The Things That Keep Us Here (10 page)

“You always dismiss my concerns.”

Did he? “I’m not trying to dismiss your concerns. It’s just that you always have so many of them when it comes to the girls. It’s hard to give them the same importance that you do. It weighs you down, Ann. You know it does. I don’t want to be dragged down, too.”

“Dragged down,” she repeated. Her gaze returned to the boys. “It fell on Thanksgiving this year.”

What was she talking about? He looked at her.

She looked back. “You forgot, didn’t you?” She looked sad.

He paged rapidly through the days and came up empty.

“William,” she said. “He would have been ten today.”

It was a physical blow. Ten years? How was that possible?

She had turned her head to watch the boys again. “Do you think he’d have played basketball?”

No. He hated this. He couldn’t bear it. “Ann,” he began, but she went on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Maybe he wouldn’t have liked sports. Maybe he’d be more into dismantling the toaster or firing off rockets. Your mom said you used to drive her crazy doing that stuff. I think about that, about how he would have been just like you. I imagine looking at him and seeing you, the both of you wrapped up in one small person, and my heart would just
stop
, it would be so full.” She shook her head. “Maybe not. I don’t know. I’ll never know.”

He didn’t want to be standing here in this soup of raw emotion. He wanted to keep walking, feel the autumn air brisk on his face, scan the sky for a faraway hawk. His breath was coming in short puffs.

She was nodding. “So it’s up to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll be the one to remember. I’ll be the one to keep him alive.”

“You can’t do that, Ann. Don’t put that on me. You grieve in your way. Let me grieve in mine.”

“Have you ever really grieved, Peter? Or have you just pushed everything away?”

He clenched his fists. “Look. I have my apartment. I can—”

Ann looked at him and laughed, a bitter staccato burst. “Right.”

She walked away, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk.

FOURTEEN

T
HEY ATE IN THE DINING ROOM
.

Ann removed the thick felt covers from the table to reveal the gleaming red wood beneath, then shook the folds from her grandmother’s soft linen tablecloth, the cloth so old the white had turned to cream. Peter came in as she was removing the china from the hutch.

He set down the wine bottle in his hand and looked around. “Everything looks great, Ann.”

He was asking her to pretend everything was all right. She carried the stack of delicate plates over to the table. He was right. They needed to get past the day, to focus on making this Thanksgiving seem as normal as possible. She stood back and studied the table, the gleaming silver and the rich linen, the elegant plates with their thin gold bands. She’d forgotten nothing. Everything was the way it used to be. “I think we’re ready,” she said. “Do you want to call everyone in?”

When they were all seated, there was an awkward pause while she and Peter looked down the table at one another and silently conferred over whether to follow their old tradition of giving thanks. It might flay open old wounds barely healed, so she shook her head and he nodded.

Picking up the serving fork from the platter of chicken, he turned to Shazia. “May I have your plate?”

Maddie reached for the bowl of stuffing. “Kate’s got a boyfriend.”

Ann looked at Kate, who blushed furiously. What wonderful, charming news. It had to be Scooter, that boy she’d been texting incessantly.

Peter had been in the middle of pouring wine into Ann’s glass, and now he stopped and looked from Maddie to Kate to Ann.

“She was telling Michele about it.” Maddie dumped a spoonful of stuffing on her plate. “He asked her out and she said yes.”

Kate pointed a fork at her. “You should mind your own business.”

“Out, like in a date?” Peter frowned. “I don’t think that’s at all appropriate.”

He looked so alarmed that Ann couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t worry. It’s just a figure of speech. When a boy asks a girl out, it doesn’t mean they’ll actually go out on dates. All they do is text each other and talk on the phone.” And maybe meet up at their lockers and hold hands in the hall. But of course there wouldn’t be any of that. Kate’s first crush would be played out entirely long-distance.

Kate was literally writhing. “Can we
please
change the subject?”

“Maddie, may I pass you the green beans?” Shazia said, and Kate heaved a sigh of relief.

Maddie started to shake her head, then caught the look Ann gave her. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Thank you.”

Ann smiled at Shazia. “I hear you heard from your cousin.”

Shazia nodded. “She says my parents are going south to stay with my brother.” She shook her head as Peter offered the bowl of mashed potatoes. “It’s more rural where he lives. They think it will be much safer there.”

It had been over a week and Shazia had yet to reach her parents. Maybe conditions overseas were worse than Ann realized. Maybe things were going to get just as bad here, too, now that the airports were closing one by one.

“Is your cousin going with them?” Ann asked.

“No. She’s remaining in Cairo. She’s a pharmacist. She couldn’t leave her job.”

Couldn’t, or wouldn’t? Perhaps in the end it was the same, one person doing the hard, difficult thing. “She sounds very brave.”

“Do you have Thanksgiving in Egypt, Shazia?” Maddie carefully lifted her milk glass with both hands.

