When We Were Friends (16 page)

I smiled sadly at Molly who was sampling the ear of a stuffed beagle, then kissed the top of her head. “I think it’s time for breakfast,” I said.

I opened the door, and at the precise moment I entered the hallway, Molly in one arm and the diaper bag in the other, the door across the hall opened and Alex stepped out from his room.

“Oh!” we both said at once, and then he smiled at me. “Well, good morning. How’s your toe doing, you still in pain?”

“Morning,” I said. “No, it hardly hurts.”

He reached to trace a finger round the shell of Molly’s ear, which, perplexingly, made my own ear tingle. And I felt all at once shy, remembering our conversation from last night. The intimacy had come too fast, like sleeping with a man on the first date; we’d crossed some threshold and I felt like we were now tumbling down the other side.

But then he said, “So you going down for breakfast?” and the awkwardness was immediately smoothed away.

Because there was something captivating about him, a depth to his eyes, a kindness, so that where normally I’d have been fumbling for a response—Was I going down for breakfast? Was I?—now I found myself feeling again completely at ease. I leaned forward to speak under my breath. “Yeah, just get ready. Yesterday she served an Easter egg.”

“Easter egg, bunny, I get it.” He smiled. “What is it about older single women needing to collect things? If it’s not cats or bunnies then it’s knitting, or Hummel.”

“And single men get cars. Although women collect as a replacement for kids, whereas with men I think it’s all about penises.” And then I felt my face flush. This was
too
much at ease. Had I really just said the word “penis”?

But Alex just nodded in mock-solemnity. “Everything’s always about penises,” he said.

I gave a short, barking laugh.

“But regardless, Muriel seems really nice.”

“Oh she is!” I said. “Try not to hold the bunny thing against her.”

Muriel had set breakfast out on the patio again, one table for the four of us. It was a repeat of yesterday’s breakfast, except that the Easter eggs were blue and the toast, thick peasant bread, had been cut in the shape of a rabbit head, which Alex lifted, smiling. “Clever!” he said to Muriel, then grinned at me. I bit my tongue.

“So is this your last day with us?” Muriel asked me.

“Probably. My car’s supposed to be ready by ten, and I should be getting that FedEx this morning.”

“Well feel free to stay as long as you like. I’m not expecting a full house, and I like the company.” She turned to Alex. “You too, sweetie.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I like it here, kind of reminds me of home with the benefit of not having to make my own bed.”

I poured Cheerios onto Molly’s tray, only half-listening as Muriel and Alex started to talk about the art of running a bed-and-breakfast. It was another gorgeous day, the sky a deeper blue than it ever got in coastal Virginia. The garden smelled of honeysuckle and green, and pansies and lavender lined the back path like paint splashes. Molly’s hair gleamed a rich, burnished chestnut in the sunlight, and I twisted a lock of my own hair in front of my face, to see if it would do the same.

“Leah?” Alex said. “Hello, you there?”

“Sorry.” I dropped my hair. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I just was asking if you want me to bring you to the repair shop this morning.” He checked his watch. “I was going to take a quick walk downtown, you can join me if you want, and then I can drive you.”

“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” I said, then clamped my jaw shut.
Awesome?
Seriously, Lainey?

Molly mercifully distracted us by calling, “Ah!” and holding her drool-covered fist out to Alex. “Um, sweetie?” I said. “He doesn’t want your mushy Cheerio.”

But Alex opened his mouth and let her deposit said Cheerio inside. “Well that’s just gross,” I said. Thinking,
He is cool
.

As we were getting up to leave the table, Muriel pulled me aside and leaned toward my ear. “So I noticed there’s no wedding ring,” she whispered. “Have fun!” Smiling like she’d just handed me a gift.

