Immediate Family (26 page)

Jay chuckled in spite of himself. “I think the tooth fairy is safe for the time being. We still have a few more years.” Years in which he prayed he would get to watch Ruth grow up.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to listen to her scream.”

He knew she’d meant it facetiously, but he couldn’t help wondering if he was, in fact, destined to be a long-distance dad. It was all he could do to keep from asking outright how it had gone with Keith. The only thing that kept him from doing so was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. What if it was bad news? At least this way he could go on hoping a little while longer. He asked instead if he could stop by on his way home from work, and when Franny begged off, pleading exhaustion and asking if he could come the following evening instead, he tried not to read too much into it.

The next day was the longest of his life. Mr. Uruchima arrived unexpectedly from Japan and insisted on taking Jay and his whole team out to dinner. There was no way he could refuse, so he phoned Franny and told her not to expect him. All that night and into the following day, he merely went through the motions, his mind on Franny all the while. By the time Thursday rolled around, he needed a drink to brace himself for the crushing news he now felt certain lay ahead, so he let Todd twist his arm into going to Shaughnessy’s for a beer after work.

Forty minutes later he was standing outside Franny’s door, letting himself in with the spare key she’d given him after Ruth was born. He walked in to find her sitting on the sofa in the living room, nursing Ruth, looking impossibly sexy, with her blouse unbuttoned and her curls spilling over her full breasts. He took his time hanging up his coat, while willing his erection into submission, before he crossed the room to drop a kiss on her cheek.

“Looks like she’s recovered from her ordeal,” he said, fingering the downy tuft on top of Ruth’s mostly bald head.

Franny rolled her eyes. “You think
she
had it bad.”

“I take it you’re referring to Keith.” Jay sat down next to her, his heart bucking against his rib cage.

She nodded, shifting Ruth to her other breast. “Let’s just say getting drunk didn’t help.”

“Uh-oh.” He smiled knowingly. Franny never could hold her liquor.

“He had to drive me back to Stevie’s,” she explained. “Try breaking up with a guy when you’re three sheets to the wind. I might as well have been talking to him in Farsi.”

“But you
did?
Break up with him, I mean.” She might only have intended to, he thought, then changed her mind after Keith had performed heroically.

“I—,” she started to say, but Ruth let out a cry just then and Franny stood up to burp her. As she paced back and forth, patting the baby on the back, Jay found new meaning in an old expression—he felt as if the suspense were literally killing him.

Ruth let out a loud burp, and Franny disappeared into the next room to change her and put her down for the night. It seemed hours, not minutes, before she reappeared, her cheeks flushed and her hair tousled, seemingly unaware that the top two buttons of her blouse were still undone. He thought of all the opportunities they’d missed through the years, swapping jokes and sharing confidences when they could have been making love. It seemed absurd that he’d never noticed before how sexy she was.

Even so, the old patterns were hard to break. He felt the lure of the familiar, the safe, as Franny flopped down next to him on the sofa, propping her stockinged feet on his lap. He thought how easy it would be to fall back into that comfort zone. No risk of heartbreak, no turning down a road from which there was no return. They wouldn’t have to wonder what came next. They’d know already.

Jay cleared his throat. “So?”

Franny met his gaze, and he knew from the look on her face that he wasn’t the only one who was scared. “You first,” she said.

He eyed her in puzzlement, not sure what she wanted to hear. Then it dawned on him. “You want to know if I’ve changed my mind about Viv?”

“Have you?” she asked, eyeing him anxiously.

Jay shook his head. “Not a chance. It’s over.” He considered telling her about Viv’s most recent confession and decided there was no reason Franny had to know.

She closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart, as if to say a silent prayer of thanks. When she opened them again, she was smiling. “Okay, my turn. Yes, I’m officially unengaged. It was pretty bad, but Keith took it well, when I finally sobered up enough to tell him. I think mostly because he was in shock.”

Jay struggled to hold back the grin that was fighting to break loose. “No regrets?”

“I feel terrible about it, if that’s what you mean.”

“But you’re not not sorry?”

Franny’s eyes widened as comprehension sank in, and she bolted upright, pulling her legs in against her chest. “You can’t think…oh, Jay…no, of course I’m not sorry
that
way.”

“So I guess this means you’re stuck with me.” He grinned and reached for her hand, bringing it to his mouth and unfolding her fingers one at a time to kiss each one.

She looked both happy and bewildered. “There’s just one thing. How are we supposed to go from being best friends to being lovers? I’d hate it if we started acting weird around each other.” Her fingers tightened around his. “I don’t want us to lose what we have.”

“We won’t. It’ll just get better.”

