B0042JSO2G EBOK (19 page)

It was not easy to argue with a woman lying motionless under the covers. You don’t know Luc, Constance said.

They’re all little boys, said Ann Lord. If you really want him back, treat him badly.

Great, Mother.

Treat him badly and he’ll come back. I promise.

Is that how you got Papa back? Constance said, folding her arms.

Sweetheart, you know I didn’t want him back.

She dreamed every ring she’d ever worn had left its imprint on her fingers and she could see the traces of all of them, the oval ring with the seal, her mother’s sapphire, the jeweled guard rings, the
square diamond from Oscar, the three opals in a row, the enamel dome, the Plexiglas cube, the gold wedding bands. Each time a ring was put on her finger she’d had the illusion of safety. If you believed in safety you were more likely to find happiness. In the dream it was the impression the rings had left, not the rings, which remained. They left their imprint the way kisses did not. They left an imprint while the impression left by a man’s arms worn around one’s body night after night for years was not left.

She woke and thought of what was left. She had always believed in the accepted wisdom that what was important would endure and in the end survive and what mattered would last and be recognized and saved. But she saw now that was not true.

Ann Lord’s children sat in the kitchen drinking tea.

I think she’s gotten sweeter, Margie said.

I wouldn’t go that far, Constance said, turning the pages of a newspaper and not reading. It’s just the drugs.

Lauren thinks she’s gotten nicer, Teddy said.

Constance became interested in an article and folded her arms on her lap and lowered her profile nearly touching her chin to the table.

Is Lauren coming over? Margie said.

She’s bringing the girls.

Is that a good idea, do you think?

They don’t have to go up, Teddy said.

I didn’t mean that. I just meant Mother might not be up for it.

Then they don’t have to go up. Lauren doesn’t think it’s probably very good for them anyway.

Kids can handle more than you think, Constance said.

She’s just being protective, Teddy said.

Constance looked up. All these things that Lauren thinks, she must be a lot more talkative than when she’s around us.

She is. Teddy poured his tea down the sink. His footsteps were firm going down the hall.

Lauren’s pretty talkative around me, Margie said. She’s not that quiet.

Whatever. Constance closed the paper. She’s not being particularly more sweet to me, though. Mother.

What? She said you were heroic, Margie said.

I think the nurse got it wrong, Constance said.

They were drinking coffee on the porch and Ann took the baby out of Oscar’s arms to find a place for her to nap. The Montgomerys’ house was full of house guests and she walked past the tall pillars with the French doors open to the rows of rooms. She took the steps at the end and carried the baby through the shade of the hanging moss to the old slave quarters which Kingie had converted into guest cottages. Ann walked to the last one which she’d been told was empty and when she stepped into the small kitchen was seized with a tightening in her chest at the smell of the pipes and rust and remembered before she knew what it was some powerful thing and going into the bedroom was further struck when she looked up and saw a black and pink Venetian chandelier hanging over the bureau. It was the Wittenborns’ wedding present to Kingie and Monty. She put the baby down and stood transfixed looking at the glass drops only dimly remembering where they were from feeling she was seeing something of herself which she had lost long ago.

Then came a mercifully peaceful day with nothing stirring. Her body felt lighter, there was less of her. It was very still, the water was still as glass. Almost too quiet. She used to have days when she’d go into town, she used to meet women for lunch on fogged winter days, she gave birth, she gave birth again, she kept the children from—no she could not keep them. No. There was a call from Virginia. No one would have ever dared make that call. They came and found them on the boat, it was full of wind but the sound stopped,
the wind was wild, everything was flapping. The Coast Guard came and at first everyone on board joked about being arrested for dropping over the empty vodka bottles but it turned out they were looking for someone, they were looking for the Lords. Oscar turned and watched her, she was coming up from below, and after that nothing more could happen in her life. She could not look at anyone, she could not believe it. She could not look at Teddy after that, Teddy with the same face only not as thin. Nothing happened after you lost your son then before she knew it she was pregnant again at her age which could not happen either and Nina came … oh who? Who was that?
I can’t stay long
It was Ralph Eastman in a dark suit.

He had stopped by after business in New York and was off to West Africa again before returning to London. He had married Fiona Speed’s sister Kit who sent her love and he made Ann Lord laugh describing Fiona’s weekend parties. Then his voice changed.

I have to go.

Yes. She smiled.

Off on this tour.

Great smile on her tight-skinned face.

I’ll be thinking of you, he said.

And I’ll think of you.

On my travels. He gazed at her, his old friend.

On your travels. She held her smile.

Being led around …

Yes.

By my nose.

By who knows.

Yes, by who knows.

Her jaw once round was now sharp like a shovel.

Well then, he said and kissed both her cheeks.

She still smiled. I don’t know what to say, she smiled.

Nothing you need to say.

She held that smile. Ralph Eastman was not smiling.

Good-bye Ann.

Good-bye Ralph.

He stood and picked up his folding bag which for some reason he had carried all the way up the stairs with him to her room. His briefcase he’d left downstairs in the hall.

What are the paper plates for? she said.

What’s that?

She shook her head. He slung the bag over his shoulder. Her face looked grey in the light. He would never see her again.

That’s it, she said, still smiling, and there was nothing left for him to do but depart the room.

A
knock on the door. She was still trying to do something with her hair. Ann Grant opened the door and found Buddy Wittenborn on the step looking past her.

I can’t do this, he said, and held up a white suspender with a leather buttonhole shaped in a Y. He turned around.

She found the buttons tucked in the waistband at the curve of his back. What would you do without me? she said.

