Immediate Family (17 page)

Seeing him walk through the door, his hair windblown and cheeks flushed from the outdoors, she felt for the first time since she’d gotten back that she was truly home. In one hand was a shopping bag full of Chinese takeout and in the other a gift-wrapped package. He handed her the gift, saying, “It’s a little late, but they say the best things in life are worth waiting for.”

She opened it to find the Victorian brass carriage clock she’d admired in an antiques store on one of their jaunts. “Oh, Jay.” For a moment she was speechless. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course,” he said as if it was only natural that he would. “Anyway, I never properly thanked you, so this is partly to let you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.” Just then the clock chimed, and they shared a smile that seemed to contain a world of unspoken sentiment.

“Don’t be silly. What are friends for?” Franny set the clock down on the small cherry cabinet she’d inherited from her grandmother, where it looked perfectly at home. “There. Now I’ll think of you whenever I look to see what time it is.”

“Is that supposed to be a hint?” he said, referring to his chronic tardiness.

She kissed him on the cheek, relieving him of the shopping bag. “Another way of looking at it is that from now on I won’t be so annoyed when you’re running late.”

He laughed. “Fat chance.”

Watching him shrug off his suit jacket, she fought an impulse to smooth his windblown hair—a sisterly gesture that wouldn’t have seemed so sisterly given how her heart was racing—peering into the bag instead. “I hope you didn’t get any of those fried dumplings. You know I can’t resist them, and the last thing I need is to put on any more weight.”

“You can have the chicken and broccoli,” he said.

He went into the kitchen, scooping a handful of clean flatware from the dishwasher before reaching into the cupboard above it for some plates. He knew where everything was in her apartment, sometimes better than she did. Once, after she’d spent fifteen minutes searching for her missing corkscrew, he’d found it still in the cork of a half-drunk bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge. Now, watching him pry open containers and dump their steaming contents into bowls, Franny thought that a stranger catching a glimpse of them through the window just then would have assumed he was her husband.

“Here’s to getting older,” he toasted, clinking his glass against hers when they were seated at the table about to dig into their feast.

“And hopefully wiser,” Franny said.

They spent the rest of the meal catching up on everything that had happened while she was gone. Jay told her all about the TV commercial he was working on for Uruchima Motors—they’d been so pleased with the job he’d done on the Roughrider, they’d given him the account for their newest sports car, the Wasp. Franny, for her part, only lightly touched upon her trip to L.A.—the places she’d gone, the people she’d seen—not wanting to drop her bombshell in the middle of dinner. For the same reason, she’d taken off her engagement ring and tucked it away in a drawer.

“What’s the latest from Viv?” she ventured at last.

“I spoke to her last week. She’s doing better.”

“Did she say when she was coming home?”

“She was a little vague about that.” His expression tightened. “To be honest, Viv and I don’t have much to say to each other these days.”

Franny thought back to what Emerson had said and wondered if their marriage really was in trouble. It certainly looked that way. “I imagine it’s a little like dancing around the five-hundred-pound gorilla in the room,” she said in Vivienne’s defense.

“I suppose so.” With a visible effort, he brightened. “But listen, you didn’t invite me over to watch me wallow in self-pity.”

Franny couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness, knowing that evenings like this one would soon be coming to an end. They’d always be close, but somehow it wouldn’t be the same.

She waited until they were curled on the sofa in front of the TV with bowls of ice cream that she finally broached the subject she’d been avoiding all evening. “Jay, there’s something I should have told you before.”

“What?” He turned to her with an expectant look.

“Keith’s asked me to marry him.”

Slowly, he lowered his spoon into his bowl. “And?”

She swallowed hard. “I told him yes. Look, I know we agreed you’d help raise this child, but…” She let the sentence trail off.

“That’ll be kind of hard with me living on the opposite coast,” he said quietly.

“You’re not mad, are you?”

