“Daddy, listen to this.” Ella, who, during the present-opening, had been standing close to Jessica in a self-appointed supervisory capacity, took a step back from the table, but when everyone was looking at her, she abruptly shifted modes, ducking her head to one side and looking at us from beneath her eyelashes. In a quiet voice, she said, “Never mind.” This was a new affectation—there was a girl in her class named Mindy Keppen who would freeze when called on by a teacher, and when I’d explained to Ella what shyness was, it had captured her imagination. (Oh, my drunk husband and my darling, disingenuous daughter.)
“You want to show him the cheer, right?” Jessica said. “How about if I do it with you?”
Ella looked up, smiling and nodding rapidly. Jessica stood, and more or less in unison, they raised their arms and swiveled their hips from side to side.
“Basketball is what we do,
And we’ll cheer it just for you.
Shake it high and shake it low,
In the hoop the ball will go.”
For
shake it high
they rattled imaginary pom-poms above their heads, and for
shake it low
they brought them down to their knees.
“Outstanding,” Charlie said when they were finished. “Superlative!” My heart sank as he walked around the table and took his place next to the girls, saying, “So it goes,
Basketball is what we do . . .
” Giggling, they taught him the words. Ella was purely ecstatic, possibly unable to imagine a better scenario—standing beside a cool older girl, teaching cheerleader cheers to her father, with an audience—whereas Jessica was a good-natured participant but was also, I suspected, analyzing the situation, trying to figure out Charlie’s motives. Jessica and Charlie had known each other for her whole life and probably never had a real conversation.
When he’d memorized the words, the three of them recited the cheer together, and at the end, Charlie shouted, “Go, Brewers!”
Ella laughed and clutched at his belt, saying, “Not baseball, Daddy,
basketball.
” He lifted her into his arms, something I could no longer do, and the two of them grinned together. Clearly, this was the climax of the afternoon, and the Suttons sensed it; they soon stood to set their exit in motion, gathering Antoine’s diaper bag and car seat, the presents and the pie dish. I put on a raincoat and walked out to the car with them. In the driveway, I said to Jessica, “Do you have plans for the summer?”
She was carrying Antoine, and she nodded down at him and said, “Here’s my plans right here—Baby A and V. C. Andrews. No, I’m teasing about V. C. Andrews, Mrs. Blackwell.”
“Well, we loved having you all here,” I said. I thought of Ella’s upcoming activities: swim team, the art camp she’d attend the last week in June, then in July, we’d be off to Halcyon.
When I reentered the house and closed the front door, Charlie was no longer in the dining room. I carried the plates and glasses into the kitchen, pushing back and forth through the swinging door, and I could hear the television in the den. As I loaded the dishwasher, I realized I had a headache. How large and empty our house abruptly felt.
I had squeezed the sponge a final time and set it in its spot next to the soap dish when Charlie came in and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. “That was one handsome Negro baby.” He grinned, and I couldn’t have said if he was trying to provoke me or if he was simply being himself.
We stood there facing each other, standing about five feet apart, and I thought of berating him, but I didn’t have the will. I had the energy for a disagreement perhaps once every few months, not twice in one day.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said.
“I have a headache. I’m about to go upstairs and read.”
“Aren’t you curious how golf went with Cliff and Langenbacher?”
“I assumed it got called off because of the weather.” I could hear the rain outside, soft but steady.
“You wouldn’t believe how pumped Langenbacher is to have me on board. It was Cliff who suggested me, which means I’m eternally indebted to him. But Langenbacher couldn’t be happier with what I’m bringing to the table—I’m a huge fan, I don’t have to fake that one bit, but I also have the business expertise.” Charlie’s cheeks were flushed, either with pleasure or with alcohol. “You’re not mad because I missed lunch, are you?” he said. “I’d say by the end, they got their money’s worth of the old Chas Blackwell charm. Come to think of it, maybe you were in cahoots with the meteorologists today.”
“As a matter of fact, your showing up was awkward, because I’d told them you were at a meeting.”
“I was.”
“A real meeting.”
“I
was.
Jesus, Lindy!”
“Then I guess I’m surprised Zeke Langenbacher doesn’t mind people drinking so heavily on the job.”
Charlie scowled. “What’s your problem?” he said. “This is a professional dream come true, and I don’t know why you’re being such a god-damn killjoy.”