The three of us strolled the downtown streets, peeking in shopwindows. I was experimenting with the baby sling I’d bought. I’d always assumed slings were used solely for cradling broken limbs or pelting
rocks, and it looked incredibly unsafe to me, like Molly was continually on the verge of tumbling headfirst onto the ground. But the salesgirl had assured me it was the most ergonomic carrying option, and after the first few minutes getting used to the position, I loved it. It felt so natural, the way the fabric swaddled us both, being able to look into her face while she gazed up at me, how she curled against me in almost the same position she would have if she were inside me. I gave her my index finger as we walked and she held it loosely, her gaze dreamy and distant.

At one point I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a store window, bright-eyed, mid-laugh. Something about the angle of the sun off the glass acted like a fun house mirror, squaring my heart-shaped face and adding an exotic olive tinge to my usually flushed cheeks. And there, for the first time, I saw my father. Saw one particular photo of him, actually; he’d been at a party talking to someone off-camera, lips in a half-O, half-smile. And here he was in the window, his brown hair with the C-shaped curl where his bangs were parted, his same almond-shaped eyes, same look of a person who was intense and yet easily amused out of that intensity. I had to stop myself from drifting closer to the window. I was mesmerized, as if the reflection might have something to tell me.

What would my father say if he could see me? Would he feel moral outrage? Star’s terror? Or just paternal concern for my well-being? I didn’t know him well enough to even guess.

As we passed the newspaper rack, I quickly knelt in front of it as I dropped in a quarter, to obscure Alex’s view. I pulled out a paper, scanning the headlines. There were no stories about Molly on the front page, which I thought must be a good sign. Relieved, I stuffed the paper in the diaper bag for later.

Walking beside Alex, I wondered at how comfortable I felt. He seemed so laid back, so easygoing, and yes that was part of it. But also I felt like I wasn’t myself. I was Leah, soap opera girl with the perfect daughter and the shiny chestnut hair, and a normal past, a history of everyday adventures. And this new and improved me seemed to be comfortable with silence. We didn’t talk much as we
walked, only exclaiming every once in a while over a bird or knick-knacks in store windows. Maybe this was what married life was like, no worry that your husband might find you boring, no need to entertain; you just enjoyed each other’s presence and the sharing of something wonderful. Knowing it was wonderful mostly because you were sharing it—like the difference between painting pictures only I would see, and the murals I truly appreciated only after someone else had cooed over them, making me step back and look through their eyes.

At ten I called the repair shop, and was almost sorry when they told me the car was ready. Alex drove me there, and stood with me at the scarred laminate counter where a mechanic explained the repairs in a language I didn’t even try to interpret, then handed me a bill. I stared at it, then at the mechanic, and then back at the bill. Two hundred twenty dollars for both the tow and the repair, which, while nowhere near as bad as it might’ve been, was also not as close to free as I had hoped. And was about a hundred dollars more than was currently in my wallet.

“Um,” I said, “any chance I could pay you later today or tomorrow? I … don’t have a credit card.” I gave a shy smile that I hoped would suggest honesty rather than indigence. “And I’m expecting money in the mail.”

The mechanic gave me a look of incredulity, and then hooted a Santa-ish noise as his answer, “Whoa-ho-ho!” followed by an awkward silence. Which Alex broke by saying, “I’ll spot you the money, no problem.”

I sputtered a protest because it would’ve been disgustingly gauche not to protest. But in the end I accepted, because what else could I do?

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “This is my second Good Samaritan act in two days, which’ll hopefully counteract a recent glut of sins, at least in my own mind.”

Muriel wasn’t at the inn when we returned, but she’d set a FedEx envelope outside my door. It was thicker than I’d expected, bulging in the middle, and I imagined a fat stack of bills tied with a rubber
band. I ran a finger across the seal almost mournfully. The envelope meant I’d be leaving, moving on to the next phase in my journey. And I didn’t want the next phase. I was a homebody and this place already felt almost like a new and inordinately better version of home.

“My money’s in here,” I told Alex, “so I can pay you back. And then I guess I’ll get packed. I want to make some headway before it gets dark.”