Her expression remained faintly troubled, though. “You know how we’re always saying we can read each other’s minds? Well, it’s no joke. A lot of the time it’s like we actually can.”

“Franny, really, you’re worrying about n—”

“Okay,” she said, cutting him off. “What am I thinking right now?” She closed her eyes.

Jay was about to make some lighthearted remark, but she looked so serious, with her eyes screwed shut, he thought better of it and spoke from his heart instead. “You’re thinking that we’re a family—you, me, Ruth. We were even before Ruth, we just didn’t know it.” She opened her eyes, a tremulous smile forming on her lips. “In fact, I don’t think it was an accident that we had her. I think it was meant to be—God telling us to quit stalling and get on with it.”

“Warm, definitely warm,” she said.

“How about now?” He drew her into his arms, stroking her hair.

“Any warmer, and I’ll have to break out the fire extinguisher.” She curled up against him, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

He put a finger under her chin, tipping her head up. “Okay, your turn. What am
I
thinking?” he murmured as he bent to kiss her.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, holding her teepeed fingertips to her temples as she frowned in mock concentration. “I’m seeing a bed with two people in it.”

“Are they naked?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s a little fuzzy. I can’t say for sure.”

“Let me give you a hint.” He kissed her again, more deeply this time.

Minutes later they were on the floor with half their clothes off. Jay was tugging off his jeans when Ruth let out a cry in the next room. Franny cursed and sat up. “I swear, she does this just to taunt me. If I were in front of the TV stuffing my face with Pringles, she’d have slept through the night.”

“It’s all right. I can wait,” he said.

“I’m not sure I can.” Frowning, she wriggled back into her jeans.

“What’s the rush? We have all night.”

“Stop being so understanding. You’re making me look bad,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “What are friends for?”

E
merson, her eyes half shut and her hand in Reggie’s, sat listening to the sublime music of the pianist onstage playing Chopin’s Nocturne for Piano in E Minor, thinking,
This is how it must be for other people.
The contentment she felt must seem normal to those who hadn’t grown up in a crazy, upside-down world where money earmarked for summer camp was spent on a table for that year’s Costume Institute Ball, and where lavish dinners at the Four Seasons and Lutèce were followed by discreet visits to the Provident Loan Society, the pawnbroker for the rich. And how ironic that the thing she’d been brought up to view as social suicide, marrying outside your class, was what was making her so happy.

She glanced over at Reggie, who was gazing raptly at Emmanuel Ax up onstage. A lot of husbands fell asleep at concerts—Briggs used to jokingly refer to them as a “good nap spoiled.” But Reggie loved classical music as much as she and relished any opportunity to see it performed live. Things she’d always taken for granted—concerts, Broadway plays, a night at the opera—were, for him, a rare treat.

He’d opened up a whole new world for her as well: neighborhoods she’d only driven through before, like Spanish Harlem, Greek Astoria, and Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. Together they’d explored funky shops selling exotic incenses and fetishes, and eaten at places she might have turned her nose up at in the past, like the Ethiopian restaurant where they’d feasted on a spicy stew, using chunks of flatbread in place of utensils.

Ainsley was blossoming as well. Having Reggie come live with them was, for her, like Christmas and Easter rolled into one. She’d attached herself to him like an appendage, and only his unflagging good humor kept him from begging off when for the umpteenth time she asked to be lifted onto his shoulders or sit on his lap, or have him carry her to bed.

The icing on the cake was Briggs’s befriending Reggie. The day he’d invited Reggie to join him for a game of golf at his club, she’d been reminded once more of why she’d once loved Briggs: Under that stiff neck and even stiffer upper lip was good heart.

No, marrying Reggie had turned out to be far from social suicide. Sure, there had been some raised eyebrows, as well as those knocking themselves out to show how openminded they were. Like tonight at the intermission, when they’d bumped into Bunny Hopkins, a long-time acquaintance of her mother’s. Bunny had been elaborately polite to the point of parody. But overall, Emerson had been pleasantly surprised by the reaction to her new husband, which was basically no reaction at all other than polite interest.

The one remaining sore spot was Marjorie. Emerson hadn’t seen or heard from her since the night she and Reggie had eloped, and though in some ways it was a relief, the silence was more resounding than all of Marjorie’s yammering. Emerson still got regular reports from her caretakers and had spoken to her doctor several times while she was in the hospital. She knew Marjorie was doing as well as could be expected, that she was eating a little something at every meal and moving her bowels regularly. And while Emerson would have protested aloud that she didn’t owe her a thing, as she had the other day when Franny gently broached the subject, a sliver of guilt had worked its way in nonetheless, and was now festering.

