The Glass Wives (13 page)

“I gotta go,” Evie said.

“Me too. I have to go outside and find a wayward nymph to mother.”

“Very funny.”

“Call me when you talk to Scott.”

Oh, right, Scott.

Evie studied the kitchen landscape, now lit by late-afternoon amber mixed with gray. Perhaps the only distraction she needed was Lisa, because one phone call, forty-five minutes, and two garbage bags later, the fridge and cabinets were dumped, scrubbed, and de-alphabetized.

Sam and Sophie were right.
There is nothing to eat.

Maybe dinner with Scott
was
a good idea.

Chapter 9

E
VIE AWOKE WITH NEWFOUND RESOLVE.

Sitting at the computer with a full pot of coffee by her side, she applied for jobs at all the school districts within twenty-five miles of Lakewood. She had a master’s degree in U.S. history and an Illinois teaching certificate she’d never let lapse. Every high school kid in Illinois had to take U.S. history. Every high school kid in Illinois had to pass a U.S. Constitution test to graduate high school! Wasn’t there a history teacher who was retiring or having a baby? Within the nearby McSuburbs wasn’t there a school somewhere needing a teacher? If Nicole stayed in the house, Evie and the kids could make it until the fall. By September, Sam and Sophie would be at Lakewood Junior High. It was a longer day, and there were after-school sports and clubs. There was even a bus. Evie would have more time for whatever she needed more time for.

Evie stopped clicking Internet links and wiggled her bare toes in Rex’s fur beneath her feet. She closed her eyes and pictured a warm and breezy September day, walking through metal doors big enough to swallow a tank—or an army of high school students. She saw herself striding through the crowd and standing at the front of a large room, eager faces staring at her. In this version of the future Evie’s makeup was natural yet pristine like Beth’s, her clothes were casual and elegant like Laney’s, and her hair was shoulder length and cut back into the layers she loved. It even swayed when she talked the way Scott had always liked. But best of all, in this imaginary future, Evie was financially secure and her roots were done.

“Are you okay?” Nicole asked.

Evie opened her eyes wide as if she had been caught stealing a cookie when all she was doing was daydreaming. She hadn’t even heard Nicole come into the room over the cheers of her adoring students. Evie almost giggled.

“Morning.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Nicole asked.

“Not really. Well, sort of. I need to ask you for a favor.”

*   *   *

“You’re really okay with me going out?”

“Absolutely,” Nicole said. “We’ll have a great time here, won’t we, kids?”

If being able to go out at night was one of the payoffs for having Nicole in the house, why did Evie feel that she should stay home? Dinner at Laney and Herb’s was not the same as heading downtown in weekend traffic pretending she was urban chic instead of suburban shabby chic—but she was still going out. Going out without the kids.

“What’s the big deal about going to Laney’s for dinner?” Sam asked.

“No big deal,” Evie said, patting her eggplant cotton sweater. It was nubby and thick and reminiscent of the ones she wore in high school, supposedly back in style. Last year. Or was that the year before?

“Then why are you dressed up?” Sophie said.

“I’m not dressed up, I’m just
dressed
.”

Had it been so bad for the past six weeks that her kids marveled at their mother’s manifestation as an actual dressed-to-go-out human being?

“What’s on your forehead?” Sam said.

“Nothing.” Evie brushed her bangs across her forehead and shook her hands through the hair to cover the dye stains at her hairline. Why did her kids have to notice everything? And why wasn’t Nicole more careful when she helped Evie color her hair? Nicole was a hairdresser. Why didn’t she own any of that dye-remover stuff? Nicole had said that toothpaste worked—but it didn’t. The Nice ’n Easy #123 was there to stay for a while.

“Why can’t we come?” Sophie said, her arms around Evie’s waist.

“Just grown-ups,” Evie said, looking to Nicole for a rescue.

“We always go to Laney’s,” Sam said. “We won’t bother you.”

The kids had grown accustomed to having Evie at home the past month and to her going nowhere and doing nothing without them. She did it to make them feel secure. Perhaps it had backfired.

Nicole stepped in. “Hey, can you guys go downstairs and bring up a few diapers and wipes, Luca’s pj’s, and some of Luca’s toys? Then we can just stay up here until it’s time for him to go to bed. And you’ll help me, right?”

