The Glass Wives (7 page)

*   *   *

Evie opened the cabinets one by one, closing them without a sound, gathering ingredients by the glow of the oven light. She lined up everything on the counter and retrieved bowls without a clink or a clank. She measured, poured, cracked, and scooped. But the stand-up mixer would not be the household’s alarm clock. She’d do it as in the olden days, with nothing but prairie determination and a wooden spoon. With neglected muscles, Evie put everything into it, counted every stroke. Then she counted dollars. She would have to count every penny even more closely than when she and Richard were both in graduate school. She didn’t know how much the Social Security would be, but it would help with the daily expenses of raising Sam and Sophie. She would get Social Security too. That was her booby prize for sticking it out and putting up with it all for sixteen years. But would it cover the mortgage? Dog food? Clothes? How would she make up the difference without leaving the house and working full-time, turning their lives upside down even more? She loved working for Millie at Third Coast, selling one-of-a-kind table linens, custom-made jewelry, and designer baby bootees to the North Shore’s finest shoppers. But she needed a career, not just a job. Maybe Third Coast needed a new manager. No, Millie had owned and managed the store for years. Could Evie find something professional in the middle of winter with a gap in her résumé the size of Lake Michigan? She needed extra income right away—and then next month she could be cool, calm, and calculated, if she didn’t implode, or explode, from too many cookies.

Then, as Evie slid the cookie sheet into the oven, it hit her. The why-didn’t-I-think-of-that-before? moment.
Shared marital assets.
A legal term had never given her warm fuzzies until the day she saw the bottom line of her and Richard’s joint savings account over three years before. She’d received half of what they’d saved during their marriage. It was just half, but it was
Evie’s
half.

Alan had set it up as a long-term investment. After all, with maintenance, child support, and her job, Evie had enough for the monthly mortgage, upkeep, bills, everything she and the kids needed, and some of what Sam and Sophie wanted. Sometimes she even had enough for a splurge on herself.

Though the savings was an invisible part of her life, it gave her a sense of security, like Spanx. When she allowed herself, she dreamed about a suite at the Drake, and a weekend filled with bubble baths, room service, and lake views. She also considered that the money might one day pay for an Israel trip or a South American cruise. When she was being more practical, she knew it could be a hefty down payment on a non-minivan hybrid. But that kind of thinking would have to wait. Those dreams were a luxury Evie could no longer afford. Her hard-won nest egg for the future had to save them right now.

*   *   *

“When did you bake these cookies?” Sam asked. He was still groggy from his restless night, with the red eyes and bed head to prove it. He held a stack of three cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Apparently, crying and vomiting works up an appetite. Sophie just stared at the plate.

“Early this morning,” Evie said, putting her forefinger to her lips. “We don’t want to wake Nicole.” When Luca had made morning noises, Evie had scooped him out of the Pack ’n Play and played nanny
. God, I love babies.
He was busy with a bottle when the kids walked into the kitchen. The rare, picture-perfect mothering moment could only be more complete if she were wearing a shirtwaist dress, pearls, and an apron. And if her ex-husband’s widow weren’t asleep on the sectional.

Strange as it was, the vignette gave Evie a sense of accomplishment. She—they’d—made it through another night. Her kids were awake, vertical, and one of them was eating cookies right out of the oven. Although to be honest, these days she got the same feeling from showering and by making her bed before noon. Or at all.

“Will you make more?” Sam asked with his mouth full.

Evie let it go this time. Manners could be important tomorrow. “Sophie promised to help me make cookies, didn’t you?”

Sophie shrugged.

Sophie never shrugged away a chance to bake. Evie knew the kids would change, it had only been about a week, but when everyday moments shifted, she quaked, unable to find an internal balance.

Sam was quiet, chewing quickly, swallowing loudly, refilling his fist for the same reason Evie filled her cookie jar—just so it wouldn’t be empty. During the day Sam was composed, almost serene. With his friends he let loose all the good stuff, the laughter with his head thrown back, the shrieks of catching video villains. But the real villains came out to play at night.

