A Tangled Web (24 page)

She stood and held out her hand. “I must get back; Madeline expects me. Thank you for lunch and for our conversation. I hope we can do this often.”

Claudia stood with her, their hands clasped. “ ‘Often' is a word I like. I'll call you soon.”

“I hope you'll come to my house next time. Mrs. Thirkell knows no French, but she'd be delighted to cook for us.”

“Thank you, I'd like that.”

Sabrina strode down the sun-dappled street through flickering shadows cast by new leaves unfolding on the
maples and elms arching overhead. Shadows, she thought. I'll have to tell Garth. The spring air was soft and smelled of freshly turned earth and clipped grass, lilacs and daffodils, and she felt again the sense of well-being that had come to her in Claudia's home. But now a dark thread ran through it. I'll have to tell Garth.

She waved to the owner of the pharmacy across the street and stopped briefly to greet the manager of Sorenson's Fireplaces. In the next block she met a neighbor shopping for a dress for her granddaughter. “Eighty dollars is too much, don't you think?” the neighbor asked when Sabrina stopped in the doorway of the shop. “For a three-year-old, I mean.”

“It's a very impressive price.”

“My daughter would say I threw my money away, because how long will a three-year-old wear it? But it is pretty, isn't it? The French are so good with fabrics; it's from Provence, you know, and I love it.”

“Then you should buy it. Dresses like that aren't really made for children or even for their parents; they're made for grandparents.”

“You mean we're soft touches.”

“What's wrong with that, if it's for someone you cherish?”

“Not a thing. Well, I'll do it. Thank you, Stephanie; I'm glad you were here.”

I'm glad I'm here, too, Sabrina thought, walking on. Claudia said it: I've made a place here.

She was half a block from Collectibles when she saw a young boy standing on the corner, kicking stones, waiting. Her heart lurched. “Cliff, what's wrong? What's happened?”

“Nothing much.”

“ ‘Nothing much'? What does that mean? If nothing much is happening, why are you standing around waiting for me—you are waiting for me, aren't you?” When he nodded, she said, “And why are you doing that when you
ought to be in . . . math, isn't it? Next to last period, and then American history. And then soccer practice.”

“Jeez, Mom, you remember everything.”

“I don't remember this being a holiday.”

He kicked another stone. “I got bored.”

“Bored?”

“I knew all the stuff they were doing.”

Sabrina studied his closed face. “Let's take a walk,” she said, and they turned toward the lake. Cliff was almost as tall as she, and she felt a rush of pride in her handsome son, striding along beside her, still a boy but with a sense of decency and honesty and humor that showed what kind of man he would be. But there was no humor in his face now, though Sabrina thought he looked more confused than angry. “You walked out of class because you were bored?”

“I didn't go. I knew what they'd be doing.”

“Because of the homework you did last night?”

“I didn't do—I didn't have any homework last night.”

“I thought you always had homework.”

He shrugged.

“Well, how did you know what they'd be doing in class today?”

“Somebody told me.”

“Who?”

He shrugged again.

“Cliff, a shrug is not a good conversational tool.”

“I don't remember who told me. Somebody.”

A string of sailboats on the lake stretched out like the tail of a kite, white triangles against the dark blue water: a sailing class. I miss sailing, Sabrina thought. Maybe we'll teach Cliff; he seems ready for something new.

“You think school isn't as good this year as last year?” she asked as they began to walk along the lake.

Cliff shrugged.

“Cut it out, Cliff; I won't tolerate that. If I talk to you with respect for your ideas and feelings, you can do the same for me.”

He threw her a sidelong glance, almost of relief, she thought, that she would not allow him to be rude to her. “It's okay. The same as ever, I guess.”

“But last year you seemed more enthusiastic.”

He started to shrug, caught himself, and mumbled something.

“I didn't hear that.”

“Sometimes things change.”

“Do you want to tell me what things you're talking about?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“I could try. Sometimes I'm pretty good at understanding. And weren't you waiting for me so you could talk to me?”

“It's . . .” Cliff struggled. “It's that guy.”

Sabrina started to ask which guy, but then she knew. “You mean Lu Zhen.” She paused. “I know you don't like him, Cliff, but he's a pretty small part of your life, isn't he? He's your dad's student, but he's here only until he gets his Ph.D. and goes back to China. He really doesn't have much to do with you.”

“He's coming to dinner next week.”

“Well, is that so terrible? He's in a strange country and your dad thinks it's nice to give him a feeling of family once in a while. He's always very pleasant, even though he's so uptight about his work it's hard to get him to relax. You don't think we should welcome him?”

“I hate him.”

“That's hard,” Sabrina said after a moment. “Hatred is awfully heavy to carry around, like an overloaded backpack. Or it gets inside you and it's always there, whatever else you're doing; even when you wake up in the morning, there's a lump inside you and you know something's really wrong and after a minute you remember what it is: you hate someone.”

Cliff was staring at her. “How do you know all that?”

She put a casual arm around his shoulders. “I've had a few bad times of my own: things I was afraid of, people I didn't like, people I thought I hated . . . mostly people I envied.”

“I don't envy him,” Cliff said in a rush.

“Well, then, what is it?”

“I just hate him. I don't want him around. He doesn't belong in our family. He's too different.”

“Cliff! You mean because he's Chinese?”

“He's too different. We should just be with people like us; that's best for everybody. All the kids in school say that.”

“Good heavens.” They walked in silence for a moment. “I find that pretty surprising. Do you mean that if somebody from Antarctica or New Zealand—or how about a Martian or somebody from Venus?—if any of them showed up, you wouldn't let them in the front door because they're different from us?”

