August 3rd, 1981, was Jennie’s fourth birthday. Now a birthday for any little girl is a big day, but a little girl’s first birthday without her mother is somewhat off the charts in terms of everyday experience and something I felt ill equipped to handle. But after much discussion on the phone one Tuesday night two weeks before Jennie’s birthday, my mother and I decided the best thing to do would be to have a party for Jennie as if nothing had changed and to have it at my house rather than at my parents’ house in order to give Jen as much a sense of normalcy as possible.
We also decided that, weather permitting, we’d have cocktails and dinner in the back yard and would open Jennie’s presents out there as well. The picnic table could seat six, and I had four lawn chairs and four folding snack tables, which would give us seating capacity for ten, not counting John in his high chair. That would be enough for my mother and father, Maureen Reilly, two of Peg’s sisters—Erin and Kathleen—Dave and Beth, Nancy, me and, of course, Jennie. I’d have to scare up one more chair and snack table for Loretta, but otherwise we’d be fine.
We debated whether or not to invite the rest of the family or any of Jennie’s friends, but resolved we should limit the party to ten so we could seat everyone and easily move everything indoors if the weather decided not to cooperate. Ten people, we reasoned, would make the party small enough to be manageable and yet large enough to be special for Jennie. I would grill hamburgers and hot dogs, and my mother would bring her German potato salad, macaroni salad and the bittersweet chocolate cake that was Jennie’s favorite.
Having established the location, the guests and the menu, I was ready to move on to another topic. My mother, however, was not.
“Are you inviting Nancy to the party?” she asked.
“I already have,” I replied.
“Is she going to come?”
“Of course she’s coming. Why wouldn’t she? And why are you asking?” I added, sensing we were on the verge of having one of those in-depth, no longer appropriate parent-child conversations.
“Well, I was just thinking about Maureen Reilly and how she’s going to feel.”
“She knows I’m dating Nancy,” I said, as if that solved everything.
“I know, but I think seeing Nancy in her daughter’s house will upset her. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d give this some more thought if I were you.”
“Well, I appreciate the concern, but it’s a little late for that. We discussed this July 4th weekend. Don’t you remember? We were all sitting out on the pool deck, and Nancy told you I wanted her to come to the party, but she didn’t think she should. You asked why, and she said she thought her being there would be difficult for the Reillys, Maureen in particular. And we all said she was silly for worrying—that we were certain Maureen would understand her being there. Do you remember that conversation?”
“Of course I do. I’ve just been having some second thoughts.”
“Well, that may be, but I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to convince Nancy to come, and she finally said she would. She still thinks things are going to be awkward, but she knows Jennie wants her there, and she knows I want her there, so she’s coming. Against her better judgment, I might add. But now that I’ve convinced her to come, there’s no way I can ask her not to, Mom. No way.”
“I understand. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I’m just concerned.”
“I’m not angry, and to be perfectly honest, down deep I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing either. I don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt Maureen or get her upset, but more is involved here than Maureen’s feelings. Jennie knows I invited Nancy, and she knows Nancy said yes, and she wants Nancy to come. Plus the fact that I want Nancy to come. Call me silly, but I don’t want to be at my daughter’s birthday party alone. I’d like Nancy with me. So I’ll consider myself forewarned, but I’m not going to uninvite Nancy to Jennie’s party. Because she belongs there. Okay?”
“It’s okay with me. It’s your party.”
I gave a little sarcastic snort into the receiver. “Thanks, Mom. Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.”
“All right. But will you give what I said some thought?”
“No, Mom, I won’t. Nancy’s coming to Jennie’s party. Period.”
I waited for a response. None came.
“Say hello to Pop for me, will you?”
“I will. And I still love you.”
Another snort, meant to convey amusement more than anything else. “I’m glad to hear that. I love you too. Good night.”
I stood next to the wall phone in the kitchen, turning over in my mind what my mother had said, wondering if I had laid the groundwork for some sort of disaster on Jennie’s birthday.
I asked myself,
What am I supposed to do? Tell Nancy she can’t come because we think Maureen Reilly might get upset after all?
I stared at the floor.
I can’t do that.