“Morning,” Nicole said from the doorway. Unkempt and unaware, as if she belonged to the house and the family, she walked to Luca and lifted him into her arms. She cradled and nuzzled him as if she hadn’t seen him in a week, then leaned and kissed both Sam and Sophie on the tops of their heads. “You’ve been busy,” Nicole said to Evie.

“Just passing the time,” Evie said. “Help yourself.”

She really had to be more careful with her words.

*   *   *

Evie poured a capful of pine cleaner into the toilet and flushed.

“Are you kidding me?” Laney said.

“It took you longer to get here than I thought it would,” Evie replied. “I think it’s almost ten.”

“Very funny. Would you like to tell me this story somewhere besides the bathroom?”

Laney followed Evie into her bedroom, where in tandem the friends pulled and tugged and smoothed the bed in silence. Then they climbed on top of the covers, creating personal divots Evie would later fix. Laney crossed her legs like a pretzel—or like an Indian if Evie were being old-fashioned and politically incorrect.

“Well?”

“Luca was teething. He was screaming. I had Baby Anbesol.”

“There’s a twenty-four-hour drugstore right on Western Avenue,” Laney said.

“I felt bad. It was about Luca, not about Nicole. I wasn’t going to let him be in pain to make a point.”

“And they slept here because?”

“Because they just did. I don’t have any other explanation.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Laney climbed off the bed and readjusted the comforter and pillows. Evie did the same.

“Now what are you warning me about?”

“You don’t want to do this alone and you’re going soft. You don’t want her help, you don’t need her help. You’ll figure out how to do this on your own.”

“I’ve been doing it on my own,” Evie said.

Parenting alone was nothing new. But having someone to talk to and share a cup of coffee with while she made the kids breakfast, that was something new. It was true that being the only adult in the house hadn’t bothered Evie, it had empowered her—walking around the dining-room table while the kids worked on homework, bouncing from bedroom to bedroom at bedtime and when it was time to wake and go-go-go. She chose vacations and meals and wall colors. It would have been nice to have help, but it was also nice to not have anyone looking over her shoulder. And with the Divorce Days came the every-other-weekend respite not only from single-parenting, but
all
parenting. It wasn’t lackadaisical; it was essential. Evie loved her kids ferociously and ached with the need to protect them, especially now. But she also needed to love and protect herself. How would she do that now? For three years Evie had been granted time to relax and play and refill the well of patience from which she constantly had to draw. Now, instead of having weekends to herself, she would have to restore and regroup between loads of laundry while fending off Nicole in the driveway like a suburban ninja.

*   *   *

Back in the kitchen, Evie doled out the snacks bought by Lisa: a box of organic raisins to Sophie, and a carob-chip granola bar to Sam. Evie offered them to Nicole too, and she accepted. Laney stared, her mouth open wide enough to catch flies.
No, a small aircraft.
Evie put her fingers beneath her own chin and pushed upward. Laney closed her mouth and headed for the counter to her stool of choice, next to the coffeepot.

“I’m ready to go,” Nicole said.

Evie followed her and Luca to the door.

“We make a good team,” Nicole said.

Team?
As far as Evie knew, Nicole didn’t do anything except ask for help and receive it. Teamwork implies give-and-take, not just take.

“We could make this work,” Nicole said.

“We could make what work?”

“This…”
Gesturing as if to embrace the house. “The kids loved having us here this morning. I’m a neat freak, I wouldn’t interfere with anything. And I saw the pile of bills on your desk. You work at that little gift shop, but without Richard’s support checks, will you be able to even stay in this house? Remember, I was his wife. I knew everything.”

Evie bristled. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Nicole did not know everything. That was also part of the deal, just like the monthly checks.

“Think about it,” Nicole said while strapping Luca into his carrier. “I can help with the twins, pay room and board.”

Evie poked up her eyebrow so high it hid beneath her morning bangs. “You want to live here?”

“Don’t worry,” Nicole said. “I can afford it.”

Evie squirmed to shake off the innuendo. “You’re kidding, right? You have your own house and your own baby and you want to live in my house with my kids. And me.”

“We’d be a family. And neither of us would have to do it alone.”

