

“I don’t want matzo-meal pancakes, I want cookies.”

“You love my macaroons,” Evie shouted. “And my
mandel brot
.”

“This is true. But, I want something now, not later.” Laney walked into the living room. She looked like a disappointed four-year-old—or, an annoyed almost fifty-year-old. “You’ve purged the house of all the cookies?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ll find something,” Beth said, trading places with Laney.

Evie heard the fridge open and close again. Being home alone with her friends wasn’t much different from being home alone with her kids.

“What did you find?” Laney said. “I’m starved.”

“Cheese and crackers,” Beth said. “I’ll make up a platter.”

“Of course you will,” Laney said.

Beth replied with a “Ha!”

Laney turned to Evie. “I don’t want to ruin our fun, but when’s that widow of yours moving? I know she stayed longer at Sophie’s game than you expected.”

“I wanted her to see Sam.”

“So, she saw Sam, and then what?”

“No, he spent the whole time watching the boys’ team. We’re going to see them tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me,” Laney said. “I thought she was leaving.”

“She is. I think. I don’t have any details. I don’t want any details.”

“That’s for the best,” Laney said.

“No, it’s not!” Beth appeared under the arch that separated the kitchen from the living room, one hand holding a tray like a waitress, the other hand on her hip like an irritated best friend.

“I said she could see the kids before she left, and I said we’d keep in touch. Other than that, I didn’t make her any promises. I don’t trust her. She knows that.”

“Good for you,” Laney said. “She has made a lot of bad choices. People
don’t
change. She’s proof of that.”

“People can learn from their mistakes,” Beth said, holding the tray in front of Evie, then Laney, then placing it on the end table. Beth constructed a cheese-and-cracker sandwich and popped it into her mouth whole and sat on the floor facing her friends.

“Nicole hasn’t learned,” Laney said. “You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl.”

“Nicole grew up in a nice small town, Laney, not a trailer park,” Beth said. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“We assumed she was married
once
. We assumed she moved in with Evie just to help her out and because she was lonely. So, please don’t defend her. You know what they say, the best indicator of future behavior is past behavior. And I assume you have a good reason for knowing so much about her that we don’t know?”

Beth looked away from Laney and didn’t answer.

“Don’t get your granny panties in a bunch,” Evie said. “I’m not saying I can ever trust her again.”

“Trust can grow over time,” Beth said. “People learn from their mistakes, Laney. You’ve learned from yours with Herb.”

Laney threw a cracker at Beth. She caught it and tossed it back.

Evie didn’t know if she could ever trust Nicole, but as her friends played combat crackers, Evie pictured a small town, haystacks on the sidewalk, one traffic light—actually, no traffic light. She envisioned Nicole holding Luca and walking up rickety, wooden steps to a double-wide trailer and Nicole’s mother opening the door. Nicole was thin from smoking instead of eating and smiled to reveal summer teeth—
some are there, some are not,
an inappropriate dentist’s joke Evie had learned from Herb.

She was finished with Nicole, but hoped these assumptions were wrong too.

*   *   *

When Laney left to check on the kids at her house, the door clicked shut and the sound echoed in a moment of cavernous silence.

“I know she means well,” Evie said to Beth, who insisted on staying and getting Evie’s pot of coffee ready for the next morning. “And I agree with her a lot of the time, but she can make it worse when she’s so…”

“Unforgiving,” Beth said, counting scoops. “With Laney, there’s no wiggle room.”

Evie nodded. “There
is
no universal right and wrong. I’ve learned that.”

Beth shook her head while pouring the water into Mr. Coffee’s tank.

Evie slid her ring off her finger and spun it on the counter.

“Can I ask you something without you getting angry at me?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“I guess we’ll find out. Think about this, and be honest. Do you still want Nicole and Luca in your life?” The coffee job complete, Beth searched the kitchen for busywork and walked from cabinet to sink to counter.

The constant activity gave Evie the heebie-jeebies. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

Beth sat and folded her hands, then started twirling her thumbs, like on the day their friendship tumbled like a block tower that was now being rebuilt.

“I look at Nicole and see poor choices and bad judgment and selfishness,” Evie said. “I was starting to see good things—and then she ruined it.”

“So why can’t you focus on the good parts?”

“Like with you and Alan? That’s totally different. We’ve been friends for years. And you didn’t try to take away my children’s security.”

“I know it’s different—and I’m grateful it’s different. But Nicole is leaving. Is that what you really want?”

“Absolutely!”

“You want your kids to grow up without their brother?”

“No, but I want Nicole to leave, and I can’t have both.”

“People can change, deep down. No one is just a collection of her mistakes. And that includes Nicole.” Beth smiled. “You have to trust
yourself
. Can you do that?”

Evie didn’t know. Although she did know she was worn out from counting pennies, rebuilding her family, and doubting herself.

