Right Place, Wrong Time (21 page)

Carole nudged the platter closer to Gina. She picked up a piece of smoked chorizo and listlessly bit into it. She honestly didn’t care if Carole ate all the tapas. Ever since she’d left Ethan’s house that overcast Sunday morning, she hadn’t really cared about much.

“So you broke up with him, huh?” Carole said.

“Not really,” Gina said, then sighed. “Yeah.” She took a sip of her Rioja to still the quaver in her voice. “It just wasn’t going to work, Carole. That’s the bottom line.”

“It worked for a few months.”

“Not even. Mid-September to early November. That’s less than two months.”

Carole pulled a face. “It started working while you and he were in my St. Thomas condo. So don’t give me that.” She took another anchovy, which was just as well since Gina wasn’t crazy about the anchovies. They were too salty. Then again, all tapas were salty—the bars that served them went heavy on the salt in order to make customers thirsty. Then the customers would buy more drinks. Gina and Carole were on their first glasses of wine, but it might take a few rounds to get Gina through the story of her breakup with Ethan.

“I was like a fish out of water in Connecticut,” she said. “When we were in St. Thomas, we did a lot of snorkeling. Have you ever gone snorkeling down there?”

Carole swallowed and nodded. “Sure. The snorkeling is wonderful.”

“You know how, when you snorkel, the fish just sort of accept you? You know you don’t belong there, and the fish know it, but everyone pretends it’s okay that you’re there among them.”

Carole nodded again.

“When I went to that party with Ethan,” Gina explained, “it was like snorkeling. The fish would pump their little mouths at me and then swim away. I was trying to be part of their world, but I knew I wasn’t. They pretended it was okay that I was there, but I wasn’t one of them.”

“Do you have to be?” Carole asked sympathetically.

“No, except that Ethan is one of them.” She sipped a little more wine. “When we talked on Sunday, he said I only felt weird at the party because I’d drunk too much champagne. I mean, puh-leez.”

“Do you think he was trying to make light of your discomfort?”

One reason Gina loved Carole was that she approached every conversation like the doctor she was. She dissected each idea and then diagnosed it. “Exactly,” Gina agreed. “He didn’t want to believe I really felt out of place. But the thing is, his old girlfriend was at the dinner.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No, really, I was fine with that.” Gina held her hands up, as if to prove she had nothing to hide. “Kim and I got along okay in St. Thomas. There’s nothing particularly
wrong
with her. Ethan seems to think she wasn’t the woman for him, and he might be right about that. But I saw her at the dinner—I saw her with him—and I realized she belonged there as much as he did. They were like two beautiful, graceful fish, and I was the big, clumsy human being.”

“You are
not
clumsy.”

“You know what I’m saying.” Gina picked up another slice of chorizo and forced herself to nibble at it. She considered mentioning what had happened with her shoes, but decided not to go into it. Carole would dissect
that, too. She’d want to know why Gina had worn inappropriate shoes, whether she’d done so deliberately, to test Ethan’s social circle. And maybe Gina had. Maybe, despite her perfect dress, she’d wanted to make sure everyone knew who she truly was. Those shoes were who she was.

She didn’t need Carole to analyze that.

“So,” she said, lifting her glass and then putting it back down so she wouldn’t empty it too quickly, “I asked him how he felt at my parties. He started out all righteous, insisting he thought my parties were great, he thought visiting Lower Manhattan was a big adventure, he thought loud music and microbrewery beer were just swell and it was such a kick talking to people with spiky hair and visible nipples about whether graffiti is the people’s art.”

“You didn’t believe him,” Carole guessed.

“He didn’t believe himself,” Gina said. “I pressed him, and he finally admitted that he’d rather listen to a classical music trio—that’s what they had at the benefit dinner—than Jimmy Eats World. And he’d rather talk about the peregrine falcon population than whether squatters ought to be evicted when they’ve made improvements to the properties they’ve been squatting on.”

“Peregrine falcons are important,” Carole pointed out.

“So are squatters.” Gina sighed. She didn’t want to argue with Carole. “There we were in his big, bright, eat-in kitchen, drinking coffee, and I looked across at him and thought,
I love this man
. I love him.”

“And you broke up with him?”

Gina nodded again. “How can I drag him to my downtown parties? He doesn’t like them. He’s only going to them for me. He’s as much a fish out of water in
Manhattan as I am in Connecticut. And if I love him, how can I keep him out of his water? He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t comfortable here. He comes to the city for my sake, but it doesn’t make him happy.”

“He said all this? Or are you projecting?”

“No, he said it. I mean, he didn’t say he wasn’t happy. But he did say he came to the city only because it made
me
happy, and he hung out with my friends because he thought I wanted him to. He didn’t have to say more than that.” She finally swallowed the last tidbit of chorizo, then washed it down with another sip of red wine. “If I didn’t love him, I wouldn’t care about his happiness, you know? I’d drag him to parties and not care if he felt comfortable. But I
do
love him, and I can’t stand the idea that he’s forcing himself to do this stuff for me.”