“That's different.”

“How is it different?”

“They could tell us about where they come from.”

“Lu Zhen does that. He tells us about growing up in Beijing, and how his government sent him here to—”

“That's right! He talks and talks and everybody listens and you think he's so
fascinating
just because he comes from somewhere else!”

Sabrina's arm was still around Cliff's shoulders and they walked slowly, their steps synchronized. “I guess we do give him a lot of attention. Maybe we feel sorry for him because he's lonely and we have each other.”

“He's not lonely!”

“Oh, I think he is. It seems to me that when somebody talks a lot, it's because he doesn't have many people who'll listen to him. So he stores things up until he finds himself at a table with friendly people and then everything just pours out.”

Cliff kicked a stone and watched it skitter along the path
and into the grass. “I can't help it if he's lonely. I still hate him.”

They came to an intersection and Sabrina turned to circle back toward Collectibles, bringing Cliff with her. “I'm not asking you to love him, Cliff, or even like him. But it's important to your dad that we help him. I gather that he's a brilliant student, and your dad—”

“Right! And I'll never be as brilliant as him, or even close, so it doesn't matter what I want; nobody gives a damn!”

“We do give a damn, though I'm not really thrilled when you use that word. We love you, Cliff, and we want you to be happy. Just because a student is brilliant—”

“And I'm not!”

“What does that have to do with whether we love you or not?”

“It just does. 'Cause the people Dad likes best are big deals, high grades and scholarships and super special research, all that shit.”

“Oh, Cliff.” She stopped and put her hands on his shoulders. “You know perfectly well your dad loves you more than any student he's ever had or any he will have. Do you really think there's a chance that some student is going to sit down in one of Professor Andersen's classes and Professor Andersen is going to say, ‘Well, how about that, I've found somebody to love more than my son'?”

A short laugh broke from Cliff. “Well, but—”

“Because if you think there is, you're dumber than I think you are, and I think you're pretty smart.”

“Not as smart as what's-his-name.”

“I don't know exactly how smart you can be, and neither do you; you haven't really pushed yourself yet. You're a good student, Cliff; you're curious about the world, and when you put your mind to it, you learn a lot and I think you have a good time doing it. But I don't see how you can be any kind of student—good, bad, or brilliant—if you walk out of school in the middle of the afternoon
and if you're not honest about how much homework you have.”

Cliff shot a glance at her. “Like what?”

“Like last night. I think you had homework. I think you didn't do it. And then a little while ago you told me you didn't have any.”

“Well, I might have had a little, but not a—”

“Cliff.”

“I just didn't feel like doing it! Don't you ever feel like not going to work?”

“Well, I love my work, so that's not a good comparison. But sure, there are lots of things I don't feel like doing.”

“So you don't do them.”

“Unless I have to. Homework is something you have to do.”

They walked again, to the next corner, and turned left. Cliff saw where they were headed. “Are you going back to work?”

“I have to stop by and see if Madeline needs anything. She's been alone all afternoon.”

“Can I come?”

“Sure. But I think you'd better stop at school on your way home and get your books, don't you? And you can find out what your homework is for math and American history.”

“I don't know what to tell them.”

“Tell them you had to talk to me. That's pretty much the truth, isn't it?”

“But you're not supposed to leave without permission.”

“That would have been a good thing to remember before you took off. You'll have to deal with that yourself, Cliff.”

“What about soccer practice?”

“What about it?”

“Can I go?”

“It's all right with me if it's all right with your school.”

“But what if they say I can't because I sort of . . . walked out?”

“That's something else you'll have to deal with. As far as I can tell, you were upset and you wanted to talk to me and you didn't want to wait, so you left without thinking it through. But you've never done it before and you won't do it again, so I'm not worried about it. That doesn't mean that's how they'll see it at your school.”

They had reached Collectibles. Cliff scuffed his feet. “You could call the principal and tell him it was an emergency.”

“I won't do that, Cliff. This is your problem.” Sabrina put her arm around him again and kissed his cheek. “You'll do fine. I have great confidence in you. And I love you and I'm very proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. You're a big deal and very super special in our house.”

Cliff grinned weakly. “Yeh, but you're a mom.” After a moment, his head down, he turned and walked slowly away. Sabrina watched him; at the next corner, his head came up and his stride lengthened.
Good boy; always go in with your head high.

And that was how she described Cliff—striding away with his head high—when she told Garth about it later that night. Everyone had gone off, Penny and Cliff and Mrs. Thirkell tucked into their bedrooms, and the two of them were sitting alone in the living room, a thermos of coffee and the rest of the wine from dinner on the low table before them. Sabrina was wearing a dark blue velvet robe Garth had given her when he brought her back from London at Christmas.

“I like the feel of this,” Garth said, his arm around her as she rested against his shoulder.

“The velvet?”

“The lady inside the velvet.”

She gave a low laugh and looked up, and they kissed, quietly at first, a kiss of companionship, then more deeply:
two people still discovering each other. “I love you,” Garth said.

Sabrina sighed. “I spend a whole day running around, being busy, talking to people, and as soon as I slow down, the first thing I think about is you.”

“Scientifically speaking, I'd say that's the right reaction.” Without taking his arm from her shoulders, he leaned forward and filled their wineglasses. “I thought about you today while I was playing tennis with Nat, and while I was lecturing on autoimmune diseases, and when I met with Lu Zhen to talk about his research, and when I was eating lunch with the dean, and when I was walking home.”

“It sounds like the professor is having trouble concentrating. It must be his advanced age.”

“If it is, it means I've grown mature enough not to let small matters interfere with my passion for my wife. Do you want to tell me about your day?”