“No. Just…you caught me off guard.” He shook his head as if to clear it, mustering a small, strained smile. “So you decided to go for it after all?”

“He offered to make an honest woman of me. How could I refuse?”

“In that case, I guess congratulations are in order. When’s the big day?”

“We haven’t set a date yet. I’m not making any more major decisions until after the baby’s born.”

“As long as you love him, that’s all that matters.”

Franny didn’t say anything. She knew she ought to assure him that she
did
love Keith, that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, but for some reason the words wouldn’t come. Right now, Jay didn’t need any more reminding that another man would be raising his child. She brought her head to rest on his shoulder. “Are you going to be all right with this?”

“If it’s what you want, I’m all for it,” he said, with forced enthusiasm.

“It’s not what we talked about, I know, but things don’t always work out the way you plan.”

“Tell me about it.” She heard the bitterness in his voice, and immediately felt bad for reminding him of his loss. But he rallied, saying, “We’ll work something out. I have a lot of frequent-flier miles racked up.”

“Whatever happens, our kid will grow up knowing who his dad is,” she promised.

Jay nodded, looking less than convinced. He was smart enough to realize their child would nonetheless grow up calling another man Dad. He smiled in resignation, bringing a hand to her cheek. “You’ve waited a long time for this. You deserve to be happy.”

“I just wish…” She broke off, looking away.

“You wish what?” He put a hand under her chin, bringing her head around to meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” she lied.

She studied his face as if to memorize it, his prairie sky eyes and mouth that turned up at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling. She felt like Dorothy saying good-bye to the scarecrow:
I’ll miss you most of all.

When he leaned in to kiss her she scarcely realized what was happening. As she sat there, too shocked to move, there was only the warm pressure of his mouth, the tip of his tongue playing lightly over hers. A lazy heat curled through her like smoke and before she knew it, she was responding, parting her lips and winding her arms around his neck.

All the while, her mind spun, unable to grasp what was going on. This was Jay…
her
Jay?

“What was
that
all about?” she gasped, when they finally drew apart.

“I don’t know.” He looked equally shaken.

Confusion quickly gave way to embarrassment. It was a freak thing, she told herself. All that talk about being separated had gone to their heads.

She pulled away, saying in an unsteady voice, “I think maybe we’ve been spending too much time together. It…it might be a good idea if we didn’t see each other for a while.”

“You’re probably right,” he said unhappily, reaching up to smooth his thumb lightly over her cheek, a move that set off an avalanche in the pit of her stomach.

“We can’t let this get in the way of our friendship.” Even as she spoke, she knew her words were hollow. Right now, what she wanted most of all was for him to kiss her again.

He sat in silence for a moment, his eyes searching her face. At last he seemed to come to some sort of resolution, and rose to his feet a bit unsteadily, saying, “I guess I should be going.”

She saw him to the door, not kissing him good-bye as she normally would. A deep awkwardness had set in and she was suddenly desperate for him to leave. At the same time, she was equally desperate for him to stay. As he was heading out onto the landing, she called after him, “Jay.” He paused and turned to face her: a tall, fair-haired man, in a creased blue suit and tie that hung askew, who in that moment appeared scarcely older than the boy she’d first encountered all those years ago on the steps of Firestone Library. “Just for a little while, okay? Until we…” What? Develop amnesia? “Until we get our heads straight.”

He nodded, giving her a slow, sad smile, then turned on his heel and was gone.

N
o! Don’t put me on hold!” Emerson cried into the phone. But the woman at the other end apparently didn’t care that Emerson had been getting the runaround for weeks and had heard every song in the Muzak repertoire, for the line went silent. Damn! It was all she could do not to slam down the phone in frustration.

Greg Purcell hadn’t gotten much further. The only thing the immigration lawyer had accomplished so far was to get a six-week extension on Reggie’s visa while the matter was being investigated. But at least it would buy them time, which they desperately needed.

