“She's going.” The words flew off Lacey's tongue.
“Mom,” Wink said, her voice imploring.
“You'll be fine.” Lacey spoke carefully, her words measured.
“Mom, can't we just talk about it?”
“Not now,” Lacey said. She gave Wink a hug and squeezed her shoulders. “The chicken.” She gave Alex a dark look, as if she assumed he had been the one who'd raised the question of college in the fall for Wink. Her lips were pursed and trembling. “Is ready.”
Before Alex had a chance to explain his discussion with Wink, a door slammed in the distance and Toni called out, “I'm home. Where is everybody?”
Lacey turned away and headed to the kitchen. Her back was rigid, her step determined.
“Dad,” Wink said, “I just want to be able to talk about it. I tried to tell Mom the other day and she had a meltdown.”
“Not now, Mouse,” he said. “We better get in to dinner.” He poked once more at the fire and moved the screen to the front of the hearth. He could hear Toni and Lacey in the kitchen and wanted to get in there to keep the peace. He pulled Wink to her feet. “It'll be okay,” he said. “I promise.”
Â
Margot was surprised to hear from Alex the following Monday. She had been at her apartment all day painting and had to dig wildly through her handbag to retrieve her cell phone, thinking it might be Oliver wanting to make plans for dinner.
“I'm on the last shuttle tonight,” Alex said.
“Oh,” she said faintly, disoriented that it was him.
“Any chance you could meet me for a drink?”
“You're in the city again?” Hearing his voice so unexpectedly made her feel as if she'd been swimming underwater and had just broken through the surface, her ears still clogged and her eyes blurry.
“Yeah. I've had a lousy day. I just wanted to talk. I mean, well, you must be busy. You and Oliver probably have plans.” His voice faded.
“No. It's fine.” She looked over at the canvas she'd been working on. A wet brush filled with a leafy shade of green lay on the table. “I need a few minutes here to clean up.”
His voice brightened momentarily and he asked her to join him at the bar in the Michelangelo Hotel, where he usually stayed when in the city. He paused and added, “If it's not a good time . . .”
“It's okay. Sure. Tell me where again.”
Alex gave her the street address, in midtown.
Margot didn't need to hurry home. Oliver had been working late all week. His paintings had to be shipped soon for his show's opening at the end of May. The night before, he had arrived home after eleven, smelling of turpentine, his hands speckled with paint. He'd brought his supper on a tray and a glass of wine for each of them into their bedroom. Margot had been reading, trying to stay awake. Drinking the wine dulled her earlier annoyance, but later, when sleep eluded her, she thought back to Oliver's marriage proposal at Christmas. That intense discussion of their future together seemed to have been forgotten in his all-consuming painting. Lately, when they talked at all, it was about California, the show, Oliver. She might as well have vanished. Why not go out for a drink with Alex? Didn't she deserve a little fun?
When Margot emerged from the subway, the early-evening air was gentle. The people on the street seemed to have spring fever. Two young women passing by her had bare legs and tropical-colored scarves knotted around their throats, as if in anticipation of summer. One man clutched a bouquet of daffodils and took a moment to straighten his tie while waiting at the light. Margot felt a brief twitter of excitement at the idea of going into a bar to meet Alex. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even been in a bar by herself.
But as she approached the hotel, thinking of Alex again made her slightly uneasy. She remembered the way he had stared at her painting of Bow Lake. His expression had grown distant, as if he'd forgotten she was there. While he'd fumbled with his jacket on his way out, she had wondered what memories he still kept from those long-ago summers. All week her mind had wandered back to his visit. Why had he come in the first place? After leaving so awkwardly, why did he want to see her again?
Before stepping through the revolving door into the hotel, she smoothed her T-shirt over her pants and buttoned her linen blazer. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The hotel was an expensive one, filled with businessmen during the week and offering theater package deals on weekends. The lobby had a hushed seriousness that promised comfort and anonymity. Margot didn't spend much time in midtown. She felt out of place and quickly scanned the room.
The bar was to the right of the reception desk, between two ornately carved doors. She stepped into the darkness and waited for someone to seat her, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. A hostess in a slim skirt and four-inch heels asked her name and then led her across the room to a banquette along the wall, where Alex sat. He wore a dark suit and white shirt. His angular nose gave him an elegant profile. It would have been an austere face if not for his mouth, which was wide and softened when he smiled. He stood and kissed her lightly on the cheek while the hostess moved the table out so that she could join him on the bench. The chairs and the walls were covered in brown velvet, giving the room an expensive intimacy.
“You look like spring,” he said.
Margot felt underdressed in the swishy bar. She slid in next to him. Her legs seemed to stick on the velvet banquette like one piece of Velcro to another.
“So, you had a bad day?” she asked, wishing he wouldn't look at her so intently. She noticed he was already sipping a glass of wine.
“The whole deal is starting to unravel.” He lifted his glass. “I hope you don't mind I started without you.” He smiled and asked her what she'd like.
“Whatever you're having,” she said.
He signaled the server and pointed to his glass. The waiter returned in no time with a glass of wine for her. Alex looked serious and important to her tonight, more at ease than when he had come to her apartment. He raised his glass and she clicked hers against his. She was startled to see their reflection when she glanced in the mirror across the room. Here, in this unexpected environment, they looked like two strangers.
“It's a long way from New Hampshire. I hope this place is okay.” He put his glass down after taking a sip.
“Is this about the company you're helping in Chicago?”
“It's tough when you're dealing with a family business. For the people involved, everything is personal.” He told Margot about the complexity of family-run businesses and how family-owned companies rarely lasted beyond the second generation. She listened, sipped her wine, and began to relax.
“I came to talk to the potential buyers in person. They're getting nervous about some environmental issues.”
