Prospect Street (36 page)

 

The next morning, Joe was already at work when Lydia finished putting away her good china. The party had gone as well as could be expected. Her grandchildren had acquitted themselves nicely, posing for the photographer the way they had for
campaign literature during the past election. Joe liked to project an image as a family man. Lydia had never objected, since whenever the media was present, he was kinder and less officious.

Faith and the children had made an early exit, and the photographer had departed at ten. She had been left to think about Dominik's son.

She had always known Pasha was out there somewhere, although she'd never considered looking for him. What would she say? I was your father's lover? I loved him more than anyone else ever did, most especially your mother? I want to remember him when I look at you? She had hoped the best for the little boy, hoped he had grown out of his asthma, hoped he had enough food to eat and the education his father had yearned for. Hoped he grew up to be half the man his father was.

What would Dominik think of his son? Pavel Quinn, a dotcom success story. Son of an immigrant suspected of an infamous kidnapping.

Only in America.

Now she knew what Dottie Lee had meant when she said there were forces at work that were beyond their control. Somehow that woman had known Pavel's real identity. Perhaps Lydia herself had even sensed it, because at that first meeting he had seemed familiar to her; she had been startled but unable to place him. Now she knew why. Pavel didn't look like Dominik, not really. But there was something of his father about him, something about the way he carried himself, his build, the expression in his eyes.

“You done with that china yet?” Marley bustled into the dining room. “I don't know why you won't let me put it away. I ever break anything in this house?”

“This was our wedding china. The vegetable dish came from Mike Mansfield. The tureen came from the White House, compliments of the Kennedys. Joe wanted to send it right back, but of course he couldn't. He hated Jack Kennedy like a junkyard dog hates the night watchman. They had to work together. He
had to take orders. But he would have bitten him in the leg, gnawed it right down to the bone, if he could have gotten away with it.”

Lydia looked up and saw Marley staring at her, eyes wide. “Yes, occasionally even I talk too much,” Lydia said.

“Not all that occasionally. Maybe that's the first time.”

“Maybe it won't be the last. Pay no attention.” Lydia stepped back from the cabinet, admiring the perfect placement of every piece. “I'm going out for a little while. Do we need anything? I'm just going into town.”

“Why don't you stop somewhere, have a cup of coffee? Just sit and relax a little. You looking tired.”

“I might.”

“Or call that massage woman.”

Lydia wondered how many knots she was tied in. “You have a nice morning.”

In the car, despite what she'd said, Lydia turned away from Great Falls. In Reston, twenty minutes later, she parked and entered a small bank. Inside, she looked for the manager and told him what she wanted. In a few moments he was escorting her to the safety deposit boxes, where he left her alone to open hers.

Joe didn't know about this box, although he probably suspected she had one somewhere. This one was registered in her maiden name, and in case of death, her personal attorney had instructions on how to deal with the contents.

She wasn't sure why she was here today. She felt reasonably secure that Joe, despite his exalted position, could not secure a key, even if he traced the box's location. She kept original documents here, but there were copies hidden in other places. Joe knew she was no fool. The only way he could be sure of her silence was by honoring the deal they had made long ago.

But sometimes, like this morning, she just had to make sure the papers were still here.

Lydia opened the box and stared inside at the small stack, just a few pages, really. A few pages that had changed her life forever and could change Joe's in the blink of an eye.

She fingered them, lifting the top sheet to be sure the ones beneath were all there. Then, satisfied, she locked the box again. She clasped her hands on top of it and closed her eyes, almost as if she was in prayer.

But Lydia felt no peace.

I
n the middle of December, Faith, bundled against the cold weather, trudged to the middle school for the preliminary round of the science fair. Earlier that morning she had helped Alex pack up Lefty, David's portable computer—which he had loaned Alex for the fair—and his presentation board covered with charts and photos. Alex had barely contained his excitement. The science fair had brought David and his son closer, and the project reigned as Alex's most positive learning experience.

She and David had planned to attend later that afternoon—their first appearance together since their separation—but plans had changed. An emergency meeting with Remy's teachers had been called for two o'clock, and Faith, who was tired of bearing the parenting burden alone, had asked David to attend that, too. In their brief phone call, he had sounded pleased.

At R Street, from habit, Faith nearly turned toward the library. Over the past weeks she had thrown herself into all her projects with a vengeance. Although Lydia hadn't yet seen it, the history of the house on Prospect was complete, and the Melvins' was finished, as well. Faith's discovery that the ordi
nary little bungalow in Glover Park had once been the residence of a notorious bootlegger had so delighted Joan that she carried the history everywhere. Last week Faith had received three phone calls from people Joan had bragged to. One homeowner had already sent a retainer, and no one had blinked at the cost. It seemed Faith might be in business.