“Well, sure,” Kate said. “Only the Pilgrims are called pharaohs and Plymouth Rock is shaped like a pyramid.”

Maddie looked uncertainly at her.

Sometimes Kate was mean just for the sake of being mean. “Enough, Kate.” Ann passed the glass bowl of cranberries to Shazia and reminded her older daughter, “When you were Maddie’s age, you thought money really did grow on trees.”

Kate opened her mouth to retort, then shrugged. “Whatever.”

“We don’t have Thanksgiving like you do, Maddie.” Shazia took a tiny spoonful of the jellied fruit before handing the bowl to Peter. “But my country does have important feasts. There’s the Festival of Sacrifice and the Ramadan feast.”

Maddie nodded. “I’ve heard of Ramadan.”

“Yes. Those who are Muslim fast for a month and then they have a four-day festival.”

“Four
days?” Maddie repeated.

Shazia smiled, shook her head as Ann held out the rolls. “And there’s Christmas, too, only we celebrate it in January.”

“Christmas!” Maddie turned to Ann. “Will Santa still come this year?”

Ann hadn’t even thought about it. She hadn’t started her shopping. She’d been planning to take advantage of the Thanksgiving sales. Now what would she do?

“You bet,” Kate said. “And the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are going to help him, because the elves got H5N1.”

That term didn’t belong in Kate’s mouth. Ann reached over and gripped Kate’s hand. Surprisingly, the girl didn’t pull away. Ann said to Maddie, “We’ll have to see, honey.”

She had a month. She’d figure something out.

Maddie turned to Peter with a bright smile. “Guess what? I lost a tooth last week. It fell out while I was drinking chocolate milk.”

“I can see,” he said. “Must’ve been pretty chewy milk.”

Maddie giggled.

“How about you, Kate?” Peter ladled gravy over his potatoes. “You got any dental issues I need to take care of?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Like I’d ever tell you.” She sank her fork into her potatoes and took a bite.

Maddie set down her glass. “Remember that time you chased Kate around the house with the pliers?”

Peter nodded. “That silly girl.” He made a face of comical disbelief. “Can you believe she wouldn’t let me tie a string around her loose tooth?”

“That’s because,” Kate said, “I let you do it that one time, and when you slammed the door, the doorknob fell off.”

“So she
bit
me.” Peter pulled a face at Maddie. “I still have tooth marks to show for it.”

The house had always been so noisy when Peter came home from work. All the laughing and running up and down the stairs. It had been so quiet this past year.

Shazia was looking from Kate to Peter, a half-smile on her face.

“How about when she smashed your finger with the hammer?” Maddie said.

“Oh, yeah.” Kate’s eyes were bright. “When we were building that tree house with Granddad.”

The four of them had had so much fun. Ann and her mother-in-law had watched from the kitchen window, holding on to each other, helpless with laughter, as first one board was nailed sideways and then the other.

“Tree
hut
, you mean,” Ann said.

“Only because you made us put it on the lowest branch.” Peter shook his head. “Dad and I twisted like pretzels trying to get those boards in place.”

He’d referred to his father so easily. Her heart lifted. “Well, it’s a good thing I did.”

Kate nodded. “Because it broke when Grandma crawled in.”

“Poor Mom.” Peter smiled. “At least she didn’t fall far.”

Peter and Ann smiled across the table at each other. She felt happiness sail between them, limned with sorrow, too. They’d never make happy memories again. But how nice to find this joyful memory among all the sad ones. A gift.

“Oh, wow.” Maddie pushed back her chair and pointed to the window.

A faint spray of tiny colors shone between the slats of the blinds. It was too bright inside the room to get the full effect. Ann stood and turned off the dining room light, and now the bright colors outside sharpened into points.

They crowded in front of the windows. Peter pulled the cords and the blinds rolled up, revealing the Foxes’ holiday display in full rollicking motion on their lawn across the street.

“Look.” Maddie’s voice was full of wonder. “They’ve got a Santa on their roof.”

There he sat, red-cheeked and waving a green mittened hand, as his reindeer pawed the shingles.

“They still have Frosty,” Kate said. “And that snow globe thing.”

The enormous inflatables towered on the lawn below. A set of white wicker reindeer pranced beside the sidewalk, and elves lined the front path, bending and straightening as they pretended to build toys. Candle flames flickered in each window, and every bush was draped with lights that twinkled like emeralds and rubies, sapphires and diamonds.

“When are we going to put up our lights, Daddy?” Maddie asked.

A simple question, but it brought with it so much. The girls unwinding the cords as Peter checked the bulbs, their thoughtful discussions about trees versus bushes, whether they should go all-white or stick with the traditional multicolored.

“We didn’t have any last year,” Kate said.

“You do this, too, Peter?” Shazia sounded amazed.