“Of course I’m happy for you.” As if balancing out his force and volume, I spoke more quietly than usual. I said, “But I told you I have a headache, and I don’t feel very celebratory. My grandmother did just die.”
I had almost felt that I shouldn’t mention this, that however true, it was cheap, and the reminder would make him contrite but humiliated. I should not have worried. It is fair, I believe, to say that in that moment, he was glaring at me. He said, “For Christ’s sake, Lindy, she was ninety years old. What’d you expect?”
AS WE’D PLANNED
, I walked to Jadey and Arthur’s house that evening before dinner, and as soon as she and I were a safe distance onto the golf course, she said, “Arthur came sniffing around my campsite this morning, but I ignored him.”
“Jadey, maybe you should give him a break.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Both of yours,” I said, but I wondered if I had it in me to have the conversation; I wondered if I should have canceled the walk. Since the Suttons had left our house a few hours earlier, I had been hovering between two possibilities: a torrent of tears or else—and I recognized this possibility as worse—a shutdown of all systems. It was the first time in over twenty years, the only time apart from Andrew Imhof’s death, that I had felt the pull toward nothingness, and I knew the impulse was far more dangerous now; I had the responsibilities of an adult and above all was in charge of Ella’s wellbeing. But how soothing it would be to give up, to sleepwalk—to quit trying with Charlie, or expecting him to try with me.
Jadey said, “You might disagree, but I think my husband needs to work a little harder to win back my affection.”
We both were quiet—the storm clouds were long gone, sun shone through the leaves of the trees, the blades of grass glistened, and the locusts buzzed extravagantly—and I said, “Do you really enjoy playing these games with him?”
“Listen, not all of us have your perfect marriage.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” This was a far sharper exchange than the ones Jadey and I usually had, and I think both of us were surprised that it was still gaining momentum.
Carefully—it was to Jadey’s credit that the exchange did then begin to lose force—she said, “I didn’t mean to step in a prickly patch. I just meant that you have it easier than some of us.”
And then I did it, I burst into tears, and Jadey said, “God almighty, what did I say? Oh, sweet Jesus.” I had stopped walking and brought my hands up to my face, and she patted my back. “Alice, you know I love you to pieces. Is this about your poor granny or what?”
I wiped my eyes. “You think I have it
easy
?”
“Your husband worships the ground you walk on. Yeah, so Chas probably does drink too much, but you’ve got to pick your poison. At least you’re still hopelessly in love.”
“Jadey, I’m—I’m thinking of leaving him. Our marriage is far from perfect.”
“Leaving him like divorce?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how it works. Would I move out of the house or would he?” Speaking these words aloud to Jadey marked the first moment I had truly, realistically considered ending my marriage. For months, I had heard whispers
—separation, divorce—
and though it had seemed that they were carried to me on the wind, they were really coming from inside my own head. Even so: They’d been abstract ideas, escapes of last resort. “Or facing Maj, think about that,” I added. (Though I did not, could not, call her Maj to her face, I was perfectly capable of using the nickname when discussing her with others. Not to would have been overly formal, drawing attention to myself.) “She’d be furious with me. I almost feel like she wouldn’t let it happen, you know what I mean?”
“She doesn’t control us,” Jadey said. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, but when you get down to it, there’s nothing she can do besides cut you out of her will.” Was I even in Priscilla’s will? I doubted it, though Jadey’s point did raise the question of what shape my finances might take. Would I receive alimony? Would I be able to afford a house in this area, even a modestone, and in any case, how many modest houses existed in Maronee? Did anyone a round here rent? I’d get a job, of course, and in some ways, that might be a good thing, but supporting myself and Ella (that I wouldn’t have primary custody of her was unimaginable) when both of us were used to a decidedly privileged way of life would be a far cry from supporting myself as a single woman in Madison.
“Okay, what if Chas gets treatment for his drinking?” Jadey said. “What’s that place in Minnesota called? He could go there.”
“He won’t do that.” Would living the rest of my life with Charlie’s moodiness be worse than splitting up? Divorce, when I thought it through, sounded dreadful—doable but dreadful. “We’re going to Princeton on Friday,” I said. “Maybe it’ll help to get away from here for a few days.”