“If your gut is telling you to forgive her,” Beth said, “or that you want to work toward that, you should. I’m not saying
forget,
but you have good instincts, you just have to listen to them. You can be really, really angry with someone and still move forward with them instead of without them.” She was almost pleading.

*   *   *

Evie shooed Rex from the bed and folded down the comforter. She smoothed it across the bottom third of the bed, tugging to make it even on both sides. Knowing she would kick it between the mattress and the footboard as soon as she got into bed didn’t matter; the routine was better than a dose of NyQuil. She patted the bed and Rex jumped back up, curling at the bottom like a kitten instead of a one-hundred-pound, muscular Lab. She wiggled under the lighter cotton quilt, maneuvered the pillows, and lay on her back. Then her side. She pictured a softball game, a field covered in daisies, silently recited a recipe by memory.

Evie thought about her job, her syllabus, her students, her wardrobe, her colleagues. She thought about Sandy Perlman.

Evie sat straight, and Rex’s head popped up as if he knew what she was thinking.

Sandy Perlman would be alone on Passover.

Chapter 24

S
AM AND
S
OPHIE POKED AT
each other even though the minivan had rear bucket seats specifically designed to help avoid such things. The bickering was a welcome respite from pondering moral turpitude.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Evie said.

“Why aren’t they just coming over?” Sam asked.

“Because it’s a beautiful day. And because it’s the Spring Festival.”

“Can we go out for dinner?” Sophie said.

“You just ate lunch.”

“I know, but that way we can be with Luca all day long.”

Evie’s stomach tightened.

“There they are.” Evie looked across the parking lot to Nicole’s car. The trunk was open and Evie spotted a jumble of suitcases. Her stomach tightened again. “Get the blanket out of the back, Sam. Soph, grab the water bottles for me.”

Evie didn’t want the kids to see suitcases. She hadn’t told them Nicole and Luca were moving.

Nicole shut the trunk as the twins rounded the minivan. A woman Evie had never before seen stood next to Nicole.

Everyone in Lakewood knew everyone in Lakewood. Newcomers were usually married couples or young families; this woman looked older than Evie. Much older. She must have stopped by Nicole’s car to ask for directions or for a neighborly chat. But then why were they walking toward Evie together, their stride and sway in sync?

Mousy-haired and starchly dressed, the woman looked like a White House–age Nancy Reagan. She also looked familiar, as if Evie had met her before or passed her a hundred times without being introduced. One of this woman’s hands helped Nicole steer Luca’s stroller onto the grass and to the edge of Evie’s blanket. Nicole and Nancy Reagan brushed hair off their faces at the same time, with the same sweeping motion.

Iowa’s Mother of the Year
.

Sophie threw her arms around Nicole’s waist, then reached out and touched Luca’s hand. Sam picked up one hand in a casual, teenager-like wave.

“Sam, Soph, this is
my
mom,” Nicole said.

Evie looked at Nicole and raised and lowered her eyebrows. The twins, almost eleven, straddled childhood and adolescence and mumbled hello.

“Say, ‘Nice to meet you,’” Evie mumbled.

“Nice to meet you,” the twins said in unison.

Nicole’s mom stroked each twin’s shoulder and smiled wide.

She has all her teeth.
They were white and straight and accented by light pink lipstick.

“I’ve seen your pictures,” she said. “You look much more mature in person. At least
twelve
.”

The twins beamed and looked at Evie. She nodded, and they ran to the giant blowup slide, which conveniently emptied in front of the pony rides.

Evie stood and put out her hand.

Nicole gasped. “I’m so sorry, that was so rude. Mom, this is Evie. Evie, this is my mother, Margaret.”

“Call me Peg. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Seems we have quite a bit in common.”

This was going to be good. “Really?” Evie said. “How so?”

She was polite, not sarcastic. This woman was sturdy Iowa farm stock with a firm handshake, proper grammar, and good dental hygiene, but coming to Lakewood had to be a big deal. Evie should make a good impression even if Peg was here to scoop up her daughter and grandson and take them away.
Take them home.

“Oh, Nicki didn’t tell you what I do for a living, did she?” Peg shook her head and grimaced with maternal disappointment.

“No, she didn’t,” Evie said, looking at
Nicki
.

Nicole smiled and rolled her eyes the way Sophie would have.

Peg slid her hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to Evie.

MARGARET H. SMITH, PH.D.—PROFESSOR OF AMERICAN LITERATURE, UNIVERSITY OF IOWA.

She probably didn’t live in a trailer.

Evie rearranged her perceptions and stared at the distant conglomeration of play equipment. Sam giant-stepped up the sliding board. Sophie scaled the climbing wall. Evie monitored the appropriate risks and moderate challenges enjoyed by her kids. Anytime they played, she smiled.