Authors: Belva Plain
“Charlie hasn't had his walk today. This is a good time to take him,” Francine suggested.
If they've been like this all week, she must be exhausted, Hyacinth thought, but she would never let me know it. And a wave of memory came over her here in the house where she had grown up: the cheerful sound of Francine keeping order in a roomful of noisy boys, her own three and the neighbors'; the good, hot smell of broiling on the grill, while from the farthest room came the reverberation of Jim's music. What an easy time she had had growing up in this cocoon of love and safety! But of course she hadn't known then how easy it was.
“Let's go. Get Charlie's leash, and we'll go down to the woods. It's lovely there.” It was important to sound enthusiastic. “There's a little pond where I used to watch frogs.”
The children were wild with exploding energy as they raced ahead. The woods were indeed lovely, quiet and dark, with spots of light, a large circle of it around the pond where Hyacinth had used to sit on a log.
“Sit down and be very still,” she said now. “Maybe we'll see some.”
After a minute or two with no frogs in sight, she knew she must hold their attention, for both of them, disgruntled, were fidgeting with impatience. And she so much needed to have this time alone with them, to have their attention and to feel the closeness of their bodies.
“Do you know where frogs come from?” she began. When no answer came, she went on eagerly, “Out of eggs, just like chickens.”
Her voice was high, nervous, and too eager. She
wanted them to love being with her, she wanted to give them a store of memories so that one day they might look back and say,
We went to the woods with Mom and she told us about frogs—
“Yes, like chickens,” she continued, “but not exactly, because their eggs are tiny specks that they lay on twigs or leaves in the water. They lay them in the spring.”
There being no response to this either, she produced a fact that might be more interesting.
“Did you know that some frogs can climb?”
“That's not true,” Jerry said crossly.
“Oh, yes it is. They're even called tree frogs because they live on trees and bushes. In the spring you hear their beautiful, loud chirping around you, and then you know that winter is really over.”
“Who cares?”
Deciding that it was probably best to ignore the response, Hyacinth continued, “Don't you think it's odd that they can climb? Don't you wonder how they do it? Well, they have tiny pads on their toes so they can hold on. Other frogs don't have those pads.”
Emma announced that she was tired of sitting, so Hyacinth stood up and led the way back. Their feet, crackling over the leaves of many past years, were loud, as was the silence. A queer contradiction that was: loud silence.
“Look!” cried Emma. “Look what Charlie has. It'll make him sick.”
“It's only an acorn, dear, and he won't eat it. Squirrels do, not dogs. Let him play with it.” And making yet another determined attempt to clear the atmosphere, she
said pleasantly, “Can you imagine? If you plant an acorn in the ground, it will someday be an oak like that one over there, twice as high as a house.”
Jerry mumbled something. Inaudible as it was, there could be no doubt that it was rude. He had really gone too far, and she was desperate. Perhaps, though, Jerry was desperate, too. Although he resisted, she drew him to her.
“Tell me,” she said softly, “why you're so unhappy today.”
When he shook his head, she continued, “You're angry because you're unhappy. Won't you tell me?”
“I'm unhappy, too,” cried Emma, beginning to sniffle.
They were all feeling the solemnity of the moment. Something real, something deeply felt and not the easiest to express, was trembling among them.
“Is it because of Arveen and Charlie?” asked Hyacinth, knowing quite well that it must be far more than that.
“We don't like it there anymore,” Emma blurted. “And Tessie says you're a bad mother, and you are. You didn't let us stay in our own house, and I like my room and the dollhouse.”
How to explain all this? There was too much to explain, that the dollhouse had been a built-in piece that could not be moved, and that Tessie was not to be believed. That dour person must be a marvelous cook, thought Hyacinth, or Gerald, who sought beautiful people, would never be keeping her sour face in his house. It was all too complicated, and she hardly knew how to begin.
Big brother was correcting little sister. “Mom doesn't have that house anymore. Don't you know where she lives all the time? It's in New York, where we stayed in the apartment, and she took us to see the dinosaurs and I had lobster for dinner and stuff like that.”
“Well then, I want to live there all the time,” Emma protested. “I want to.”
