A Slender Thread (36 page)

“Sure thing.” Mario picked up his backpack and set out to meet Julie, telling Margot he'd be at the gallery tomorrow in plenty of time to set up the wine for the opening.

After he left, Margot cleared her desk and took one final walk around the gallery. The show looked lovely, the pictures restful, dense in the blues and greens of mountains and lakes. These paintings would certainly appeal to New Yorkers stuck in the hot city for the summer. She'd done a good job of hanging the show, but oddly, she wasn't feeling her usual sense of satisfaction now that she'd finished.

She turned off the last lights, armed the security system, and locked the door behind her. As she walked home, she pictured Mario heading in the opposite direction, on his way to meet Julie. She imagined his happy anticipation, that effervescent, floaty feeling of being in love, and knowing that someone else felt the same way about you. And now they were moving in together, possibly taking the first step toward beginning a lifetime as a couple.

Margot would never forget what had happened when she had gone to Boston at the end of her sophomore year in college to visit Lacey. The last of the winter grittiness had washed away in heavy rains early in the month, and the city seemed to be on the cusp of summer weather. She hadn't seen Lacey since Christmas and this was the first time she had gone to Lacey's apartment.

She got out of the cab in front of the gray clapboard building on a quiet residential street. Most of the houses seemed to be broken up into apartments, judging from the multiple mailboxes in front of the doorways. The neighborhood had an old-timey feel about it, as if one might expect mild-looking men in felt hats and belted overcoats to amble home along the sidewalks, clutching the evening paper.

Lacey's apartment was on the second floor. The staircase was steep and narrow, but the stairs were carpeted in a tough-looking material in an appealing shade of green. Margot's heavy bag bumped periodically against the wall. She caught her breath and rang the bell.

Lacey hugged Margot at the door and pulled her into the living room. The white room sparkled with color. Two bright green butterfly chairs were separated by a low table painted a vivid yellow. The sofa was upholstered in a nubby beige fabric, but Lacey had covered it with boldly printed pillows in fresh Scandinavian colors: blue, hot pink, and the same shade of yellow as the table. The kitchen beyond was the same brilliant blue found in the cushions. Nothing appeared fancy or expensive, but the effect was dazzling.

“What do you think?” Lacey asked, obviously delighted with what she had accomplished. “We just finished painting in the kitchen.”

“It's beautiful,” Margot said. “Beautiful” wasn't really the right word. Fresh, bright, zinging with life. “It's so happy,” she added, wondering who was included in the “we.”

“Look at this.” Lacey pulled out a huge poster board covered in a collage of children's artwork. “I asked the kids in my class to make spring flowers that I could hang on my wall. Some are painted, others just crayons.”

“All the colors in the room.”

“I'm going to dry-mount it and hang it above the couch. First, I'll take it in to school so the kids can admire it. These children are so talented.”

Margot was about to ask more about Lacey's students when she heard something behind her. A door opened and she turned in the direction of the sound.

“Hey, Margot.” Alex stepped out from the bedroom, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. Instantly, she understood everything. Momentarily speechless, she stepped quickly into his arms for a hug—the rote, expected gesture of an old friend. “Good to see you,” he said, clearing his throat and stepping away from her. “The paint fumes are pretty bad. Lacey insisted we get it done in time for you.” He looked down and fumbled with his other sleeve. He had obviously just stepped out of the shower and put on fresh clothes.

“Here's my big surprise,” Lacey said. She came to Alex's side and put her arm around his waist. He drew his arm around Lacey in an uncertain manner, as if he was unsure where to actually place his hand: whether to rest it on her upper arm or lower it to her hip, a more proprietary, intimate gesture. Instead, his hand dangled oddly in midair, as if the hand itself had been caught doing something wrong.

In the space of a moment a door had slammed shut for Margot and the deafening noise continued to reverberate inside her head. She hadn't seen Alex since their time together at Bow Lake nine months earlier. The few awkward phone calls they'd had afterward had left her feeling empty and strange. Did he ever miss her the way she sometimes missed him? She had known Alex since childhood, he'd always been her friend, but now that he had been her first lover, nothing seemed the same.