“But if he’s willing to do it—”

“What’s the point? He’s not going to be happy. I want him happy.”

Carole shook her head. “Maybe if you saw each other less. I mean, Paul and I haven’t had a chance to figure out if we’re making each other happy. If we can catch a dinner together once a week, we’re satisfied.”

“You should be with him tonight, instead of me.”

“He wasn’t free,” Carole told her. “He had some sort of investors’ dinner at the New York Racquet Club. Maybe we’re perfect for each other,” she said with a crooked smile. “It’s so rare we can see each other. That’s the way to make a relationship work.”

Gina considered that possibility. She thought about how much fonder her sister had become of Jack once he’d moved out of her house. She wasn’t letting him move back in. She said that was because he was still sort of involved with his girlfriend, but Gina suspected
he was clinging to the girlfriend on the chance that Ramona refused a reconciliation. Gina also suspected that her sister wouldn’t let him move home because they got along so much better this way, when they didn’t see each other all the time.

She didn’t think that would work with Ethan, though. For one thing, she wanted to be with him all the time. She loved talking to him, laughing with him, falling asleep and waking up with him. For another, she wasn’t about to model her relationship on her sister’s screwed-up marriage.

Gina had tried to explain all that to Ethan, too. But every time she’d uttered the word
relationship
, he’d winced.

“So what are you going to do now?” Carole asked. “Mope?”

“Mope and eat tapas,” Gina said, spearing a wedge of pickle with a toothpick and popping it into her mouth. Tapas wouldn’t lighten her heart. But they would help the wine go down more easily.

T
HE ADDRESS
was about a mile from the expressway exit. Ethan had downloaded the directions from Map-Quest, and he’d meticulously followed them—.23 of a mile, turn left, .41 of a mile turn right—through a nondescript middle-class housing development that must have sprung up not long after World War II. He pulled to the curb in front of the Bari house and turned off the engine.

The house was a modest split-level with brick-and-vinyl siding. Its lawn was trimmed but basically dead, frozen into a late-November state of crunchy brown. Evergreen shrubs flanked the front porch, and the leafless trees edging the property looked skeletal.

Ethan wondered whether Ramona would be willing to talk to him. He’d knocked himself out trying to reach Gina, but after a few frustrating phone conversations, during which she’d told him it would hurt less if they just cut things off, she’d relegated him to her phone mail and never returned his messages. He’d even traveled down to New York City last Saturday, figuring she’d be forced to deal with him if he presented himself in person, but she hadn’t been home. Nor had she been at her favorite brunch place around the corner from her apartment. He’d walked over to the building that housed Bruno Castiglio Shoes, but it was locked.

So he’d decided to try Ramona. He’d considered
phoning her, but he’d learned from past experience that she could be scathing on the telephone. Maybe if she saw him—and if Alicia vouched for him—she’d be more willing to help him connect with Gina.

Two and a half weeks had passed since the benefit dinner. Two and a half weeks during which he’d logically and calmly analyzed everything Gina had said, all her concerns about and criticisms of their situation. All right, so their backgrounds weren’t that similar. So they operated in different spheres. So she had a Bronx accent, and designed bizarre shoes, and spent her weekend nights at noisy parties with tattooed people.

None of it mattered to him. All that mattered was that ever since she’d stepped onto the New York City train and out of his life, he’d been miserable, empty and angry and given to fits of temper. He had always prided himself on being even-keeled. Maybe it was easier for a man to be even-keeled when he wasn’t suffering—and it was easier to escape suffering when he wasn’t in a
relationship
.

In the past, he’d avoided the
R
-word because he’d avoided the institution. Breaking up with Kim, just like every other time he’d broken up with a woman, hadn’t been painful because those relationships hadn’t been
relationships
.

What he had with Gina was a genuine
relationship
. And even though she was eluding him, refusing to return his calls, daring to be out—or at least not answering her door buzzer—when he’d journeyed all the way into the city to see her…if it wasn’t a
relationship
, he wouldn’t be hurting so much.

He stared at her sister’s front door in White Plains and tried to gather his courage. He’d departed from his office at around one, telling his secretary he had an ap
pointment, and now it was a few minutes past two. Would Ramona be home? If she was, would she let him into her house?

He’d have to be charming. Ingratiating. Totally unthreatening.

He reached for the door handle, then paused at the growl of a motor behind him. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he saw a yellow school bus rumbling around the corner and down the street. It cruised past him and slowed as it neared the corner up ahead. Its lights flashed red and its door swung open.