“Because it's fertilizer?” she asked.
“Anytime you deal with chemicals.” He stopped abruptly. “Gosh, Margot. I've gone on too long. Please forgive me.”
“No, not at all. You make it interesting.”
“You're great to listen. Tell me about your painting.”
“I seem to be hooked again. Carl lets me start at the gallery at eleven and I've cut back my hours. I'll put in extra hours when we hang the next show.”
“Lacey's always said you have real talent.”
Margot straightened, realizing that they hadn't spoken yet of her sister. “How is she?” she asked.
“The same.” He motioned to the waiter. “Would you like another?”
Margot hesitated, but Alex raised his hand to indicate two more glasses of wine.
“She sounded pretty good earlier this week,” Margot said quickly. “She gave me the date for the girls' graduation in June to be sure I had it on my calendar.”
“Always planning ahead.” Alex leaned against the bench as if weary. “I'm trying to get her excited about Italy. I'm hoping this trip will be good for all of us.”
Margot remembered what Lacey had said about Alex, the way he acted almost afraid of her. She shifted her position and looked around the crowded bar. The wine tasted good and slipped down easily. “Where will you be going?”
“A few days in Rome. Then we're driving up through Tuscany. Two weeks in all.”
“It sounds dreamy.”
“The girls are at least pretending to look forward to it.”
“You know they'll have fun.” Margot hoped Toni wasn't making a fuss about leaving Ryan for so long.
“We haven't been to Europe since our honeymoon.” He swirled the wine in his glass and seemed to study it.
“I'm sure it will make her happy.”
“I don't know, Margot. Things are strained.” He turned to face her.
She swallowed and met his gaze briefly.
“I probably shouldn't have called you again, but I wanted to talk. You're the only one who understands.”
“I'm not sure what I can say.” She wished they weren't sitting side by side. The velvet bench held her trapped.
“Lacey's shutting me out. No matter what I do or say, it's never the right time. We used to tell each other everything. Now, she tells me nothing. It's not just the speech.” He interlaced his fingers and pressed his hands together, then drew them apart.
“She's working through so much,” Margot said. “I mean, the girls are graduating, going away in the fall. That's got to be hard for her too.”
“Wink's getting nervous about going away from home. Lacey's trying to convince her it's for the best.”
“At least they're talking about it,” Margot said, knowing she didn't want to get involved.
“It's not just that. There's the homeless shelter. She's trying to get a grant for the arts project for the kids. Now she's formed a committee for that.”
“She's always liked being busy.”
“Busy all right. I'm the last person on her list. If I'm even on it.”
“Alex, you mustn't say that.” Margot eased slightly away from him.
“I know I sound like a selfish bastard. Is it wrong to want time with her? She won't let me in.” He picked up his napkin and tossed it onto the table.
“Talk to her,” Margot blurted out, feeling annoyed. “She needs to know how you feel.” She longed to be outside again, drinking in the warm air and not this wine that was making her head fuzzy.
I've tried,” he said. “This disease is turning us into different people.” He pushed his glass away from him and slumped back in his seat.
Margot drew in her breath and tried to remain patient. “You've got to give her time. Lacey is trying to find a way to live with this too. And you'll have those weeks in Italy. Getting away will help.” Just then Margot longed to get away herself. She wanted to help Alex, but this conversation was going nowhere. She'd given up her precious painting time for him, and was thinking now about the shade of green she wanted to layer into the woods on a canvas she had begun that day.
“I'm sorry to unload on you.”
“There's also Bow Lake. Lacey loves it there. She's never missed a summer. Time up there in August will do her good.”
For the next few moments neither of them spoke. The bar was growing busier. The hostess seated two couples next to them and Margot had to shift closer to Alex to make room for the woman's oversized handbag on the banquette between them.
He turned to face her. “I've been thinking about your paintings.”
“They're not very good.” She smoothed her hand across the table. The surface was cool and polished. “I should try something else.”
“That one of Junior is amazing. You got that lightâthe way it spills across the water in the late afternoon.”
“Life was so simple then, so uncomplicated.” She brought her hand to her mouth. She considered the group of paintings she'd been working on over the last weeks. Was that why she kept trying to paint the scenes from her childhood summers? Real artists challenged themselves, pushing themselves into uncomfortable zones, reaching for the edge, whereas she kept hungering for the simple beauty of something long ago. She was making pretty pictures. That was all. Oliver wouldn't call it art.
“I've been thinking of all our summers there.” Alex paused. “There was that time. . . .”
Margot was afraid of what he might say. She put her hands in her lap and felt for her napkin. She twisted it in her fingers. Her stomach churned and she regretted having had a second glass of wine.
“I still feel bad that I didn't talk to you after I left that last summer.”
“There's no need to say anything.” She threw her napkin onto the table, suddenly knowing that he hadn't forgotten that last summer either.
“I shouldn't have . . .” He reached for her hand, and held it briefly.
“Alex, all that was a long time ago.” Margot pushed the table out an inch or two. “Please.”
“Your paintings make it real again.”
“You mustn't talk about that. Not ever.” She had to get out.
“I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me. Please forgive me.”
“I need to go.” She motioned to their waiter, who pulled out the table, releasing her.
“Please, Margot.” He stood as if to embrace her. The waiter stepped away.
“We mustn't look back,” she said, aware of the people around them who must be wondering what was going on, the table ajar, Alex looking distraught. “Really. I'd better leave.” She hurried to the door.
Once outside, Margot breathed in the fresh air. The evening had cooled. Her legs felt wobbly and her balance unsteady. She looked down at the hand Alex had held, half expecting some kind of mark to remain on her skin. Ridiculous. All that remained was what was inside her head.