The Yellow Braid (15 page)

Caro retired to her bedroom where she could
monitor them occasionally. She tried to write but couldn’t
concentrate. Neither could she settle down to read. The day’s
events had taken their toll and she took aspirin for a headache.
She heard Livia come in, use the bathroom, and go out again. She
paced around her bed and then settled in the wingback chair that
took up the tight corner next to the window and had only a canted
view of the beach.

Caro saw them perched on their blanket,
illuminated by a moonbeam the size of the Coney Island boardwalk.
Squirreling their toes in the sand, they leaned on their elbows,
their faces to the night sky.

Taking pleasure in their apparent
peacefulness, Caro observed for more minutes than she normally
would. She began to notice Beatrice sneaking sidelong glances at
Livia. Each time, Caro saw Beatrice rest her eyes on her friend
longer. One half-second. Then two. And then Beatrice tapped Livia’s
shoulder and when Livia turned, Beatrice kissed her on the
lips.

Caro nearly fell off the bed. She told
herself that it was wrong to spy on them. Still she twisted her
body from the chair and drew close to the window until her mouth
was pressed against the glass, just as Beatrice kissed Livia
again.

Caro stood trembling, dry-mouthed, her lips
quivering with the pulse of desire that drummed inside her and
created a white heat that coursed through her body.

They didn’t
do
anything else. Except for the two kisses, Beatrice touched
Livia only to pull her up by her hands when they were ready to come
in.

Caro paced the limited pathway around the
bed, stopping short when minutes later there was a knock on the
door, and Livia spoke. “We’re going to bed now. Are you coming out
to say goodnight?”

Caro wet her lips and breathed deeply, her
reply riding on the tail of her exhalation. “I have a headache, so
unless you need something…”

“That’s okay. We’re good,” Livia said and
went back down the hallway to rejoin her friend.

There are chapters in every
life which are seldom read and certainly not aloud.
~
Carol Shields

Somehow Caro made it through the rest of the
night and the next day without letting on how jealous she was of
Beatrice. She cursed herself for her feelings. At the same time,
she was powerless to release them.

Livia and Beatrice left at noon. When Nina
came to the door to collect them, Caro had lied and said she was
going to the city for a couple of days to meet with her editor.
Even as she spoke, however, recollection of the girls kissing kept
morphing in her mind until the image became unbearable and she
couldn’t look Nina in the face. It wasn’t Beatrice kissing Livia
anymore. It was her—Caro.

She drove away the following morning after
the crunch of weekend husbands returned to their city jobs and
domiciles. Her car sped toward the smog-ridden horizon. After weeks
of looking upon the great Atlantic in all its mercurial moods and
at its vast, heavenly blue counterpart, the drive through the
Midtown tunnel that dumped her in Manhattan made the phlegm rise in
Caro’s throat and her chest tighten.

The sidewalks seemed dirtier; the gutters
more littered. The buildings appeared taller and more intrusive in
their gray concreteness. She swerved into a parking space and
slammed her hand on the steering wheel. Her heart hammered so hard
she felt as if any second it was going to burst through her chest
in one lethal explosion.

“
I can’t stay here,” she groaned. “I just
can’t.” She felt suffocated by the city. Th
en again, the events that summer—Marcie’s
death, and betrayal…even her love for Livia seemed designed to suck
the air out of her and destroy her.

She would accomplish at her apartment what
she wanted, and then be gone again to the open spaces of sand and
beach.

Caro hadn’t been in the apartment since
she’d discovered Zach’s affair with Marcie. Sometimes upon waking,
she envisioned her reaction to seeing the memorabilia of the three
of them that decorated the walls, tabletops, and bookcases. At
those times, Caro grieved with each word of love and yearning that
she supposed might have passed between them. Now, as she drove
closer, her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

Caro lived on the top floor of a 1900s
brownstone. She’d purchased the apartment the year after Zach died
because she’d wanted a change. In a sentimental decision, she chose
a location on the Hudson River almost exactly opposite the point
where they had their home on the New Jersey side.