The twins shrugged but said, “Okay.” They were not used to following Nicole’s direction, at least not in Evie’s presence. They disappeared behind the kitchen wall, and Evie waited until she heard them scamper down the basement steps.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Nicole said. “We’ll be fine without you.”

Evie was taken aback. She was only going next door. They better be fine, she thought, playing with the edge of her sweater. She felt a loose thread and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

“I’ll be right back,” Evie said. “Tell the kids I didn’t leave yet.”

She ran back up the stairs into her room and traded the sweater for a black tunic turtleneck, a little faded but not unraveling. She double-wrapped a long strand of multicolored beads around her neck. Voilà. Her own version of style. She tugged at the seam of her stretchy, not-quite-but-sort-of- mom jeans to make sure they were still there and still stretchy.

For dinner at Laney’s—without Scott or the kids—she filed and buffed, pushed back her cuticles, and painted a clear coat. Sam and Sophie might be alarmed at the transformation, but what was truly alarming was that Evie had forgotten the way she liked to look—what she wanted people to see when they looked at her. It was easy to fall prey to the vulture of grief, to not only allow herself to succumb but to give up willingly. Did caring for her kids and figuring out a new normal preclude her from taking care of herself? A slump was only a slump if she emerged from it.

Otherwise it was a black hole.

*   *   *

The aroma of gourmet takeout wafted out of the warming drawer. Laney loved entertaining, but not cooking.

“Red or white?” Herb said. His mustache was neatly trimmed and it twitched. His eyes squinted behind his glasses as if he were waiting for the answer to a
Jeopardy!
question and the clock was ticking.

“White,” Evie said.

“White?” Laney wiped her hands on her designer apron, but the action left no mark. “WWRS?”

Evie laughed. WWRS?
What Would Richard Say?
It was a long time since that was a relevant question, or it seemed like a long time. Wine was one of Richard’s half-assed passions Evie enjoyed, unlike hydroponic gardening. Being told what kind of wine to drink at a certain time of year with different foods was one thing—harvesting tomatoes in the master bathroom was another.

Then, there was that laughter to contend with again. She felt guilty when she laughed. But it had been funny when he was alive. Did that mean it couldn’t be funny now that he wasn’t?

Beth and Alan walked in the front door, Beth carrying a Tupperware container by its handle. She was no poser. A cake made from scratch lurked beneath that plastic dome. Evie didn’t even have to ask. She was glad Laney had insisted she bring only herself—and that this time Evie had done as she was told. At most gatherings Evie brought more than she was asked, always a plate piled high with cookies right out of the oven or some concoction out of a magazine or off the back of a cracker box. But today she let her friends provide the sweet, savory, and emotional sustenance. So far, it felt right to indulge a little. She held out her glass and Herb replenished her sauvignon blanc.

Nestled into a customary seating arrangement around Laney and Herb’s hearth, Evie closed her eyes. Her friends wouldn’t mind. The background music and Italian aromas blended into a feeling of comfort. Evie leaned back her head, holding the wineglass at her side. Almost as good as a bubble bath. Hypnotized by the crackle of the fire and the tonal breadth of her friends’ voices, Evie relaxed heavily—something she had not done since the night she got the call about Richard’s accident.

That call came just as Evie had closed her eyes and sunk her head into her pillows, which she’d fluffed for the occasion of a night all to herself. It was her weekend without the kids, when she’d miss them but also when she would refill her internal well with patience. It was the time away that reminded her how much she enjoyed being defined by motherhood, being known as the twins’ mom by the kids at Eden, being tapped for all things baking by the other Lakewood moms. She loved it all but reveled in her time alone, nights with Scott and outlet-mall shopping, and Food TV marathons. She was half-asleep when the phone rang, then she was wide-awake for the next two days.

But tonight when Evie opened her eyes, it wasn’t the blaring bell of the telephone, but Beth clearing her throat, her hand on Alan’s knee. They were always touching each other. Petite in frame yet enormous in stature, Beth encompassed all that was right with the world: cupcakes, handsome husbands, and steadfast friendship. It was a smooth transition to waking up, a luxury Evie missed.

“Look who’s back with us,” Beth said.

“Nice nap?” Herb said. He gulped his red wine like a man content with life. Six weeks ago he was biting into conversations with sarcasm. Now he was teasing Evie and winking at Laney across the room. Next thing you know he’d be doing the dishes. And all thanks to Richard.