It wasn’t that Marjorie didn’t
deserve
to be cut off. No judge or jury would condemn her for doing so. Nor was it that she missed her mother’s company. It was more a vague sense of something being out of alignment.

She squeezed Reggie’s hand, and he turned to smile at her, his gaze lingering, as if the sight of her were so captivating he had trouble tearing himself away. In his new suit, which she’d insisted on buying him, he was easily the most elegant man at the concert.
Yes, we make a fine pair,
she thought, looking down at their entwined fingers.

It would be months before they got through all the red tape with the INS, but at least Reggie was in no danger of being deported. After learning that the claims against him were false—Emerson had leaned on her aunt Florence to provide an affidavit to that effect—they’d determined that he wasn’t a security risk, and were currently evaluating his application for citizenship. Emerson was confident it would all work out. No one who saw them together could possibly doubt their genuine love for each other. Besides, who would choose all the obstacles they’d faced, plus the ones still ahead, for any reason other than pure devotion?

A heartbreakingly beautiful rendition of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” followed the Chopin nocturne. Finally, after the last encore, when the thunderous applause had died down, they rose to go, Reggie helping her on with her jacket. A gentleman of the old school, he never failed to open doors for her or pull out her chair. Once, when she’d teasingly accused him of spoiling her, he’d looked baffled. Wasn’t this how all men behaved? he’d asked. When she’d told him that he was the exception rather than the rule, he’d replied that it was only because those men hadn’t had the benefit of Miriam Okanta boxing their ears.

Having met his mother, who, along with Reggie’s father and two of his brothers, had flown over to attend the small reception at her apartment, Emerson didn’t doubt that she’d raised her children with a firm hand. But if so, it was one tempered by warmth and good humor. A tall, handsome woman with a laugh as full-bodied as her figure, Miriam had managed to communicate to Emerson, despite her limited English, how pleased she was to have both a new daughter
and
a granddaughter.

Outside, it was cool and breezy. As they strolled arm in arm along Fifty-seventh Street on their way to Sixth Avenue to get a cab uptown, still under the music’s spell, Emerson’s thoughts turned to Franny and Jay. The only ones who had been surprised when they’d gotten together were Franny and Jay themselves. Now, as if to make up for all that lost time, they planned to make it legal as soon as Jay’s divorce came through. Naturally, Emerson had offered her services in planning the wedding. The caterer she used for most of her events would give them a good price, and she knew an excellent florist who—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the trilling of her cell phone. As always, she felt a little flutter of unease, wondering if it was Ainsley’s nanny calling to report some mishap or minor ailment. But it turned out to be her mother’s nurse. Marjorie was on her way to the hospital, Sonia informed her. Apparently she was having trouble breathing, and Sonia had insisted, over Marjorie’s objections, on calling an ambulance. Sonia sounded worried.

Hanging up, Emerson was torn between her unforgiving heart and her sense of duty, which was all tangled up in the old tug of yearning for her mother’s love. But Marjorie had made her bed, she told herself, and now she had to lie in it. Emerson decided that a call to her mother’s oncologist in the morning was all that was required of her.

Reggie, though, had other ideas. “We must go,” he said.

“I can’t.” Emerson shook her head.

He eyed her gravely. “She could die.”

“I would have thought you, of all people, would understand,” she said, feeling slightly miffed that he wasn’t on her side. Hadn’t he suffered at Marjorie’s hands, too?

“I understand only that she is your mother.”

“For what it’s worth,” she said bitterly.

“Nonetheless.” His jaw was firmly set; he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Are we having our first fight?” she asked.

“There’s no need for us to fight,” he said calmly. “You know in your heart that what I’m saying is right.”

The magic of the evening had vanished, and as they stood on the sidewalk with people streaming past them like eddies around a rock in the middle of a river, she felt as if she were at a crossroads. Part of her wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it. Why was she the one who had to turn the other cheek when it should have been her mother begging
her
for forgiveness? At the same time she knew that there was wisdom in what Reggie was saying, and that if she listened to her heart it would tell her the right thing to do.

She reached for her husband’s hand. “Let’s go.”

It was long past visiting hours by the time they arrived at Lenox Hill Hospital, but the nurse at the desk in the oncology ward, recognizing her from previous visits, said they could have a few minutes. As Emerson walked down the corridor lined with carts and gurneys, holding tightly to Reggie’s hand, it was only Franny’s cautionary words echoing in her head—
When someone dies, your anger doesn’t die with them
—that kept her from bolting.