The New York skyline was an infinitely
better view. But from her present vantage point, she liked the idea
of gazing across the narrow waterway and being able to identify
places she and Zach had frequented as a couple. The Steamboat
Restaurant and Chappy’s Grill had been their favorites.

Standing in her living room, looking out at
the familiar landmarks, her memories now led only to suspicion. The
times Marcie had joined them for steaks at Chappy’s and Caro had
gone home early to work. Had Zach and Marcie gone to the movies as
they’d claimed? Or had they raced to her place for quick sex?

When she’d given out-of-town readings, had
they acted like a couple? It suddenly occurred to her that Chappy
himself and Roger, the maitre d’ at The Steamboat must have known
about them. She’d never again be able to go to either of those
places without giving herself away. She’d not be able to face them
without blurting out, “Did you know?”

Caro found herself grinding her palms
together and biting her bottom lip as she looked around the room.
The confluence of memories overwhelmed her. The fireplace mantel
was flush with photographs. On the side table was one of Zach
escorting Marcie onto the ferry at Fire Island.

Caro reached for it, intending only to try
and decipher Zach’s expression. She wanted some kind of clue that
corroborated the truth. But as she drew the likeness of his face
closer to her, the anger ignited and she flung the picture across
the room, knocking over a picture of her and Marcie.

Carvings, baskets, and miniatures—Caro moved
methodically around the apartment dumping the once-treasured gifts
into a garbage bag. She cringed every time she heard the objects
crack and break. At the same time, the destruction felt liberating,
especially when she dragged her booty down the hall and dumped it
into the trash bin.

With the exception of a photo of Abby that
she was taking back with her, the remaining ones of Caro, Zach, and
Abby, she put away for safekeeping in the storage closet with
Abby’s name on it. Next she dusted and fluffed pillows. Then she
sat at her desk with Abby’s picture in front of her and dialed her
number in London.

“I’m home in Manhattan,” she said to her
daughter. “I just got finished packing up all the pictures of you,
me, and Dad and I’m calling to know if there is any special item
you want me to send you. I’m locking the place up for awhile.”

“Why now—you only have another month on your
rental,” Abby said. The depressed sound of her mother’s voice
sounded alien to her daughter.

“Maybe I’ll stay on the Island for the rest
of my sabbatical. Rent a year-round place. I haven’t thought ahead
that far. I only know I can’t live in this place again.”

“I can’t think of anything. I took what I
wanted when I came here,” Abby said. “Mom, you don’t sound right.
You shouldn’t have gone to the apartment by yourself. You could’ve
phoned one of your friends from school to go along.”

“And have to tell them my sorry story?” Caro
said. “I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s done now.”

Abby had to moisten her lips before she
said, “I’ve been thinking, I don’t want you to see me anymore as
being all like Dad.”

“What brought this on?” Caro asked.

“
Since you found out about his affair. He
really hurt you and I never saw it that way before. I…I always
believed you deserved how he treated you.”

“Thank you, Abby. Telling me that means the
world to me.”

“
Phillip accused me of being controlling,”
Abby confided. “Said that l wanted everything neat, that I didn’t
know what love was. And I was wondering if that was part of the
reason why you didn’t want to know what was going on between Dad
and Marcie? I always saw you as being selfish…but, were you afraid,
Mom?”

“I didn’t know before, but yes, I guess it
was out of fear more than anything else.” Caro heard the muffled
mewling of Abby weeping, the sound of which made her tear up as
well. “What about Phillip now?”

“I told him he was wrong and sent him away,”
Abby said.

“Are you going to call him up and get him
back?”

“I’m going to try,” Abby said.

Caro looked around at all of the surfaces
now empty of their accessories, and said, “Abby, I want to leave
now. One thing before we hang up, instead of comparing yourself to
Dad or me, be you. I’m sure that’s the person Phillip is longing to
meet.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“Me, too, Abby.”