When at last the caseworker came back on the line, Emerson was informed that Mr. Okanta’s case had been transferred to another department. She was put through to a supervisor’s voice mail and she left a message along with her phone number, though she didn’t expect a call back anytime soon. In any event, it would just be more reshuffling of the deck.

No sooner had she hung up than her new secretary clomped into her office with a stack of pink message slips. Jenna dropped them on her desk, saying, “I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were on the phone.” Today’s outfit was a shapeless plaid skirt, crew-neck sweater at least three sizes too big, and black tights with clogs. A recent Sarah Lawrence graduate, Jenna was under the mistaken impression that what had been acceptable attire on campus was equally acceptable in the work world. Emerson made a mental note to take her shopping when all this was over. Jenna might have graduated summa cum laude, but she clearly needed a lesson in Fashion 101.

Emerson leafed through the message slips while sipping coffee gone lukewarm: Woody Reichert from Oasis Records—she was promoting an event for one of their artists; Janelle Rusk from HarperCollins, wanting to know about a press release; Bill Schneider, manager of the Tower Records store that was hosting the Oasis event. All stuff she should have followed up on sooner. Instead, she’d spent the better part of the morning in the seventh circle of hell known as government bureaucracy. In fact, these past few weeks, a lot more than she cared to think about had been relegated to the back burner.

With a sigh, she dropped the slips in her in-box. They’d have to wait until later. She had a meeting at eleven with the principal at Ainsley’s school and, if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late. Grabbing her purse and dashing out the door, Emerson wondered what Mrs. Ballard wanted to talk to her and Briggs about. It must be fairly serious to schedule a meeting. Was Ainsley falling behind in school? Was it even possible to flunk second grade? Guilt, the bane of her existence, crept up on her with the stealth of an assassin. If there was something going on with Ainsley, shouldn’t she have noticed it herself?

Outside, the car she’d hired was waiting at the curb. Luckily, traffic was light and at five past eleven they were gliding to a stop in front of the school. Tall, ivied brick walls enclosed the campus and Episcopal church beyond, accessed by a wrought-iron gate that was kept locked after hours. Stepping through it onto the campus dotted with trees, mostly bare now, Emerson felt her anxiety abate somewhat. Whatever it was, how bad could it be?

Inside, the school was sunny and welcoming, with colorful paintings and class projects taped to the painted brick walls and the happy sounds of children drifting from the classrooms. Emerson was ushered into the principal’s office, where her ex-husband, always annoyingly punctual, sat chatting with Mrs. Ballard, a heavyset, grandmotherish lady who favored seasonal sweaters like the green cardigan patterned with jack-o’-lanterns that she had on now. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized, casting a weak smile at Briggs as she sank into the chair beside him. “I hope I didn’t miss anything.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Ballard assured her. “Your husband and I were just…” She let the rest of the sentence trail off, as if remembering that Emerson and Briggs were no longer a couple, and resumed her seat behind the desk. “Thank you both for coming. I hope you know I wouldn’t have asked you here in the middle of the day if I didn’t feel it was important.”

She began by reiterating what they already knew, that Ainsley was an excellent student, that her reading scores were at the fourth-grade level and she showed a real aptitude for art. And until recently she’d been sociable and fun-loving as well. Here, Mrs. Ballard’s brow furrowed. Emerson felt herself tense up as the older woman went on to explain that lately Ainsley had been withdrawn and that she cried at the drop of a hat. It was so unusual for her that Mrs. Ballard felt it warranted sharing her concerns. Had either of them noticed a change in her behavior? she asked.

Emerson felt a renewed attack of guilt.
My fault,
she thought,
I’m a bad mother.
She hadn’t been spending enough time with her daughter lately. By the time she got home at the end of each day, she was usually so exhausted she could hardly see straight. And, let’s face it, her thoughts were so taken up with Reggie she hadn’t been able to focus on much else. When she wasn’t slipping off to be with him, she was making calls on his behalf. If Ainsley was feeling neglected as a result, was it any wonder? What made it even worse was that it had somehow escaped Emerson’s attention. Sure, there had been some incidents recently, a few temper tantrums and periods of moodiness, but she’d simply chalked it up to growing pains.