The row house was comfortable and homey now. She had finally settled on colors, a deep sage-green for the living and dining rooms, ivory for the kitchen. Her own room was newly wallpapered, and, in a surprise move, Remy had chosen a soft violet paper reminiscent of the turn of the century for hers. Between observations of Lefty and hours at the computer, Alex had helped remove the wallpaper from his room, and together they had painted his walls a soft brick-red. Pictures were hung; boxes were unpacked; new pillows graced the sofa.

Christmas was coming, and the divorce would be final soon. Faith had jump-started her new life. The problem was that she wasn't looking forward to the rest of it. Now that she had stopped madly whirling from project to project, what would she find in the quiet spaces?

The school came into sight, and David was waiting beside the front entrance. He looked better than he had the last time she'd seen him. Not as gaunt, not as haunted. He smiled as she approached, but they had been married too many years for her to be easily fooled. David wasn't sure how he would be greeted.

She stopped just in front of him, pleased that she could see him these days without feeling as if the oxygen in her body had dispersed.

“You look good,” she said. “A little more relaxed.”

“Things are going well.” He didn't elaborate.

In their perfunctory conversations he never mentioned Ham, and Faith never asked. Now she took that step. “You're still living with Ham?”

“Yes.”

“He's been a rock through all this.”

He clearly wasn't sure what to say about that. “You look good, too, Faith.”

“I look tired. There's been so much to do.”

“Alex keeps me up to date. The house is nearly finished?”

“Until I hit the lottery and call an architect to redo the third floor. That's phase two.”

They started through the halls. Faith had been to enough meetings here to know her way around, but it was David's first trip.

“It's not the academy,” he said, when they were halfway down the hall.

She struggled not to react. “It's not the same world anymore.”

“The change has been good for Alex. We should have considered who he was when we chose his school. I was only looking at who I wanted him to be.”

Faith was surprised to hear him say so. “Who did you want him to be?”

“Me.” He grinned, almost the old David. “Except straight.”

“I don't know why I let you influence me so strongly on that and everything else. If things hadn't changed between us, I would have gone to my grave thinking my own opinions weren't worth the gray matter they were imprinted on.”

“I never bullied you. I respected your opinion.”

“As long as it fell in line with yours.” She tried to soften her words. “But why should you have been any different? I was an adult. I could have objected. Somebody turned on my ‘yes, ma'am, no, ma'am' switch when I was born, and it froze in place. But nobody's ever going to make me doubt myself again.”

“Good for you.” He sounded like he meant it, and that surprised her.

They arrived at the gym where the science fair was being held. Kids streamed in and out, and parents slipped in between groups of Alex's cohorts. David and Faith waited their turn.

Inside, the walls were rimmed with tables, and more tables
stood end to end throughout the center of the room. Somebody was making announcements over a microphone, but the system was so bad and the room so noisy that only the occasional word was audible.

“Do you know where he set up?”

“We took the stuff to his classroom. I guess we'll just have to wander around.”

They passed exhibits measuring the insulating properties of air, the conductivity of various liquids, the whitening power of various toothpastes. One enterprising young man had found a way to gauge the absorbency of half a dozen name-brand paper towels. Faith made a mental note to buy the winner.

Halfway through the life science row—it was not a happy day for earthworms—they found Alex, surrounded by an admiring audience.

Faith saw why immediately. She knew her son's project was clever, and he had gone into astonishing detail. But even though she had helped him put together the presentation board with all its charts, she had never seen the
pièce de resistance.

“Look at him go! Wow! Dance, you old rat!” A boy who looked to be closer to Remy's age than Alex's was standing just in front of the table. When he moved and Faith got a clearer view of the object of his attention, she was astounded.

Lefty—or a clever cartoon version—boogied across a kitchen complete with window curtains and appliances to a refrigerator, which opened to reveal a water bottle. He removed it and drank. Four times in a row. He flipped his little tail and his beady eyes glistened mischievously.

“See, according to my study,” Alex was explaining, “midday, if the room is quiet and the light is low, he'll go to his water bottle four times. Now if we program in a different time and different conditions,” he made the adjustments on the computer, “the number of times will change.”

This time the cartoon Lefty made the trip and drank three times.

“Mrs. Bronson?”

Faith looked up to see the man who taught Alex's science class. Mr. Salter was young and athletic looking, more physically suited to being a coach than a science nerd. Alex reported that all the kids thought he was cool, because he had once played professional hockey. She introduced David; then she gushed. “I'm overwhelmed. He never showed me the graphics.”

“He says he spent hours on them.” Mr. Salter looked at David suspiciously. “How much help did he have?”

“Very little. He got stuck once or twice, and I helped him figure out the problem.”

“I didn't help at all.” Faith held up her hands. “Alex helps
me
with the computer.”

“This project is so good it deserves a ribbon. It's not the most advanced science I've ever seen, but it's creative and clever. This son of yours has a wonderful mind.”

Faith was warmed by the praise. “He's a wonderful kid.”

The crowd—and Mr. Salter—moved on, and Faith moved in on her son. “Hey, kiddo, can you make the rat dance for me?”

“Mom! I thought you were coming later.” Alex looked up to see both his parents watching him. His eyes widened when he saw them together.