A handful of children tumbled out. A few sloppy, noisy boys, an older girl, a younger one…and Alicia. He recognized her instantly, even though she hardly resembled the cute little squirt he’d gotten to know in St. Thomas last July.

What was he thinking? Of course she resembled the girl she’d been then. But she seemed a little taller now, a little more mature. She had on denim bell-bottoms, a cherry-red fleece jacket and sneakers with patches of brightly colored leather on them. Her hair was longer than it had been last summer, and the two decorative braids with the turquoise beads adorning them were gone. The watery November sunlight glinted off her tiny hoop earrings. Slung over her shoulders was a bulging blue backpack.

He hadn’t known she would be arriving home from school this early, but her appearance was a good omen. As she sauntered along the sidewalk to her front walk, he eased open his door and stood.

She couldn’t miss him, since he was parked right in front of her house. Her eyes grew round, and she broke into a run. “Ethan!”

“Hey, Alley Cat!” He circled the car to the sidewalk
in time to catch her in a hug as she barreled into him. She was cold and smelled of autumn, and her giggle cheered him as nothing else had in the past two and a half weeks.

“I knew you’d come see me!” Alicia’s arms were too short to reach far around him, but he savored her hug. “I knew it! Mommy said I should forget about you, but I didn’t. Guess what happened in school today?”

“What?” he asked, surprised to find himself genuinely curious.

“Mr. Sonnenberg, that’s the principal? He dressed up in a turkey costume and marched around the school making gobbly-gobbly noises. It was a Thanksgiving surprise. He looked so funny!”

“I bet he did.”

“Everybody was laughing so hard my teacher got mad and said if we didn’t calm down we’d miss recess. She’s such a grouch. I wish Mr. Sonnenberg could be our teacher. He’s so nice. Did I tell you my best friend, Caitlin, is in my class this year?”

That rang a bell. “I believe you did.”

“Well, let’s go in. Mommy’ll give us a snack. She always gives me a snack when I get home from school.” Alicia slipped her small, icy hand into his and led him up the walk to the door. She unzipped her jacket a couple of inches and pulled out a key, which hung around her neck on a navy-blue cord with Nike Swooshes imprinted on it. “Mommy said I was old enough for my own key this year,” she bragged as she unlocked the door and shoved it open. “Mommy?” she hollered into the house as she bounded inside. “Mommy, I’m home, and guess what?”

Ethan wished he’d get as enthusiastic a greeting from Ramona as he’d gotten from Alicia, but he knew that
wish wouldn’t come true. Indeed, when a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Gina—a bit shorter, a bit plumper, but with the same large, angled eyes, sharp nose and sculpted cheeks—entered the front hallway from the kitchen, her gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“This is Ethan, Mommy,” Alicia chirped, tossing her backpack onto the floor and unzipping her jacket all the way. “He came to see us.”

Ramona definitely didn’t look thrilled. She opened her mouth, then glanced at her daughter and pressed her lips together. Ethan imagined she’d been on the verge of saying something nasty to him, but thanks to Alicia’s presence, he was being spared.

He didn’t know why she should feel negative about him. He wasn’t the one who’d broken up with Gina. He’d never inflicted pain on her. Quite the contrary—he was the inflictee.

But just like Ramona, he exercised discretion in front of Alicia. He extended his right hand to her and attempted a smile. “It’s about time we met,” he said. “I’m Ethan Parnell.”

She grudgingly shook his hand, then turned to Alicia. “Hang your coat up, honey. I’m making cocoa. It’s cold out there.”

“Cocoa! Make some for Ethan, too,” Alicia reminded her as she carried her jacket to the closet near the front door.

A few minutes later, they were all tucked into Ramona’s cozy kitchen. Frilly blue curtains framed the window, a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a snowman stood on a counter and the refrigerator door had been transformed into a magnetic bulletin board of reminders,
shopping lists and schedules orbiting around a school photo of Alicia.

Alicia couldn’t sit still, and she couldn’t shut up. “What do you think of my sneakers?” she asked Ethan. “Aunt Gina made them for me. They’re kind of like the shoes her company makes. Only, they don’t make shoes for children, so she sort of made these on her own for me. Have you seen her fish shoes? I want a pair like that, but she said no. I bet that means she’s going to give them to me for Christmas, and I’ll have to act surprised….”

Ethan remembered Gina’s fish shoes too well. Maybe if she hadn’t worn those fish shoes the night of the fund-raising dinner, she wouldn’t have concluded that she could never fit in with Ethan’s crowd. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn if she never fit in with his crowd. He’d really liked those shoes.

He let Alicia dominate the conversation while he sipped his cocoa. Ramona grilled her about school and homework. Alicia regaled her mother with the story of her school’s principal in a turkey costume, and described a fracas between two boys who were real jerks in the playground during recess, and mentioned a field trip her class would be taking to the Museum of Natural History. “That’s in New York City, where Aunt Gina lives,” she informed Ethan.