Fortunately Lacey began to speak, turning and looking up at him: Alex, her childhood friend; Alex, her helper; Alex, her lover. “I told you I'd seen Alex a bit this fall.” She leaned into him, pulling him slightly closer. “He was such a drone then. Always making excuses about work.” Lacey squeezed him in a playful gesture. “This winter,” she laughed lightly, “things just started to happen.”

Alex stood very still during this explanation, his pale hand still hanging loosely in the air. He offered a tentative smile, almost a question as his lips parted, then quickly bent down to take Margot's duffel bag. “I'll put this in your room.” He clutched her bag and disappeared beyond the kitchen.

“You're not surprised, are you?” Lacey asked softly. “After all those summers?”

“Uh. I guess not,” Margot said, somehow finding her voice. “So you're living together?”

“Alex moved in a few weeks ago. I kept putting off telling you. I know you really care about him. I remember how disappointed you were when he didn't come back to the house after Mom's funeral. And we had all those years at the lake.” Lacey spoke quickly now as if she sensed some awkwardness.

Margot's throat pinched as she spoke. “No. I'm glad for you.”

“You're sure?”

Margot nodded and forced her unwilling lips into a smile.

“One thing kind of led to another. You know how that is,” Lacey continued. “I've wanted to tell you, but then I thought it would be easier in person.”

“It's okay, really.” But it wasn't okay. Margot wasn't going to let Lacey see how she felt. She would have thought Lacey might have told her something, anything. She remembered Lacey saying that she had seen Alex, but dating, getting serious—how could she have kept this from her?

Alex came back into the room and went to Lacey's side. Margot looked away. Her mouth felt dry. Her brain was muddled. She didn't know where to begin. “You sure you have room for me? I can go home to Concord.” Margot suddenly began to speak in a torrent, her words rushing out all at once. “Dad wants me at home before I go to the lake. He seems kind of down. I don't like the sound of his cough.” Margot directed this to Lacey, not daring to look at Alex. She told them she'd be happy to take a bus to Concord that evening if they could get her to the station, or she'd even get there on her own.

“No way. You're staying with us,” Lacey said. “We've got a futon set up on the porch off the kitchen. It's comfortable, too. Alex can attest to that.” She put her arm around him.

A look passed between them. Had Alex spent nights on that sun porch before he moved into Lacey's bedroom? When had it started? Had Alex already started dating Lacey that summer before he entered business school? The summer when he had slept with Margot?

“We have the weekend all planned,” Lacey went on. “It will be the three of us again. Just like at the lake.”

“Let me show you where you'll be,” Alex said, stepping away from Lacey.

“It used to be a sleeping porch,” Lacey explained, “but it's all closed in now. I left a clean towel on the bed.”

“Thanks,” Margot said. Her jaw was trembling. Could Lacey tell something was wrong?

“Follow me,” Alex said, and started through the kitchen.

“If you don't mind, I'll grab a quick shower,” Lacey said. “Alex is taking us to this fun Italian restaurant in the North End tonight. Special treat in your honor.”

Margot nodded and followed Alex, trying to remain composed. The smell of the paint was stronger in the kitchen.

“The walls in here are still wet,” he said. “Good reason to go out.” He spoke softly.

Margot heard a door close, and a moment later, the sound of water running. She followed Alex to her room, the enclosed porch in the rear of the apartment. It also was painted white. She sat down on the bed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Margot,” he said, “I should have explained. I'm sorry.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Like Lacey said, it just sort of happened. I mean . . .” He turned and looked out the window into the trees below. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “We started seeing each other.”

“Last fall? Right after you left Bow Lake?”

“Not immediately,” he said hesitantly. “School was impossible at first. I was swamped, in over my head with the quantitative stuff. Lacey was always there, backing me up. Later, we saw more of each other. It was fast, I guess, but . . .”