Faith could almost read the thoughts going through his mind. This was the first time in a year that the three of them had been “family.” She and David and their son. Not in crisis. Just together, enjoying Alex's achievement.

“We're so proud of you,” she said, stressing the “we.” “What a great project.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Am I! I had no idea it was this complex.” She thought—as she too often did—of Pavel and how much he would enjoy seeing what Alex had accomplished. And almost as if she had conjured him, Pavel strode toward the table.

She understood Alex's reaction now. She had told her son she was coming that afternoon, just before school let out. At the time she hadn't known she and David would be meeting with Remy's teachers.

Alex had invited Pavel to come to the fair in the morning, because his mother wasn't expected. He had invited the president of a major Internet search engine to come to a middle school science fair and see a cartoon rat cavort across a computer screen. And Pavel had come.

Pavel saw her at the last moment and stopped just before the table. “Hello, Faith.”

She felt David watching her. She felt Alex watching her. She struggled to be gracious. “Scouting for new talent?”

“The first place I always look.” Pavel turned his attention to Alex. “Let me see what you've got here.”

Alex mumbled an explanation, then typed in the information Pavel gave him—evening, low light—and Lefty did his dance.

“Hey, I'm impressed. That's great.” The two launched into a discussion of graphics that Faith couldn't follow.

“Who is this guy?” David asked quietly.

Faith grasped for an answer. “A friend from Georgetown,” she said, after a pause.

Pavel was edged aside by a mob of students, directly toward Faith and David. She introduced him, and the two men shook hands. “Alex has mentioned you,” David said.

“That son of yours is a creative thinker. He has every right to be proud of this project.” Pavel glanced at Faith. “How are you?”

She heard a million questions in the three words, although his expression gave none of them away.

“Busy,” she said. “How's the house?”

“Coming along.” They stared at each other, surrounded by pushing middle schoolers and flanked by a soon-to-be ex-husband. She didn't know what to say. She had worked for a month to put Pavel Quinn out of her mind. Now here he was, and immediately she was back to square one. She hadn't succeeded; she had sublimated. The difference was huge.

She fumbled for something, anything. David wasn't helping. He seemed intrigued. “It was nice of you to come all this
way to see Alex,” she said after an awkward pause. “Did he call you?”

“I'll take the Fifth.”

“He misses you.” She wasn't sure where that had come from. From a tongue that wasn't working properly, a heart that wasn't nearly as cold as she'd hoped, a buzzing in her ears when she looked at this man and remembered the feel of his hands and lips on the most intimate places of her body.

“I miss
him.
” His eyes flicked to David, then back to her. “Not just him.”

She steeled herself. “Well, I'm glad we got to see you.” It sounded like a lie, even though she tried to sugarcoat it with sincerity. “I think we'd better finish looking at the other exhibits. There'll be a test when Alex gets home tonight.”

Pavel nodded at David. “It was good to meet you. You have a terrific son.”

“Thanks. I know.”

“Faith…” Pavel nodded goodbye.

She told Alex they were leaving and started down the row. In the middle of the next row she realized she hadn't seen a single thing. She wouldn't be able to comment on the other exhibits after all.

“Have you had lunch?”

She realized David was still beside her. “I didn't have time.”

“We have an hour before we see Remy's teachers. I saw a place just a couple of blocks away where we could sit and talk.”

She didn't know what they had to talk about. Cozy conversation belonged to the happily-married couple who'd had the world at their fingertips, Mr. and Mrs. Moral Majority. Now they were dropouts, aliens.

“We've made a start toward building a working alliance,” David said. “Let's see if we can broaden it. Okay?”

Oddly, the thought of being with David was almost appealing. Once upon a time she had been able to relax with him. He understood her. She nodded.

“Say the names of every exhibit. You'll remember at least one by the time you get home.”

She took his advice.

 

The restaurant was nothing more than a deli, with molded benches and Formica-topped tables set behind display shelves of imported pasta and porcini mushrooms. They ordered at the counter, then took their sandwiches and bottled tea to a sunlit corner, where they could have privacy.

“Since when did you become a vegetarian?” she asked. At the counter David had carefully stayed away from everything except cheese and fresh vegetables.

“Ham doesn't eat meat. I've just gotten in the habit.”

“This man has a powerful effect on you.” The words were said with no venom. Today she was more curious than hurt.

“There are some things we probably shouldn't talk about.”

“David, if we made a list it would stretch to Nepal. Let's face it, we're going to be thrown together for the rest of our lives. We can tiptoe around reality and make our children uncomfortable, or we can talk like two people who used to be friends.”

“I don't want to hurt you any more than I already did.”

She considered that. “I think you've lost the ability.”

He bit into his sandwich, and she opened her chips.

“Does Mr. Quinn have something to do with that?” he said after he'd chewed awhile.

Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable and silent.

“Yes, Ham's had an effect on me,” David said at last. “He's completely comfortable with himself in a way I'll never be.”