Tactfully, gradually, Hyacinth approached the heart of the matter. “Don't you like your school anymore?” she asked, meaning,
Don't you like, or love, or get along with your father anymore?
Jerry answered, “It's a new school. We haven't even been there yet. We'll have to stay all day till dinnertime. Then Tessie will put Emma to bed because we have no nanny. I put myself to bed, and I don't need any nanny. I'm too old.”
It's almost four years now. Time is racing, while I stand still.
“Aren't you going to get another nanny?”
“Dad's getting somebody to be with us on Saturdays and Sundays, to drive us around and stuff. Dad's always busy.”
Hyacinth could not resist a question. “Because of Arveen?”
“Yep. Her and lots of people. He goes places when he's not working. He goes to parties with girls, out on boats and stuff, Bruce says.”
“Who's Bruce?”
“Bruce is my friend. You never remember my friends' names. His yard's next to ours. But he lives with his mother, not like us. His dad's no good. He hates his dad.”
Hyacinth said quickly, “That's very sad. People need a dad and a mom. You mustn't hate your dad. I hope you don't.”
“No, but we don't have fun anymore. And I don't like being the only person who doesn't live with his mom. Well, I'm not the only. There's one, Donny, but that's different because his mom is dead. But you're not dead.”
“Then why don't we live with you?” demanded Emma. “You could live in our house. There's lots of room.”
“No, she couldn't, stupid.” Jerry was exasperated. “Dad's already got a woman, hasn't he? What do you think, that he wants two women? Or maybe he does, but Mom's not one of them.” And he concluded, laughing, “You don't watch cable TV, or you'd know.”
Quietly, Hyacinth asked when he watched cable TV.
“At night, when Dad's out and Tessie's in her room, I get up sometimes. It's fun.”
She must keep her tone level. This was something that Arnie must take care of. Surely he would be able to. And she said, still quietly, “It's not good for you, Jerry. I really don't want you to do it anymore.”
“I don't live with you, so I don't have to obey you.”
“That's a mean thing to say to me, Jerry.”
“No, it isn't. You're the one who's mean. You should let us live in that apartment where we stay. We could see the dinosaurs and go ice skating and stuff.”
Caught and tied. She must struggle to loosen the tie. “I have to work,” she said, “for right now, anyway.”
There was a pout on Emma's pert little face. “You don't have to make those dresses.” And then, with no
plausible connection between the two, she made another accusation. “You don't even go riding with us.”
“I don't know how,” Hyacinth said weakly.
“Uncle Arnie can teach you. He always says he wants to.”
“All right. Next time I go to see you, I'll take my first lesson.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“And you promise to come live in our house in Florida?”
“I told you she can't—” Jerry had just begun to shout when Hyacinth stopped him.
“Enough promises for today. First, I'll go riding with you, and—”
Emma burst into tears. “You don't love me,” she sobbed. “You don't. You don't.”
They had returned to the frog pond. Hyacinth sat down on a log and opened her arms. “Come sit here with me, one on each side. I want to tell you how much I love you. Then we'll all feel better.”
“Are you crying, too?” asked Jerry. “You look it.”
“I am, a little.”
“I'm not. Boys don't cry,” he said with his voice cracking.
“Who says so?”
“Dad does.”
How like him to hold Jerry to his fantasies of perfection! And she said strongly, “Dad's wrong. Boys certainly can, if they need to.”
“I wouldn't need to if you'd say you'd live with us.”
“I'll try. Now how about going back to the house and we'll all make a cake for supper?”
Persistent as always, Emma said, “You didn't promise. You only said you'd try.”
“I will.”
It was an evasion, but no one caught it, and they started back home. Heaven forgive her for the lie, but it was the best she could do.
“So it's been a pretty hard week,” Francine concluded, as they were talking over coffee after Jerry and Emma had gone to bed.
“I'm sorry I wasn't able to spend more of it with you, but all of a sudden, there was a huge pile of work to get out.”
“I'm not complaining, Hyacinth. I meant that it was hard for them. They've changed, and it's very troubling. I've tried, but I haven't been able to find out very much.”