“I know.”

“They’ve got dinosaur bones there. Have you seen Aunt Gina?”

“Not as much as I’d like to,” he said carefully, letting his gaze slide to Ramona.

She leaned against the counter, arms folded, lips pursed. But her eyes seemed to soften. He might be
imagining it, but she seemed measurably less hostile than when he’d first entered her home.

“Have
you
seen Gina?” he asked her.

“I see Gina all the time,” Ramona answered.

“Not as much as we’d like to,” Alicia added.

“Ali, maybe you should do your homework,” Ramona said as Alicia set down her empty mug. “Mr. Parnell and I have to talk about grown-up things.”

Alicia rolled her eyes, as if her mother had suggested something barely tolerable. “Come see me when you’re done with Mommy,” she requested as she climbed down from her chair. “I’ll show you my bedroom. I still have some of the nail polish we bought in St. Thomas, the stuff that changes colors.” She plodded out of the kitchen, then turned at the doorway and sent Ethan an adoring look before she disappeared up the stairs with her backpack.

Ramona let out a long breath and joined Ethan at the table. “So what are you, an idiot?” she asked.

He flinched. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you stop seeing my sister?”

“I’m dying to see your sister!” He lowered his voice, not wanting Alicia to hear him. “Your sister walked out on me, and I’m going crazy. She doesn’t return my calls. She doesn’t want to see me. She says we’re wrong for each other.
She’s
the idiot.”

Ramona bristled. “You’re calling my sister an idiot?”

This wasn’t going well. “I love your sister, okay? I want a relationship with your sister. I think I’m already in a relationship with her.” He loved Gina so much he was freely using the
R
-word. “I don’t know why she won’t talk to me.”

“She thinks you’re wrong for each other,” Ramona reminded him.

“If she thinks that, she’s an idiot.” He sighed. “I want to be with her. I was hoping you’d help me.”

“You just called my sister an idiot, and I’m supposed to help you?

“We’re not wrong for each other,” he insisted. “We belong together. I don’t give a damn if she never attends another benefit dinner with me. I don’t care if she wants to drag me to head-banger parties in strange lofts with inadequate lighting. All I know is, we belong together. In a
relationship
. And I’m hoping…” He’d run out of breath, and he paused to drag air into his lungs. “I’m hoping you’ll help me get that message to her.”

Ramona seemed visibly touched by his desperation. “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked gently.

“Tell her I’m not a bad guy,” he suggested. “Tell her I’ll take good care of her, and I’ll love her, and I’ll go to her damn parties if she wants me to. Tell her I miss her pretty feet.” He clamped his mouth shut, concerned that he might be coming across as a lunatic.

Ramona smiled, and he realized the lunatic approach had been effective. “She does have the prettiest feet in the family,” she said. “I always envied her feet.”

“I’m sure your feet are nice, too.”

“Nothing like hers.” Ramona shook her head. “She told me you and she came from two different worlds, and all I could think was, my husband, Jack, and I came from the same world, and our marriage is a mess. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same high school—I mean, does it matter whether two people come from the same world? If you love her, you should be with her.”

He dared to hope. “So you’ll help me?”

Ramona thought for a minute. “I myself can’t always
reach her. She’s down in the city, doing her thing, you know? And she turns off her cell phone half the time.”

“I’ve noticed,” Ethan muttered.

“My parents are hosting Thanksgiving,” she said. “So at least I know where she’ll be on Thursday—at my parents’ house in the Bronx. She’ll probably arrive there around noon. You could catch her then.”

“At your parents’ Thanksgiving?” The idea didn’t please him. He’d only just met Gina’s sister; he wasn’t sure he could handle meeting her parents, too. Thanksgiving was a day for people to spend with their own families. He and his father were supposed to meet at his aunt Marcie’s house in Darien for the holiday.

Seeing Gina was more important. Aunt Marcie and his father would understand. Maybe he could confront Gina at her parents’ house at noon, get their
relationship
back on track and then cruise up I-95 to Darien. Aunt Marcie didn’t usually start serving cocktails until around four, anyway.

And if he missed not just the cocktails but Aunt Marcie’s turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, so be it. He would gladly starve for the chance to see Gina and beg her to let him back into her life so he could start smiling again, and laughing, and making love to her, and waking up joyful and energized and ready to take on the universe.

“Sure,” he said. “Can you give me directions to your parents’ home?”

T
HE
M
ORANTE HOUSE
was one step down the socioeconomic ladder from Ramona’s. A tidy brick row house in a proud working-class neighborhood, it shared its side walls with the adjacent row houses, and its front yard was consumed mostly by a concrete driveway sloping
down to a basement-level garage. The windows were filled with bright light. It looked like a warm house, a happy place.