Marjorie was propped up in bed when they walked in, almost as if she’d been expecting them. It had been weeks since Emerson had last seen her and she was shocked by the change in her appearance. There was almost nothing left of her except skin stretched over sharply protruding bones. Without her wig, the outline of her skull was visible through her wispy gray hair. Her eyes looked out at them from darkened hollows, and her chest rose and fell with the oxygen being pumped in through the tube in her nose.

“If you’ve come to watch me die, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, every other word punctuated with a labored breath. “My doctor tells me I’m not ready for the morgue just yet.”

Emerson could only stand there staring at her mother. The sight of Marjorie so diminished seemed to have sucked all the anger out of her, leaving her strangely devoid of emotion.

It was Reggie who stepped forward to say, “I’m glad to hear that. How are you feeling, Mrs. Fitzgibbons?”

Emerson tensed, half expecting Marjorie to unleash a stream of invective, but she only said, “I’m still breathing, so that’s something, at least. And how are you and your bride?”

“We’re both well,” said Reggie, as if taking no notice of her sarcasm.

“So married life agrees with you.”

“Very much so.” He briefly turned to smile at Emerson. “I hope we have your blessing.”

Marjorie eyed him curiously, as if not quite sure whether to take him at face value. “I’m surprised it matters to you,” she said. “I should think you’d want nothing to do with me.”

He inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging that he did indeed have a right to be upset with her. But when he spoke, his tone was gentle. “We didn’t come to air our grievances.”

Suddenly Emerson’s hard-heartedness seemed small and petty in the face of Reggie’s compassion. She realized now that it had been wrong of her to punish her mother by staying away. In a sense, hadn’t it been just one more way of allowing herself to be controlled? It was only by letting go of her anger, as Reggie had, that she would be truly liberated. Also, deep down she knew that however misguided Marjorie’s actions, she hadn’t done it to be malicious. In her own twisted way, she’d thought she was doing what was best.

“Even so, I owe you both an apology.” Marjorie spoke stiffly, as if defying them to accept it. “There, I’ve said it. You can go on hating me if you like, but I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t hate you.” Emerson said, finding her voice at last.

“I know I haven’t been much of a mother.” Marjorie’s expression softened a bit as she turned toward Emerson. “The truth is, you terrified me. Whatever I did, I was always sure it was the wrong thing. And that look you’d give me, as if you couldn’t bear to have me touch you—” She broke off with a sigh. “After a while, it was easier just to leave you be.”

Emerson’s resentment rushed back in. “Are you saying it’s
my
fault?”

“No, darling, of course not.” Marjorie’s hand, mottled with yellowing bruises left by IV needles, lifted, as if to reach out to her, before falling back onto the mattress. She shook her head, looking deeply tired. “All I’m saying is that things aren’t always as black and white as they seem.”

“You were never there for me when I needed you,” Emerson said, choking back tears. “All you ever cared about was my marrying well, but that was only because of how it would reflect on you.”

Marjorie arched a brow. “And what will you tell Ainsley if one day she accuses you of letting her down?”

“She knows I love her.”

“And you think I don’t love you?”

Emerson didn’t know how to respond.

“You were right about one thing,” Marjorie went on wearily. “My friends haven’t exactly been beating a path to my door, so I suppose that says something about the kind of person I am.”

“It only goes to show how shallow
they
are,” Emerson said, in her defense.

“Water seeks its own level.” Marjorie sounded more resigned than bitter. “Oh, I don’t doubt they’ll all turn out for the funeral. Not because I was so beloved, but because it’s expected of them. It’s what we do, and there aren’t many of us left. We have to stick together.”

Emerson thought of the black, leather-bound copy of the
Social Register
gathering dust on a shelf in her mother’s library, a directory of all the names of any note. People who were favored, not because they were smart, accomplished, or even necessarily rich, but simply because they’d had the good fortune to be born into the right families. However silly Emerson might think it, her mother’s entire existence had once revolved around it. It was unbearably sad to think of her dying without having lived outside those bounds.

She sank down in the chair by the bed, feeling drained. “Mother, I wish you wouldn’t…” she started to say.

But Marjorie waved aside her usual objection. “Nonsense, darling. We have to talk about it sometime. I think even my doctor would agree that the sooner we make funeral arrangements, the better.”

“W-what did you have in mind?” Emerson stammered. It felt so strange discussing this.

“A horse-drawn hearse draped in black, mourners lined up three deep along Fifth Avenue, and a full choir to send me on my way,” Marjorie replied without missing a beat. “But, darling, regardless of what you might think, I’m well aware of who’s footing the bill, so in light of that, I’ll settle for cremation and a nice memorial service. Really, it’s the least I can do.”

Emerson swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”