I looked up at the ceiling.
At the same time, if Mom’s right and Maureen does get upset, she could ruin the whole party—which would hurt Jennie.
I rubbed my eyes with both hands, frustrated, angry.
Jesus Christ! Why does everything have to be so goddamned complicated?
But in an instant the confusion disappeared, replaced with resolve.
“It’s not complicated,” I said out loud to myself, in complete denial of the reality facing me. “Nancy’s coming to the party because she belongs there, and Maureen will understand that. That’s all there is to it.”
Happily confident that all was now under control, I turned off the lights in the kitchen and went to bed.
August 3rd was a typical August day for Long Island, hot and humid but thankfully sunny. I left the office at two forty-five so I’d have time to change clothes and set up the grill and lawn chairs before anyone arrived for Jennie’s party. But when I pulled into the driveway around three-fifteen, I saw that Maureen and Erin Reilly had already arrived. Erin was watching Jennie chase a butterfly across the backyard lawn, and Maureen was sitting on one of the picnic table benches with John on her lap. I parked in front of the garage and got out of the car.
“Hi. How are you?” I said as I walked across the lawn toward Maureen.
“We’re fine,” Maureen replied curtly.
“I didn’t expect to see you guys here so early.”
“Kathleen wanted to beat the rush hour traffic, so we left Bergenfield around noon and got here a little after one-thirty.”
“Well, that’s great. And how are you doing, sweetheart?” I said, calling to Jennie.
“I’m fine, Daddy,” Jennie replied as she ran to give me a hug. “Today’s my birthday.”
“I know, and in a little while we’re going to have a party just for you. With hamburgers and hot dogs and birthday cake and presents and all sorts of stuff.”
Jennie hugged me tightly for a few seconds and then stood back, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, beaming with anticipation.
“But first,” I said, “Daddy’s got to get out of his suit and into some shorts. Then he’s got to set up the grill and some chairs so people will have a place to sit. So you play here with Grandma and Aunt Erin while I go inside and change. All right?”
Jennie nodded and ran across the lawn to Erin.
“And how are you doing, little guy?” I asked, tickling John under his chin.
“He’s doing fine,” Maureen answered while John squirmed on her lap, trying to grab her glasses. “Aren’t you, fella?”
My son’s attention for the moment on a pair of eyeglasses and not on his father, I stood up and started to walk back to the car. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Maureen,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ve got to get out of this suit before I melt.”
I took my briefcase out of the car and went into the kitchen through the back door. As usual, Loretta was standing at the kitchen sink as I came in, washing what I assumed to be the lunch dishes. She turned toward me on hearing the screen door open.
“Hello, Mr. Herbert. How was your day?”
“It was good, Loretta, but short. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it was good.” I put my briefcase down by the pantry doors and picked up the mail on the end of the kitchen counter. “Where’s Kathleen?” I asked, focusing on a handwritten envelope without a return address but postmarked in Richmond, Virginia.
“Miss Reilly?” Loretta said.
“Yes. The other daughter.”
“Oh, she already left, Mr. Herbert. Some time ago.”
“She what?” I forgot about the envelope from Virginia.
“She left, Mr. Herbert. She went home. Over an hour ago.”
“Why? I thought she was coming to Jennie’s party.”
Loretta turned back to the dishes in the sink, visibly upset.
“Am I missing something, Loretta? Wasn’t she supposed to come to Jennie’s party?”
Loretta continued to wash the dishes for another moment or two. Then she put down the dishrag, wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward me. “Yes, she was, Mr. Herbert,” Loretta replied.
“So why isn’t she here? Why has she gone home?”
“She went home right after I told her Nancy was coming to Jennie’s party, Mr. Herbert. She didn’t say anything to me. She just went outside and talked to Mrs. Reilly for a minute. Then she brought Mrs. Reilly’s suitcase inside, got into her car and drove off.”
I stood in the pantry hall, the mail still in my hand, and looked outside, through the screen door, first at Maureen and then at Erin and Jennie, who were hovering over something in one of the flower beds.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Herbert. I didn’t mean to make any trouble for you or for Jennie or for Nancy. Miss Reilly just asked me who was coming to Jennie’s party, and I told her.”