It didn’t seem fair that her friends were able to sidestep Evie’s reality. Their takeaway from tragedy, something harnessed in the lives they loved. Even Sam and Sophie put it aside, albeit briefly, to play, laugh, and cavort the way ten-year-olds should. Children grieved in batches. Evie had learned this from late-night research and from observing the twins latch onto random breaks in the waves of their sadness. She would gladly tuck her children’s sorrow into her own pocket permanently if that were possible, but she wished someone could tend to her
tsouris
as well. Richard’s death and its aftermath stuck to Evie like glue, and not the kind she had peeled off her palms in elementary school. But this short evening on the other side of the picket fence, where her friends commiserated not on the perils of dead ex-husbands, wayfarer widows, and unresponsive insurance companies, but on politics and economics and paint colors and the evils of skinny jeans for women over forty, served as a reprieve—and she’d take it.

“Beth says you’re looking for a job,” Alan said, leaning forward and pouring wine into Evie’s glass.

“I am. For the fall.” Evie smoothed her hair, in need of a cut and style. Could Nicole do that too?

“How about the summer? I know it’s too soon right now, but by June? I know of something that’s opening up at County.” Evie had never considered teaching at a community college. Alan had taught accounting classes there for the past twenty years, in addition to owning his own financial-services firm.

“Really? What is it?”

“Something in the history department. I saved the e-mail. I’ll forward it to you. And if you’re interested, I can find out more. Put in a good word. Be a reference.”

Evie wriggled in her seat, her pulse quickening. “Thank you.”

Herb checked his watch and rose from the couch, waving the crowd into the dining room. Laney headed for the kitchen, and Evie followed.

“Can I help?”

“Sure.” Laney motioned with her head. Her hands were full of salad bowls and a small cruet with faux-homemade vinaigrette. Laney didn’t even bother hiding wrappers or containers at the bottom of the trash compactor. She was as transparent in cooking as in life. Evie carried the teak bowl filled to the rim with exotic tricolored baby greens and set it on the table. She sat between Laney and Alan, with Beth and Herb on the other side of the table. Without Scott—or Richard—the sixth chair was empty.

Later, when Evie returned from the bathroom, Alan and Herb were in the kitchen lovingly—or perhaps begrudgingly—doing the dishes.

“What is
up
with Herb?” Evie said. “I know things are better with you guys, but he’s like a different man.”

“Tell me about it,” Laney said. “We just keep saying how it could have been … you know…”

Laney did not revel in the tragedy that had befallen her friend and neighbor, and Evie knew it. It was acceptable to feel happy and sad at the same time. It had to be.

“It’s okay, Lane, I understand. If it can’t be me, I’m glad it’s you.” Evie pointed to Beth. “This might be a weird question, but has this affected you and Alan at all? You’re so ridiculously solid—does this make you think what-if like it did for Laney?”

“Absolutely,” Beth said. “But honestly, Alan and I have always had that attitude, you know? Grateful for every day, not taking anything for granted. It’s just how we are.”

Laney nodded. A month ago she would have rolled her eyes.

“I know it’s corny, but we don’t make any assumptions,” Beth said.

Evie always envied Beth and Alan’s stalwart union. She imagined the two of them together could ward off evil if they tried; they probably communicated through mental telepathy.

“So what’s shaking with the widow, babe?” Laney said, popping red-velvet cupcake crumbs into her mouth.

“Why do you have to call her the widow?” Beth said. “Why not just refer to her as Nicole?”

“Too much respect in that.”

Beth shook her head.

“You don’t really know her,” Evie said. “I’m starting to, and, she’s not so bad sometimes.”

“Do not to the Dark Side go, Luke Skywalker,” Laney said in her best Yoda voice.

“I have no choice, Lane. Not yet anyway.”

Beth reached across the table, but Evie kept her hands to herself. “You’re doing a great job welcoming Nicole into your life.”

Is that was Evie was doing? Tolerating, putting up with, coping, yes. But
welcoming
was a rather strong word. Yes, they lived together in Evie’s home, eating and talking and laughing. And despite Evie’s best efforts not to like Nicole, she did. They cared about each other’s children. Yes, Evie cared about Luca. And she felt sorry for Nicole. Sorrier than Evie’s friends could ever have imagined.