But if Briggs shared her poor opinion of her mothering, he refrained from airing it. Instead, he surprised her by confessing, “I’m afraid I’ve been remiss, Mrs. Ballard. You see, I’ve been working such crazy hours these past weeks that when Ainsley’s with me, it’s usually my wife who looks after her.” His firm had recently merged, he explained, and his workload was twice what it normally was. “I don’t know if that’s what’s bothering her, but there could be a connection. You know how little girls are. They want their daddies all to themselves.” He smiled, clearly not wanting too big a deal made of it.

Emerson could have kissed him just then. But it wasn’t fair to let Briggs shoulder all the blame. “I should have been paying closer attention myself,” she said.

“Have there been any changes in her routine? Or in
your
routines? Other than work-related, that is.” Mrs. Ballard’s brow furrowed as she glanced from Emerson to Briggs.

“Well, there’s my mother, she’s quite ill,” Emerson offered.

Mrs. Ballard eyed her with sympathy, asking, “Are she and Ainsley close?”

“Yes, of course.” It wasn’t strictly true—even before Marjorie got sick she was always too busy with her committees and various social events to spend much time with Ainsley—though if her mother had a soft spot, it was for her grandaughter. “But my mother’s been sick for some time. Ainsley’s had time to adjust.”

“May I make a suggestion then?” The principal sat back in her chair, her pudgy fingers forming a steeple under her chin. “Perhaps Ainsley would benefit from seeing someone.”

“A therapist, you mean?” Emerson experienced a little inner jolt. Was it really that serious?

“Our school psychologist has put together a list of names…,” Mrs. Ballard went on, so sincere and well-meaning that Emerson wanted to strangle her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ballard, but we’ll take it from here.” Briggs politely but firmly cut her off, smiling pleasantly as he rose to his feet. “We appreciate all your efforts and we’ll certainly look into it.” He put out his hand. “In the meantime, if anything else comes up, please don’t hesitate to let us know.” Standing there so erect, he looked almost statesmanlike with his wire-rimmed glasses and herringbone jacket the same tweedy brown as his hair.

He swept out of the office, leaving Emerson to totter after him in her four-inch heels, wondering,
Who was that masked man?
She couldn’t recall her ex-husband ever being that assertive when they were married. She hadn’t even known Briggs was capable of it.

He paused outside, waiting for her to catch up. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Now’s as good a time as any.” She pointed to the bench adjacent to the church, at the other end of the campus. It was a bit chilly to sit outdoors, but it would be private enough.

Briggs glanced at his watch and nodded. Out of long habit she took his arm as they strolled along the pathway to the church.

“I should have seen this coming,” she said, when they were seated. “It’s these damn hours. Between that and my mother…”
Reggie, too,
she added silently.

“Before we start blaming ourselves, we should find out what, if anything, is wrong,” Briggs said in a more measured tone. “How do we know it’s not something school-related?”

“She adores Mrs. Frey.” Ainsley was always saying she wanted to be just like her teacher when she grew up.

“Maybe one of the other kids then. You know how they can be.”

“She’s always gotten along well with her classmates.” Emerson tried to think of anything that had happened at school recently that might have upset her, but the only thing that came to mind was Ainsley’s best friend, Hillary, being out sick for a whole week.

“Something at home then?” he ventured cautiously, darting her a look. Briggs was always careful not to pry into her private life, but she could see the question in his eyes.

She agonized for a moment before concluding that it would be wrong to keep it from him. If it involved Ainsley, he had a right to know. “Actually, I’ve been seeing someone,” she confessed, shivering a little in the cool air. She kept her gaze fixed on a sparrow hopping along the courtyard that bordered on the church, a sturdy red brick structure dating back to the nineteen hundreds.