I turned away from the scene in the backyard and faced Loretta.
“I know that, Loretta. You didn’t do anything wrong. You just answered a question. But Kathleen’s obviously making a statement about Nancy.”
I wondered what I should do, but I couldn’t think of anything.
“Well…so be it,” I said finally, as much to myself as to Loretta. “If Kathleen doesn’t want to be in the same room with Nancy, she doesn’t have to be. She can stay away forever as far as I’m concerned.”
“Yes, Mr. Herbert,” Loretta quietly agreed.
I picked up my briefcase and tried to smile at her. “Loretta, we have a little girl out there who’s really looking forward to her fourth birthday party, and I don’t know about you, but I’ll be damned if anyone’s going to get in the way of that. What do you say?”
“Yes, Mr. Herbert,” Loretta replied, nodding in dutiful agreement.
“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes after I change my clothes. And Loretta?”
“Yes, Mr. Herbert?”
“Forget about Kathleen. It doesn’t matter because she doesn’t matter.”
I went out into the front hall and started to go upstairs to change.
Maybe Mom was right
, I thought as I climbed the stairs.
Maybe Nancy’s being here is going to be too much for some people to take.
I reached the top of the stairs and crossed the hall to my bedroom.
“Tough shit,” I said out loud as I opened the bedroom door. “Tough shit.”
When I went back outside after changing my clothes, I found Erin and Jennie sitting at the picnic table with Maureen and John, Jennie feverishly coloring in one of her coloring books, John still happily camped on Maureen’s lap. I walked past them on my way to get the grill and considered bringing up Kathleen’s departure, but decided that probably wasn’t very smart.
The grill hadn’t been used since last summer and was covered with grime, so I wiped it down with wet paper towels to restore it to a reasonable level of cleanliness. I then brought the lawn chairs and snack tables out from the garage. Like the grill, they hadn’t been used since last summer and were dusty and full of cobwebs. Realizing they were beyond the reach of wet paper towels, I uncoiled the hose and proceeded to wash away a year’s worth of neglect, regretting that I hadn’t done all this over the weekend.
By the time I finished, it was almost five o’clock and time to pick up Nancy at the Huntington railroad station. She had said she was going to leave work early so she could catch the four-ten out of Penn Station, which got her into Huntington at five-sixteen, so I had just enough time to put away the hose, wash up and drive to the station. As I was coiling the hose, I wondered what, if anything, I should say to Maureen about where I was going. If I told her I was going to pick up Nancy, I left myself open to a response that might not be good for Jennie to hear. But if I said nothing, I could avoid that possibility, at least for now, and by the time I got back, my parents and the Claytons would be at the house, which hopefully would encourage Maureen to keep her opinions to herself. I decided to say nothing.
I went inside to wash my hands and face, then got into my car and began to back out of the driveway. As I pulled past the picnic table, Jennie looked up from her crayoning with a look of confusion and concern.
“Where are you going, Daddy?” she called out.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes, sweetheart.”
“But where are you going?” she pressed.
Suddenly I wondered what I’d been thinking. How could I have been so stupid as to think I could drive past Jennie without telling her where I was going? I was caught.
“I’m going to pick up Nancy, Jen. At the train station. I’ll be right back.”
Her curiosity satisfied, Jennie turned back to her coloring book. Maureen and Erin looked up at me, but neither of them made a comment. I closed the car window and continued to back down the driveway. I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had dodged a bullet.
I arrived at the station just as the eastbound five-sixteen was pulling in on the south track. I parked in a spot where Nancy could see my car, and within seconds of my arrival, hundreds of tired-looking men and women started to spill onto the north platform and into the parking area from the pedestrian bridge that crossed over the tracks. I saw Nancy standing on the curb at the base of the pedestrian bridge, looking out over the swarm of waiting cars. I gave the horn two quick toots to get her attention, and she turned in my direction, as did fifty or sixty other people. As soon as she saw me, she began to make her way over to the car. I met her at the passenger side, gave her a quick kiss and opened the door for her. She put a shopping bag on the floor behind her seat and got in.