Peter laughed. “Nothing like it, believe me. I usually toss up a few strings of lights, but that’s pretty much it.”

Even so, the house had always looked so cheerful in the dark. Ann would be out with the girls and they’d pull onto their street and there would be the sparkling colors, flashing happily on and off, welcoming them home.

“Peter has more of a Fauvist approach to holiday lighting,” Ann said, and Peter laughed.

“More like a bunch of elves barfed on the bushes,” Kate said. “Hey,” Peter protested.

Maddie doubled over. “But it’s so true, Daddy.”

Kate leaned into Ann, and Ann put her arm around her. In a few short years she’d be taller than Ann. Ann kissed her daughter’s temple, the skin so warm and Kate-fragrant, the pulse so steady beneath her lips. She drew Maddie’s small hand in hers and clasped her fingers tightly. She was glad for this Thanksgiving and all its strangeness. Maddie was right. Things didn’t have to be perfect to be celebrated. Sometimes it was enough just to
be
.

The three of them stood there, close together, with Peter and Shazia on the other side, and watched the joyful spectacle blink on and off across the street.

THE LAUNDRY DETERGENT BOTTLE WAS COVERED WITH SHINY
black bugs. They swarmed over her fingers. Stifling a scream, Ann flung them off and hurriedly backed away. The beetles dropped to the floor and streamed out the laundry room door.

Now she had a sword in her hand. It was long and curving, with an ornate handle. She swung it. The insects, a black flowing river speeding across the kitchen floor, spread to the steps that led upstairs.

Peter was working on his laptop. She called to him as she ran past. He didn’t lift his head. But then he was there, standing in the front hall. He was wearing his coat and carrying a suitcase. “I have to talk to Liederman,” he told her, slamming the door behind him.

Now she was stomping the beetles, the flats of her feet crushing their bodies. When she lifted her feet, they skittered away unscathed. They were crawling across her toes. They flowed to her ankles, swam to her knees. She was wading in them. She grabbed the banister and pulled herself up the stairs. It was a lake of small grasping bodies. They swarmed over her shoulders, her throat. They filled her mouth and pressed against her eyes.

Her eyelids flew open to blackness. She was in her bed. She pushed herself up and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Three-thirty. Earlier than usual.

Maddie had left her overhead light on again. Would she ever outgrow her fear of the dark? Her sheets were twisted around her legs, and she had an arm across her face. Ann stepped in to switch off the light and tug the blankets up to her daughter’s chin. Maddie remained motionless, as though lost in some dreamy valley from which she could never be roused. How many nights had Ann stood by her crib, watching?

Down the hall, Kate’s door stood open. Ann paused and heard her daughter shift in her sleep. Reassured, she moved on.

Silence came from the guest room. The door was firmly closed: no light shone around the frame. Shazia must have finally fallen asleep. Ann had heard her crying earlier. She’d gotten out of bed, but when she reached the hallway, the muffled sound had stopped. Shazia had to be sick with worry. Here she was, marooned with this family and so far from her own. She’d heard from her cousin only the one time. Her parents had remained unreachable. She must lie in this strange house and hold herself very still in the darkness.

Moonlight followed her down the stairs, disappeared as she passed the dining room, reappeared as she stepped into the kitchen. She set the kettle on the stove and went into the family room. Settling back against the sofa cushions, she wrapped the afghan around her shoulders and fumbled for the television remote. She turned the volume down low. A man stood canting into the wind, his face grave. More bad news.

The next station was playing the same scene. The home-and-garden channel was, too, and all the movie channels. Where was the station that played reruns of old black-and-white shows? She liked those. She’d watched them during middle-of-the-night feedings, rocking her babies to sleep. No, it was playing the same scene as the others, all vivid color and jerky motion as the newscaster spoke into the microphone, stepping sideways to allow the camera to pan across the metal structure jutting from the surface of the ocean. The picture changed to a man speaking into a nest of microphones. Even the children’s stations were showing the same images.

The creak of a step. She looked over to see Peter.

“I thought I heard someone,” he said.

He was wearing his tattered university sweatshirt and sweatpants. Was that what he was sleeping in these days? “Did I wake you?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He sat down in the armchair, sighing.

She was glad to see him, glad for company in these echoing, dark hours. That dream had been so unsettling. “I’m making tea.”

“Sounds good.” He nodded toward the television set playing quietly, its face a bright square in the darkness. “Any news?”

“A crew’s gotten sick on an oil platform in the Gulf of Mexico. The oil company and the CDC’s arguing about getting medical assistance out to them.”

“There’ll be gas shortages.”

Of course. She hadn’t thought through the implications. But now her mind was working, going down all the awful possibilities. Gas shortages meant trucks couldn’t make food deliveries. Trains couldn’t reach warehouses. Factories would shut down. “For how long, do you think?”