The Laws of Gravity (34 page)

“It looks good,” Nicole said. “
You
look good. You look great.”

“So do you,” Mimi said unconvincingly.

“I look like hell,” Nicole said. “Never mind that. Come in. Can you stay awhile?”

“Sure, awhile. I don’t want to tire you.”

Nicole made a wry face. “If I fall asleep, just kick me.”

She began to walk back through the house, turning her head to talk to Mimi. “I’m sitting out back, in the shade. A little bloated from the heat. Can’t take the sun. Okay?” Her voice was deeper and scratchy, from all the painkillers.

“Fine,” Mimi said.

Mimi saw with a kind of creeping horror that Nicole moved so slowly because her legs and feet were swollen to inhuman proportions. They looked like elephant legs. She did not know how Nicole could even stand on them. But by the time they got to the back patio she had managed to avert her eyes, and Nicole carefully arranged the long white gown over herself, knees up, so that not even her swollen toes peeked out. She leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes. “Better,” she said. Then she opened them again. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

Mimi started to say something. She struggled to get the first word out.

Nicole held up one hand. Her hands were not swollen. In fact, her wedding ring hung loose, almost to the knuckle. “None of that,” she said. “How’s Julian?”

“Oh, Julian.” Mimi smiled. “Julian is into magic these days. He likes making things appear and disappear.”

“Not surprising,” said Nicole. “You shouldn’t keep him away from Daisy so much. You can’t do that anymore.”

“I won’t,” Mimi said. Tears sprang into her eyes again.

“A couple of times a week they pump the fluid out of my lungs,” Nicole said. “So I won’t drown.”

Mimi nodded, her eyes wide.

“Tell me a joke,” Nicole said.

“What kind of joke?”

“A new one,” Nicole said. “Something with a kid in it. And a happy ending.”

“Okay,” Mimi said. She took a minute to think. “A child.”

“Okay,” she said again. “So little Shmuley is at the edge of the ocean with his grandma, playing.”

“I love the name Shmuley,” Nicole said. “Good.”

“Suddenly a great wave comes along and sweeps him far out to sea. His grandmother drops to her knees and begins praying—‘Lord, Lord, bring my Shmuley back! Please God, he’s just a little boy and I was supposed to be watching him.’

“Bam! Another wave lifts little Shmuley up in the air and deposits him right at the grandmother’s feet.

“She puts her hands on her hips and looks up at the sky.

“ ‘He had a
hat
!’ she calls.”

“A hat,” Nicole said, wiping her eyes. “It’s true—he had a hat. That’s great.” She picked up a giant pair of sunglasses and put them on. “You want anything to drink?” she asked.

Mimi thought about it. “Maybe a glass of water?” she said.

Nicole startled, her arms and legs twitching. Obviously she had fallen asleep.

“Never mind,” Mimi said. “I’ll get it myself.”

She walked into the kitchen where she had visited so many times, so many hours. They had repapered the walls. Gone were the old-fashioned horses and carriages that used to line the kitchen. Mimi could remember
standing there a dozen times, trying to count them, and always losing track, watching Nicole cook, helping her get ready for a meal. Horses with plumes, she seemed to remember. It looked like a scene from “Over the River and Through the Woods” repeated countless times, stamped over and over and over. Mimi found the giant three-gallon tank of spring water sitting on its wooden cradle and poured water into a plastic cup sitting in the drainer by the sink.

When she softly slid the glass door open and shut, Nicole didn’t move. Mimi wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep.

“I’m awake,” Nicole said, as if reading her mind.

“How are you?” Mimi said. “Am I allowed to ask?”

Nicole considered. Her face got the thoughtful, schoolmarmish look she often wore before she pronounced on some book she was reading, some movie they had seen. She put one finger through the simple gold necklace she wore around her neck, with a Jewish star on it. “God’s leash is on me,” she said.

Mimi did not answer. Nicole would hate it if she started crying now. “Where’s Daisy?” Mimi asked. “I brought her a little gift.” She began rummaging around in her purse.

“Horse camp this week,” Nicole said. “She’s crazy about horses. Crazy about all animals. I think she likes them better than people.—That reminds me of the joke about Laddie. Can you tell it?”

“Which one?”

“The one about the dead father,” Nicole said.

“I don’t know it,” Mimi said.

“Sure you do,” said Nicole. “This little girl’s father dies. The mother sits her down, and the daughter is inconsolable. Weeping and wailing,
won’t stop. Won’t come out of her room. Finally, at dinnertime, her mother knocks on her door and says, ‘Sweetie, I know you’re upset, but Daddy would have wanted you to go on with your life.’

“The girl steps out, radiant. “Daddy died?’ she says. ‘Daddy? I thought you said
Laddie!
’”

“That is awful,” Mimi said. “That is sick.”

“Ah. Glad you like it.” Nicole bowed her head modestly. She kept her head down. “If I call you very late one night,” she said, out of the blue, “will you take me to the beach?”

“Sure.” Mimi was startled. “Late at night?”

“At dawn really. I’d like to see the ocean with the sun rising over it. Jay thinks it will wear me out. Well, he’s right. But it probably won’t kill me.” She wet her lips. “—You know, in the
Divine Comedy
, Dante and Virgil reach the wall of flame after Purgatory. It’s like walking through molten glass, Virgil tells Dante, he’ll feel his bones melting. But he’s got to walk through to get to Beatrice.—You remember Beatrice?”

“Some girl he loves?” Mimi says.

“He fell in love with her when she was eight years old and he was nine. She was wearing a red dress. But she married some rich Italian dude. So now she’s dead and in heaven. And Dante’s got to walk through the wall of fire to reach her, and he asks Virgil if it will hurt.” Nikki set down the glass of water inside its own wet circle, on the little metal table beside her. It seemed she was done talking.