When finally Caro locked up the apartment,
she knew that one day in the future she would recall this
leave-taking: the thud of the ancient elevator as it reached her
floor; the tinny click of the key in her door, the dense snap of
the deadbolt. She would remember. It signaled the moment she knew
that her life, as she knew it, was over.

On the way back, when Caro checked traffic
in the rearview mirror she caught sight of her face from her nose
to the top of her forehead. She grumbled over the gray roots along
her hairline and the white stubby hairs that had invaded her
eyebrows, making them look bristly. Her eyes had lost their sheen
some time in the early morning hours while she had tossed
helplessly and sleeplessly in bed.

She keyed in Tommy’s salon on her cell
phone. “Tommy, please.”

“He’s with a client. May I help you?”

“This is Caro Barrone. I need appointments
for a color, cut, and facial for tomorrow.”

“One moment,” the receptionist said. When
she came back on the line, she said, “Sorry, his first available is
not until next week. The aesthetician is available for the facial
though. Would you like me to make the bookings?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I want you to please tell
Tommy that I have an affair to attend and have to come in
tomorrow,” Caro insisted.

“He’s booked solid, ma’am. Perhaps someone
else?”

Caro was just about to argue when she heard
Tommy’s voice in the background, and then the transfer of the call
to his extension.

“Caro, I’ll slot you in but I’m fitting you
in between clients, so be prepared to wait.”

The receptionist was on again before Caro
had a chance to thank him. “One p.m., Ms. Barrone. See you
then.”

When Caro hung up, she realized somewhat
guiltily the many small lies she had told over the summer to be in
Livia’s company—just as now, leading Tommy to believe she had
somewhere important to go. In the next instant, however, she
reasoned that the prize of keeping Livia near was well worth the
dishonesty.

Twas this deprived my soul of rest,

And raised such tumults in my breast;

For, while I gazed, in transport tossed,

My br
eath was gone, my voice was
lost…

~
Sappho

Several days later, Caro, Nina, Tommy, and
Livia piled into his Hummer and drove to a strip of beach between
Long Island Sound and the ocean, a perfect picnic spot accessible
only by boat or all-terrain vehicle. Locals usually came out
midweek for moonlight suppers or overnight campouts. A dozen
families were already there but since the beach extended for half a
mile, Tommy was able to park a fair distance beyond the last
camper.

He dragged out pails and rakes, then he and
Livia sloshed along the shoreline and into ankle-deep water where
they began dragging their rakes through the sandy bottom in search
of clams.

“I see you don’t have a camera with you,”
Caro said to Nina as they watched Tommy and Livia at their
task.

“One of my concessions. No family pictures
unless pre-approved.” Nina coiled her hair in a tail and threw it
over her shoulder in a gesture of dismissal. “Guess we’ve had
enough for a while anyway.”

Nina set about lighting the fire and putting
the lobster pot to boil while Caro dug in the food hamper for the
condiments and tableware. “I might have an offer from someone to
buy the “Growing Up” series. The gallery owner I contracted with
got in touch this afternoon with the news.”

“Full asking price?” Caro asked.

“Incredible, but yes. Six thousand for the
individual portraits and thirty-six for each series. John says it’s
a steal. Can you imagine? My lighthouse series in total brought in
one-tenth of that.”

“Does Livia know they’re up for sale?” Caro
asked?

“She said good riddance or some such thing,”
Nina said as she fanned the fire.

Livia squealed in delight and the women
looked over to where Tommy was waving a crab at her. Livia started
to retreat and kicked at the surf, until she fell and came up
laughing.

“Think she means what she says?” Caro
asked.

“I guess so. Why?”

Caro moved around to stand next to Nina. “I
want to put in an offer for all three series.”

Nina screwed up her shoulders. “What did you
say? Never mind, I heard you. But why?”

Caro wished she could tell Nina the whole
truth…confess to her how she could dally over each fragment of
feature that made up Livia’s face, or the dip and line of muscles
and bone that composed her body. How when Caro lay in bed she
dreamed of having Livia wrapped in her arms.