His ear was tilted back to her, but he did not turn or answer. His eyes out of the side of his glasses were solemn and she never forgot the way his head was bent and how nothing was said. It was his sister’s wedding day. She buttoned the button into the buttonhole and thought of how they were all there for Lila and Carl and how each of them was a part of it and they were all a part of each other.

Phil Ted Oscar

They all said will you marry me it had been raining they were by the river another couple walked by a boat slid past in the dark like a jeweled cuff Phil took her by the collar I want to marry you they said they stopped dancing and stepped onto the porch by wisteria vines she was glowing she felt herself glow Ted whispered in her ear I have decided not to let you go they sat at a table in the awning shade the bell tolled the pigeons flew up Oscar poured wine into her glass and put the bottle down will you they said would you marry covering her hand with their hand by the olives on the plate and the slices of bread I do not want to live without you they said I want to live it with you their eyes were ready to jump off a cliff I always wanted I never thought I always hoped they took her in they took her by the elbow they took her in the dark she was a surprise they stood at the door when she opened it they were on the other end of the phone they mused in a half-light I never thought they said she fit herself under their arms she fit herself underneath she fit herself alongside them and did not think how she got there did not think when a new one came how the others faded she remembered the ones before but not how she had fit alongside them that was blotted out with the new face and the new form would you mind if I oh that sinking feeling oh here we go again they kissed her in a taxi they kissed her against a shadow they kissed her on the wet sidewalk against a car she was wearing her little grey coat they buried their face in her neck she could smell the wisteria with its winding trunk the music was still playing they took her hand on a narrow street pulled her near the stones under her feet were uneven they were sunk against a red chair in the study their hair was brown their hair was black in the foyer their hair was white their fingers were big can I they said can I do you know how nice that is let’s not stand here is there someplace I can can I come up do you think that I that depends could you ever be do you wonder that depends I would like to spend it with you I will always I will never I know I am young and don’t know I know I am not so young anymore I will always I will never tell me again of course I do by now
you should know don’t you know by now of course I do I know I do too they all said they would they all said they did they all said I do

Lila’s room was crowded with her skirts, her veil, her mother and five bridesmaids all in the same foam green dress. Perfume mingled with powder. On Ann the bridesmaid’s dress looked handsome, on Gigi monumental. Gail Slater was a tall blade of grass in it and Eve Wittenborn lying on the chaise with her feet up was curvy like an inchworm. Lizzie Tull’s dress was loose in the straps and snug in the torso cutting into her skin. She was placing the veil combs in different positions on Lila’s head. Mrs. Wittenborn leaned on a windowsill, cigarette near her mouth, studying her daughter. Gigi was at the window looking down at the driveway. There go the boys, she whispered.

The veil sprouted up from Lila’s head. It looks so pretty, said Mrs. Wittenborn.

The bridesmaids were silent. Lila’s hair had been done by Mrs. Wittenborn’s hairdresser from Boston in a sort of puff, a way she never would have worn it before and would never wear it after.

At the last minute Lila asserted herself and refused the veil.

They arrived at the church in the buggy and the horse got spooked and nearly knocked the carriage over. Lila was unfolded from the cab and her skirts fluffed out. Mr. Wittenborn stood by in a cutaway with vest and top hat. Lila stepped into position inside the door, assuming her role with an ease which surprised Ann Grant. Her face had not the least trace of self-consciousness. Gigi, a foot taller in her green high heels, gravitated to the ushers and was examining the lily of the valley in Harris Arden’s lapel.

The church was full. An organ played mournfully.

A car pulled up and spilled out a couple with a baby pulling off caps and removing sweaters. Ralph Eastman led them to a bench in the rear.

Who was that?

Carl’s cousin Esther, said Lila staring ahead.

Ann recognized the couple who’d danced the night before at the Yacht Club. The woman gazed about cheerfully then stood up and made her husband follow in mortification carrying blankets and bottles and stuffed animals as she scurried to a better position in the front and settled down. The organ paused and the wedding march began.

At the altar the ushers stood in a line, Ralph Eastman, Harris Arden, Carl’s brother Pip, Carl’s friend Monty, and Buddy as best man beside Carl who stood with hands folded in front of him and watched as the bridesmaids came one by one down the aisle carrying trembling bouquets. Then came the flowergirl Spring Tobin wearing a lopsided wreath of roses clutching a basket of ivy. The bridesmaids lined up opposite the ushers and Ann saw Carl’s face change when he caught sight of Lila. He watched her float toward him on her father’s arm as if this were a private moment between them with none of the surprise or fear or self-satisfaction one saw in many less happy couples. Ann had seen many brides white as ghosts but Lila’s color was high. She met Carl’s eye not smiling then when she reached him smiled and he smiled back.

Who gives this woman to be wed?

Mr. Wittenborn staring into the mid-distance unwrapped Lila’s arm. I do, he said. He bowed forward, then stepped back handing her over to the care of another man.

The priest cleared his throat. Ann Grant looked at Harris Arden opposite. He winked.

Later Lila would say she didn’t remember one moment of the ceremony.

As Ann walked down the aisle hooked to Ralph Eastman’s arm she looked around for Maria di Corcia and saw her beneath a large navy blue hat with pearls around her neck. She looked very pale and Ann had to admit glamorous.

They stepped outside into the bright dappled shadows. Harris Arden stood there a head above her as people streamed by and car doors slammed. He looked down. Which car are you in? he said, but the way he stared at her seemed to mean something else. He
was looking into her face and past it and beyond into something way back in her. Herself.