When she looked over at Briggs, he was wearing an expression so carefully neutral, she knew it masked something deeper. But whatever he was feeling, he kept it to himself, saying only, “I’m surprised Ainsley hasn’t mentioned it.”

“She doesn’t know yet. At least, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.” Emerson thought of the time Ainsley had almost walked in on them and her face grew warm. “I’ve only had him over when she’s not around. Still, it’s possible she might have picked up on something.”

“She’s old enough now to know you have a life outside her,” Briggs said gently. “Don’t you think it would be best if she met this man?”

“She already knows him. In fact, they’re good friends.” She turned to him with a wan smile. “It”s Reggie, my mother’s night nurse.”

Briggs knew all about Reggie; these days Ainsley talked of little else. Still, it had to come as a bit of a shock. In her world, though prejudice was openly frowned upon, very few of the people she’d grown up with dated outside their race. But when her eyes searched Briggs’s face, she saw nothing to indicate anything other than mild surprise.

“In that case, I should think she’d be delighted,” he said. “She seems to think the world of him.”

Emerson was grateful to him for not making her feel any worse than she already did. It struck her then that if he hadn’t been what she’d wanted in a husband, she hadn’t given him much of a chance. Perhaps if she’d been more honest from the beginning he’d have loved her for who she was. She wouldn’t have had to wear herself out with all her efforts to please him that, in retrospect, she saw were mostly of her own and Marjorie’s making.

“Ainsley’s not the problem, it’s my mother,” she said. Emerson didn’t have to spell it out; he’d spent enough time around Marjorie to know she’d disapprove of such a match. “Also, there’s a new wrinkle.” She explained about the problem with Reggie’s visa.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” Briggs said, frowning in thought.

“Seriously?” She perked up.

“Remember Brad Whittier? He was in my class at Buckley.” She shook her head. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put a face to it. “He’s a state assemblyman now, very tight with Pataki, I understand,” Briggs went on. “Anyway, he owes me. A few years ago, I helped his stepdaughter get into Yale. Whenever I run into him, he always mentions it. If I asked him to, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind picking up the phone.”

“You’d do that?” Emerson eyed him in amazement.

He smiled thinly. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not such a bad guy, you know.”

“I never thought that,” she said, blushing a little.

“Just the wrong guy then.” His smile gave way to a look of resignation. “It’s all right. I’d like to think we’re past all that. In fact, it would be nice if we could be friends. For Ainsley’s sake.”

“Not just for Ainsley.” She reached for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Look, I know you don’t have to do this, and I’m truly grateful.”

“Actually, I have an ulterior motive,” he said, a corner of his mouth turning down in a wry smile. “I know you’ve always thought I was…how shall I put it…a bit of a wimp? It would be a matter of personal pride if I could redeem myself, if only belatedly.”

She broke into a grin. “Are you kidding? If you pull this off, I’ll have a bronze statue erected in your honor.”

Several days later, he called her at her office. “How’s Ainsley?” he asked.

“She seems okay, but it’s hard to tell. I still don’t know if it’s just growing pains, or if something’s really bothering her,” Emerson said. She’d tried having a heart to heart talk with her daughter but hadn’t made much headway. “Franny gave me the name of a therapist, an author of hers who wrote a book on children of divorce. I spoke to the woman over the phone, but I didn’t want to make an appointment without discussing it with you first. In fact, I was just about to call you.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Do you need me to be there?”

“Not for the first appointment. She’d like to see Ainsley alone.”

“You’ll fill me in afterward then?”

“Of course.”

There was a pause at the other end, then Briggs said more cautiously, “Listen, I have some news about your friend.”

“Oh?” Her heart began to pound.

“Brad made some calls.”

“And?”

“They referred him to Homeland Security.”

Emerson was so taken aback she let out an involuntary little laugh. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. What, do they think he’s a terrorist?” Even so, she could feel the blood draining from her face.