“Oh, good God, you have Reunions?” Jadey looked horrified. “Alice, all anyone
does
there is drink. You know that. Don’t make any decisions while you’re there.”
I gestured in front of us. “Should we keep walking?”
As we headed forward on the asphalt path, Jadey said, “Wait, it’s his twentieth, isn’t it? God almighty, Arthur’s baby brother is twenty years out of college—when did we get so old?” Her voice contained the usual dose of Jadey hyperbole, but beneath it was a note of plaintive sincerity. Then she said, “Alice, you two can’t divorce, you just can’t.” When I didn’t respond, she said, “Because I don’t think I can be a Blackwell without you.”
ELLA AND I
were in the kitchen when Charlie arrived home from work on Tuesday, and as soon as I heard him close the front door, I nudged her. “Go give Daddy a hug.” In the twenty-four hours since the Suttons’ departure, Charlie’s and my interactions had been guarded but not outright hostile. We hadn’t spoken on the phone during the day, which was unusual but not unprecedented; though he tended to call in the midafternoon, it was possible he’d been busy with the Brewers transaction. The thought had crossed my mind to do something festive for him, to make a cake in the shape of a baseball, perhaps, but I felt too stung by what had happened the day before to go to the trouble.
Ella took off at a gallop, shouting, “Oh, dearest Father, say hello to your wonderful and beautiful daughter.”
This was just as I’d hoped—that her exuberance might compensate for my lack of it. But when Charlie entered the kitchen, I knew before he spoke a word that the deal hadn’t gone through. “Lloyd Reisman’s a fucking weasel,” he said. He loosened his tie and took a seat, and Ella promptly sat on his lap and began pulling on his earlobes; she didn’t react to his swearing, which had lost its novelty years before.
Charlie brushed Ella’s hands away. “He’s reneging on what he told Langenbacher, pulling this crap about how much we have to pay up front. Bunch of bullshit.” Charlie shook his head. “I need a drink.”
“So what happens next?”
“I have half a mind to tell him he can go fuck himself. He thinks he’s getting another offer like this one, he’s sorely mistaken.”
“Do Zeke and Cliff agree?”
Charlie sneered. “Cliff is ready to bend over and spread his cheeks for Reisman. Langenbacher says we should wait a few days, starve him out, but I don’t like having this stuff unresolved. Sell us the goddamn team or don’t, but don’t keep us in limbo.”
“But Reisman’s not the one delaying things, is he? If he’s saying he wants you to pay more on signing, and Zeke Langenbacher is refusing to—”
Charlie waved a hand through the air, a signal I recognized to mean
This discussion has concluded.
“You want burgers for dinner?”
“Sure. I’ll light the grill?”
In a robot voice, Ella said, “I will not eat a burger, please, thank you.” She was still on Charlie’s lap, and she poked the end of his nose. Could she not tell what a wretchedly bad mood he was in, or was it that her father’s moods were beside the point, subordinate to her own? In moments like these, I envied her.
“Cut it out,” Charlie said, and Ella-as-robot replied, “Will not cut it out. Do not know what
cut it out
means. Our planet is made of cotton candy, and we wear shoes on our ears.”
Charlie looked at me. “Can you do something?”
“Ella, I need your help.” I extended my hand, and she slid off Charlie and took it. Even standing that close, I did not kiss or embrace him, he did not kiss or embrace me, and I felt the shadow of my conversation with Jadey pass over us like an airplane on a sunny day. To Ella, I said, “Will you set the table?”
I DROPPED ELLA
off at school the next morning, and I easily could have parked and walked over to see Nancy Dwyer—the admissions and financial aid office was down the hall from Ella’s classroom—but I didn’t want to go in without an appointment. Back at home, Charlie had left for work (he hadn’t planned to tell Arthur, John, or the rest of his family about his plans with the Brewers until the deal was final, a decision that seemed smart now). I went upstairs and took a seat at my desk in the second-floor hallway. As I dialed Nancy’s number, the ropy branches of a weeping willow outside stirred in the breeze, an enlarged reflection of the papier-mâché Giving Tree on my desk, and when Nancy answered, I said, “It’s Alice Blackwell. Am I catching you at a bad time?” The next day would be the last of the school year, though I knew that people in more administrative jobs tended not to abide by the same schedule as the teachers and students.