“Shut up,” Margot said, her voice strangled, barely a whisper.

He lifted one arm toward her, then let it fall to his side. “Try to understand.”

“Enough. I understand. You've made it pretty clear.” Margot couldn't decide if she was more hurt or angry at him. She lowered her head.

“Wait, Margot. I care about you. I do. It's just that this is different.”

“Don't say anything else.” She wiped at her tears. “Don't ever tell her.”

He nodded and paused by the door, and seemed to hesitate as if genuinely sorrowful, clearly worried about the damage he had done.

“You must promise,” Margot whispered. The sound of the water in the bathroom had stopped.

“I promise,” he had said.

Margot continued to walk toward home, astonished at how painful her memories still were. She paused in front of an art gallery she had never noticed before. She stared into the vast plate-glass window. The walls were covered with paintings of vividly colored still lifes with backgrounds that appeared to float off into the distance like landscapes. Rich purple eggplants, ripe tomatoes, red and green peppers, plates of sardines, crusty loaves of bread, and bottles of wine filled the canvases. The food looked Italian, as did the countryside beyond. She thought of Lacey and Alex in Italy at this very moment with their daughters. She imagined the artist with his own family and friends painting these pleasurable scenes. By now, Mario and Julie would be enjoying glasses of wine, talking about finding a new apartment, a place to share. And here she was, going home alone.

Her last argument with Oliver loomed once again. She wasn't completely at fault. Oliver had been so insistent. He had wanted her to rearrange her work schedule, maybe even putting her job in jeopardy, so that she could fit in with his plans. He couldn't seem to understand that she truly needed this time with Lacey at the lake. But was it so important? Needled with doubt, she told herself that a summer wasn't really that long. She and Oliver would be together in the fall. She had planned to stay busy painting and she had, though recently the summer was seeming endless.

Margot came to a light. Exhausted, she couldn't walk any farther. She stepped to the curb, and waved her arm for a taxi. She suddenly had to get home.

O
liver breathed in the deeply satisfying scent of coffee. He had been studying the paintings in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and decided to stop at the museum café for an espresso before heading back to Sonoma. He had driven into the city early that morning to deliver two more paintings to the Croft Gallery. A longtime client from Santa Barbara was coming up specifically to see more of his work.

He knew the caffeine would probably keep him awake tonight, but he had become accustomed to sleepless nights. He'd gotten into the habit of sipping a glass of red wine before bed, the one time of day when he allowed himself to think about Margot. Sometimes the alcohol would help him drift off and forget her for a while. But in the morning his memories of her would be as sharp as ever. Now, at the beginning of August, he had been away from her for more than a month.

Margot would be joining Lacey soon at Bow Lake. Maybe Lacey was worse, and maybe this was the last summer that she would still be able to talk to Margot, but the more he thought about it, the more his irritation grew. He knew he was being selfish, but he hated the way Margot was putting their life on hold. Why did the time with her sister seem to matter so much?

Bow Lake was something Margot had never shared with him in the five years they had been together. There always seemed to be logical reasons for him not to join her there. The family had the use of the place only during the month of August and that was when his sister invited him to share their beach house on Block Island. Oliver had gone there instead and sometimes Margot came there after her visit to Bow Lake The last two summers he'd been too caught up in his work and hadn't left the city at all, so Margot had gone to Bow Lake by herself. It wasn't so much not ever having gone to New Hampshire with her that bothered him; it was as if Bow Lake represented a piece of her that she kept hidden from him, inaccessible, much like the way she wouldn't let him look at her paintings.

Since his arrival in Sonoma, Oliver had tried not to let Margot's absence bother him. During the daylight hours he kept to a rigorous schedule. After his morning coffee, he would walk up the hill behind the house. The exercise and fresh air seemed to clear his head, renew his creative energy. Usually by ten, he would walk down the path and begin work in Grant's studio. He found it energizing to paint in a new space and didn't miss his New York studio at all. Around lunchtime he would snack on some cheese and an apple, and in the late afternoon he'd return to the house.