Since when did Nicole care that Evie was doing it alone? She’d been the only adult in the house for over three years, and now Nicole thought that was not ideal? And what made her think Evie needed help with the twins? Why was Nicole contemplating Evie’s bank balance? Even she didn’t want to do that. Not yet.

“I’m fine,” Evie said. She opened the door and propped it with her back.
Don’t want the door to hit the widow on the way out.
Evie kissed the baby on his head and patted Nicole’s back as she walked past. “Hey, where’s the Pack ’n Play?”

Nicole called from halfway down the path, “I left it in the closet for next time.”

*   *   *

“What do you mean she left it here for next time?” Laney said, dipping her hand into the cookie jar.

“She’ll be back. She knows it. I know it. I saw no reason to deny it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Well, at least you’re rockin’ that robe,” Laney said.

Evie ignored the style dig. So what if it was Week Two of the Clothing and Makeup Strike? There was no need for jeans and sweaters or mascara and blush. No need for shoes when memory-foam slippers would do. Evie wasn’t going anywhere. She would probably never go anywhere again. It had been six days with no call, text, or e-mail from Scott, which was fine, considering she would probably never again have the energy for a night on the town or in his bed. Right now all Evie craved was eight, no, seven—even six—hours of uninterrupted sleep. Just thinking it, she yawned. Maybe Laney would watch the kids while she napped. No, she wanted to hang out, be a good friend. She couldn’t lapse into emotional oblivion, she had to be alert and awake and available. This demanded much more coffee.

“Kids!” She waved her mugless hand like a magic wand. “Go upstairs or downstairs—if you need me I’ll be right here.” Sam leaned in for a kiss. He did that all the time now. Sophie leaned in too but shook her head at the offer of cookies.

“Let’s sit in the living room,” Evie said. She needed a change of scenery. She also needed a change of subject. Anything but death or her affection for terry cloth.

“What’s going on with you and Herb?” Evie asked. “Tell me everything.”

“You sure you want to hear? Let’s talk about you and the kids.”

“No!” Evie snapped.

Laney cackled. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to yell!”

“I just want to feel normal for a few minutes. Humor me.”

Laney lay back on the couch and looked at the ceiling, dreamy-like. “It just hit me.” She popped herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. “How I would feel if all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Herb was just
gone
. I know I joked when he left for work and traveled, but it overwhelmed me that it could have just as easily been him—and not Richard.” She looked over and put her hands on Evie’s, who slid from the touch and picked up her mug with two hands. The coffee was warm. She drew it in through her teeth, pretending it was hot with a slurping noise. She abhorred being the poster child for “things could always be worse.”

“Right there in the middle of the night after Beth called, I made him promise not to leave me,” Laney continued. “I was crying and he was crying. We were hysterical. I honestly don’t know if we were crying about Richard or about us. But things have been really great since.”

“Must be nice. So Richard dies and you use that as a lesson to appreciate your husband. Great. Anything else I can do for you to make your life happier? Fall down the steps? Bite the inside of my cheek? Throw myself in front of an oncoming Metra train? C’mon, you can think of something.”

“Don’t be mad at me for having an epiphany.”

Evie raised and lowered one side of her nose. “Whatever.”

“I felt so disconnected from Herb, you know that.”

Evie was ashamed she took solace in Laney and Herb’s arguments—in their distance from each other—but it was a welcome departure from the on-screen love affair of Beth and Alan.

“Look, I don’t begrudge your happiness.” Evie didn’t know if it was true, but it was the right thing to say. “Kind of sucks that this is what it took.”

“I think everything happens for a reason.”

“What did you say?” Evie asked, incredulous.

“Just that I think everything happens for a reason.”

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re telling me that Richard died so that you and Herb could find your way back to each other?” Evie turned away and inspected the couch. Her kids’ loss seemed a steep cost for Laney’s gain. Evie wished she had time for a personal epiphany, one that would tell her what would become of her and Sam and Sophie. But if she knew what was next, it might be more intimidating than not knowing, so Evie would march forward without the comfort of foresight. The enigma sparked hope. Evie tasted it for a second, then swallowed the optimism with lukewarm coffee.