“And?” Mimi asked, despite herself.

“Hang on,” Nicole said. She picked up the glass and took a sip. “I have these sores all over my throat. One of the things they don’t warn you about.” She made a pained face.

“You don’t have to talk,” Mimi said. “I’ll take you to the beach no matter what.”

“So Virgil tells him, ‘It will hurt, but it won’t kill you.’”

Mimi laughed uncertainly.

“It
is
a kind of joke. But the beach won’t kill me.”

“The beach won’t kill you.” Mimi parroted, like a lesson she was trying to learn by heart.

“And if she dies, she dies.” Nicole laughed without making a sound.

At four o’clock the siren went off at the fire station four blocks away, same as it did every afternoon. Nicole had dropped off to sleep and she woke with a start, kicking the book at her feet. Mimi bent down and handed it to her. “I’ll go,” Mimi said. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

Nicole flapped one hand. “Sure. Anytime.”

Mimi got up. “You don’t have to see me to the door.”

“No,” Nicole said. “How is Ari? Will you give him my love? Please. Tell him he can stop worrying.”

“I can’t,” Mimi said.

Nicole raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“He’s not there anymore,” Mimi said. “I moved out.”

“Oh, no,” Nicole said. She shook her head. “Oh.” She lifted her head, as if it weighed too much to lift very far. “Because of me?” she asked.

“You and—oh, lots of things,” Mimi said. “It’s never just one thing. You know that, Nikki. The court case was just the last straw. I asked Julian not to tell Daisy. It’s been hard for him to keep it from her.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicole said.

“I’m not,” Mimi said firmly.

“Who has Julian and Anna?”

Mimi’s face hardened. “We share them,” she said. “The baby’s too young to know how she feels. But Julian definitely prefers being with me. We’re trying to get Ari to agree to just one or two days a week.”

“Poor Ari,” Nicole said. “Ever since he was a kid, no one liked him best.”

“He does all right,” Mimi said.

“You wouldn’t want to be Ari,” Nicole said. “No one would. Including Ari.” She shifted position, slowly and uncomfortably, fumbling at the small table beside her chair. She held something out to Mimi. “Hey,” Nicole said. “Put your number back on speed dial on my cell phone.”

Mimi looked at her quizzically.

“Jay erased it,” Nicole said. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

Mimi put it back in, quickly, her fingers unexpectedly trembling.

“Now I can call you fast,” Nicole said.

“Anytime.”

“It’ll be late,” Nicole said. “And it might not be easy.”

“That’s all right.”

“It will hurt, but it won’t kill you,” Nicole reminded her.

It was the start of July when Teddy and Abigail set off for New England, one of those perfect blue-skied days that people sing about. It felt as if summer had already come and gone. Memorial Day weekend the temperature
shot up to over a hundred degrees. Today was breezy and cool by comparison, and they drove with the windows down once they got past the George Washington Bridge and were safely headed up Interstate 95, Teddy blithely, Abigail with a secret worry. She had done this ridiculous thing, and she did not know how to begin to discuss it.

Teddy—she still thought of him as Rabbi Lewin, but he had asked her not to call him that—was humming under his breath. His tie was loosened, his yarmulke flapped a little on the back of his head, in the breeze, as if performing an independent dance.

“You look happy,” she said.

“I
am
happy,” he said. “Whenever I escape the city, I feel as if I’ve triumphed over some great force. Like Jacob wrestling all night with the angel. ‘I will not let Thee go except Thou bless me.’”

“He sounds like a tough guy,” she said, thinking of her own cowardice.

“Jacob is powerful, all right. Maybe the greatest of all the patriarchs—and we’re going to see his pillow tonight.”

They had tickets that night at Jacob’s Pillow. This reminded Abigail of what lay ahead. Just about two hours ahead. She took a deep breath.

“You know the hotel we’re going to?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Well, not personally.”

“I canceled my room,” she said.

“Canceled?” He turned his head sharply to look at her. “You’re not spending the night? You decided to go back home?” He sounded distressed. This gave her hope.

“No,” she said. “But I thought—” Be a big girl, she told herself. You got yourself into this. “I thought we could share a room. It would spare you the expense. Those places are expensive.” She was babbling now. “I mean,
we don’t have to do anything. We could just, you know, cuddle or hold hands or something.”

He laughed. “Or something.” His big hand landed on her knee, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was really there. “Abigail, Abigail,” he said in his gentle voice.

After another minute or two he said, “You already called them and canceled the room?”

“I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it first.”

He nodded. He still hadn’t moved his hand. Now he patted her leg and moved his hand back to the steering wheel. He had olive-colored skin, and his hand looked even darker against the bright white cuff of his shirtsleeve. “I will not let Thee go except Thou bless me,” he said.

They held hands all during the dance concert, the first extended physical contact between them. It could have been the effect of the summer night, the full moon, the hypnotic effect of the bright dreamlike dancers moving sinuously against the darkness, but his hand felt almost electric clasping hers. He was not one of those men whose hands grew clammy after a few minutes, nor was he the kind who felt he had to keep his hand moving to prove he was still there, rubbing her hand or constantly changing position. She felt almost faint.

Back at the room, their now-shared room—the hotel was fully booked by now—he kissed her before they had even gotten the door open. She had supposed he would be shy and abashed, the way she pictured all rabbis. He was neither one. He opened the door as if he was slicing it in half, with one swipe of the key card, and then he pulled her in after him. Even the way he did this made her go weak in the knees. He was so much taller than she was, smiling down at her, his brown eyes for once looking not at all tired.