“Right,” Alex said, unmistakable regret in his tone that both pleased and devastated me. Alex was probably one of the smartest people I’d ever spent time with, open-minded and insightful, able to talk intelligently about every subject I threw at him. Where were men like this back in Virginia? Other than Keith, I’d never dated a man more than two weeks. Not that I’d had many opportunities; I knew I was lacking in that indefinable quality one called
sexiness
, not the sort of woman to catch a man’s eye. And since I’d never had the guts to even attempt flirting or date-services, most of my dates had been setups, from Pamela and Craig or people I’d befriended in town.

There always seemed to be something missing in these men. Or maybe it was just that by the time they’d reached their thirties they’d already lived full lives that had nothing to do with me, a history of serious relationships and broken marriages, after which I was necessarily less important because I hadn’t been the
first
. Keith had made me feel like I was the center of his world. More because of his personality than anything I’d done to warrant that kind of love, but it had reassured me that he’d never purposely cause me pain. And when the men I dated now didn’t show me that adoration, I got scared. Something inside of me closed up. But wasn’t the truth that I was just looking for a sign that they wouldn’t betray me in the end?

And now here was Alex, who had this aura about him of utter trustworthiness. So why did I only meet him now when I was in hiding, pretending to be someone else?

“I want to give you my e-mail before you go,” he said, “and my number, because I’m hoping you’ll keep in touch.”

“Definitely,” I said. Although of course it was a lie. “I’ll definitely keep in touch.”

He stood a minute without speaking, looking into my face, and I felt myself blush. “What?” I said.

“Sorry. Sorry, I was just thinking how great it is talking to you. And how I wish you didn’t live all the way out in Chicago.”

I felt something lodge in my chest, something red-hot and molten, threatening to explode. “Thanks,” I said. “And me too. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

In the bedroom, I sat on the bed to open the envelope. Inside was a short note and a cloth teething ring with a teddy bear head as its handle. And thirty dollars.

I stared at the money, flipped it over as if it might be hiding more money on the other side, then peered inside the empty envelope. Nothing. I opened the note.

I crumpled the note in my fist. Damn Sydney. Damn her! What was wrong with her? What was she thinking? Didn’t she realize that without money I couldn’t buy Molly food or diapers? That we’d be forced to camp out in my car or at some fleabag motel? But no, she must realize I’d find some way to make this work. Get money from
Star. Or rob a bank. Why should she sacrifice when I could do all the sacrificing for her?

I sat on the bed with Molly, let her clamber over me and the pillows, playing with the buttons on the duvet. I reached for one of her socked feet and cupped it in my palm. “If she’s leaving us to fend for ourselves,” I said, “then what’s to stop us from actually driving to Kansas? Or someplace even more exotic, like California. Why not? I could take you to Disney, you’d like that. You think the swings’re fun, wait’ll you try the flying teacups.” Molly pulled her foot away, and I clenched my fists between my knees.

Maybe I could get us both fake social security numbers; didn’t people do that all the time? I could become Leah officially, and Molly could become Molly. Screw you, Sydney; your daughter is no longer your daughter. You gave her to me, so now she’s mine.

Oh it was crazy; all of this was insane. But that didn’t change the fact that I’d need more money. I’d have to ask Star to write Pamela a check that she could wire to one of the banks here. I pulled out my phone, and called home.

As soon as Star answered, I could tell something was wrong; her voice was tight and pitched too high. “You okay?” I said, not looking for an answer really, just trying to show I knew that she wasn’t. “I’m going to have Pamela come by, okay? Check up on you, drop off anything you need, and I’m going to need you to help her wire me some money.”

“Lainey—” Her voice caught and she made a choking sound then said, “Does Sydney know where you are?”

“Yeah, I told her. Why?”

“Lainey, we have to hang up. The phone might be bugged.”

“What?”

“Get out of there! Get out now, don’t stay another night.”

“C’mon, Ma.”

“Just run! I’m hanging up!” She hung up.

I stared at the phone, then quickly dialed again. She didn’t answer, and after ten rings I dialed again. No answer.