There was no sense in providing Francine with the clues in her possession. It would only awaken a sleeping dragon; ever since that impressive debut in the Fifth Avenue store, Francine had stopped harping on the disgraceful conditions of her daughter's divorce. It was almost as if she were experiencing a touch of awe at her daughter's unexpected triumph.
But on this evening, Hyacinth was not to be spared, for Francine was overwrought. “These children are not doing well at all. They're secretive, they mope, they're impertinent at times, and then they're sorry. In short, something needs to be done about them.”
“You can be sure I'll look into it.”
“I can't be sure of anything,” Francine retorted. “You don't tell me anything. For four years I've been kept in the dark. It's an outrage. You don't trust me? Me? You don't know that I would fight for you, or my sons, or any of my grandchildren? I'd fight with my last breath, Hyacinth.”
“I know that.”
“Well, then! There's something rotten about Gerald, something even worse than I ever suspected, though I resented him at first glance. For God's sake, tell me what this is about, and I'll get the best lawyer in the U.S.A. I've told you a hundred times at least. You'll never do it for yourself. You're too timid. You were born that way, and it's not your fault. I'm not blaming you—”
Hyacinth put up her hand. “Please,” she murmured.
Francine was not to be stopped. “I'm so proud of you, proud of your success. But I'm baffled, totally baffled by this other side of you—”
The telephone rang in the adjacent room. When Fran-cine returned after answering it and reported that Will was calling, Hyacinth's first emotion was dread. Too many things were piling onto her all at once. When she picked up the telephone, Will's happy voice set up a buzz of conflict in her head. He was telling her that he had accomplished the miraculous and the impossible: He had found the perfect apartment in New York City. True, it was expensive, but it would be a lifetime city home, and between the two of them, they would be able to handle the mortgage. Of course, she must see the place and approve, but he was sure she would, because it was only two blocks from the park, which would be wonderful
for the children, and by the way, had she decided on their school? It was high time. He hoped it wasn't too late.
As all these words poured into her ears, Hyacinth's brain rang with the everlasting, terrifying question: What to do?
“Who's Will?” asked Francine later. “I was surprised. And he seemed surprised, too. ‘You mean Hyacinth hasn't told you about me?’ he asked. And when I said no, he said, ‘Well, ask her now, and she'll tell you how nice I am.’ ”
If this question had been asked while she was living the idyll in Normandy, her answer would have poured out in joy and song, or if she had not chosen to answer right then, the joy and song would have been bursting within her. At this moment, she hardly knew how to describe what was bursting within her. Concealing a sigh, she began nevertheless the story of her first sight of Will, their mutual recognition of love, and the time in France during which the total awareness of their love had revealed itself beyond doubt. She described him, his person, not storybook handsome, but attractive and strong; his thoughts and tastes, discerning and sensitive; his character, forthright and highly honorable; his manner, courteous and sometimes a trifle opinionated—this she said with a smile.
To everything, Francine naturally paid complete attention. At the conclusion, she inquired, “Is he to be a husband or a ‘significant other’?”
“I hate that silly term, but I don't hate the idea. Will does. He wants marriage. He insists on it.”
“And you don't agree?”
“I don't disagree. It's just that—things get complicated. My days aren't long enough anymore.”
“What you're not saying is that you're worried about Emma and Jerry and how they will fit into the plans.”
There was a great lump in Hyacinth's throat, too large for her to give an immediate reply. After a moment she managed to say, “That's no problem. Will loves children.”
“Does Will know that you don't have custody of them?”
“No.” And she met Francine's eyes, which were so keenly fixed upon her that the very working of Hyacinth's brain must be exposed to those eyes.
“In all this time, you've never said a word? When on earth are you going to tell him? And what on earth are you going to tell him?”
“I don't know yet. I'm thinking.”
Francine's lips tightened in disapproval, as she remarked that she was, to say the least, appalled.
“What can there be to think about? You can't possibly be intending to marry a man without telling him everything about yourself. My God, you've just been saying how honorable he is.” Francine's anger mounted. “I asked you, what are you thinking about?”