The Smart One (33 page)

Now she could rest. She imagined sleeping all day, not having to shop or decorate. This is what her life would be like from now on. It was like she’d aged twenty years in the past month.

But then, after Christmas, things changed. She woke up one morning with her heart pounding, thinking of all the things that had to be done. And instead of feeling tired, she felt full of energy. She drank a pot of coffee each morning, and darted around the house, cleaning and organizing.

Claire told her that she had to slow down. Actually what she said was, “Mom, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” But Weezy couldn’t stop. She sent out an e-mail to all of her friends, telling them that Max’s girlfriend was pregnant and that she hoped they could all be happy for the family, even if things were happening a little out of order.

Weezy knew that they were all giving each other looks behind her back, but she didn’t have time to deal with them. There was too much to do, too much to figure out.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Maureen said. She raised her eyebrows and waited for Weezy to say something.

“Thanks. Me too,” she said.

Will continued on through his days like nothing had happened. “What do you want me to do?” he asked Weezy. “It’s happened and we’re dealing with it.”

But
they
weren’t dealing with anything—
Weezy
was dealing with all of it. She made the plans and ran them by Max, who ran them by Cleo, and then she told Will what was going to happen.

“They’ll be moving back here at the end of the school year,” she told Will. It had taken weeks to convince Max that this was the right thing to do, but she’d done it.

“That’s a good idea,” Will said. And that was all.

Will spent almost all of his time in his office, typing away. He took all his meals straight up there, probably to avoid Weezy and talking about Max. Whenever she brought it up, when she talked about how worried she was about Max, Will just nodded.

“Don’t you care?” Weezy asked.

“Of course I care,” Will said. “I just don’t think we need to pretend like Max isn’t responsible, like this is something that happened to him and not something that he did.”

But Will’s inaction just made Weezy move faster. She began to redo the basement, since she figured that Max and Cleo would be staying down there when they returned. It would be more comfortable for them, and easier on the whole family, if they had their own space.

The challenge of course was to make a basement look like a place where you wanted to spend time. There was something damp and chilly about the room down there, and Weezy had never liked it. But now, she would get it done. She felt like she was on one of those home-decorating challenge shows, where they find an unused space and make it into something amazing.

She got the floors redone, and bought new throw rugs to cover the tile. (They couldn’t put wall-to-wall carpeting down there, because there was always a chance it would flood. But she made it look cozy.) She bought new furniture, a new dresser and two bedside tables with matching blue ceramic lamps. She had the walls repainted a soft yellow, which seemed welcoming and calming, and she bought new bedding that looked inviting and soft.

The bathroom in the basement was old and rusty and the floor was always freezing, no matter what time of year it was. She had some people come in to look at it and two days later it was all ripped up. “We’ve
been meaning to do this for years,” Weezy said when Will acted surprised. “Now this just gives us a reason to get it done.”

She bought a bassinet for the baby and put it right next to the bed. That would do for the time being. They’d have to figure out a crib at some point, but for now this would be enough. Although she did go out and buy a couple of extra soft baby blankets, and just a few little stuffed animals to put in the bassinet so it didn’t look so empty.

When she showed Claire and Martha the finished room, she was extremely proud of herself. They were shocked, she could tell. “Well?” she asked them. “What do you think?”

“Whoa,” Martha said. She kept turning in circles looking at the walls.

“It looks great,” Claire said. “It doesn’t even look like the same place.”

“Oh, it was just a few things here and there,” Weezy said.

“I don’t know how you did this all so quickly,” Claire said. “Now you’re all set.”

But she wasn’t all set. The room was just the beginning. There was so much more to do. Maureen told her to slow down. “You’re running yourself ragged,” she said. But no one understood. No one understood that Weezy had to keep moving, had to keep doing things, or everyone around her would fall apart.

The rest of her family seemed to go on just as usual. Claire was spending a lot of time with that boy Fran, which worried Weezy, although in the grand scheme of things she couldn’t worry too much about it now. Unless Claire got pregnant as well, there just wasn’t time. And of course once she had that thought, it was stuck in her brain. Imagine if that happened—if Claire and Cleo were both pregnant and living under her roof.
See?
Weezy thought.
Things could be worse
.

WEEZY GOT THE FEELING THAT
her family was talking about her behind her back. Whenever she came into a room, it seemed that Will and Martha and Claire had just been whispering about her, just been sharing some information. “Just humor her,” Will probably told them. “Just be helpful.”

It reminded her of when the kids were young, when every once in a while she’d lose her temper and stomp off to her room, and when she’d come back down, she’d find Will playing with them or making them lunch and they’d all look up at her and say hello, cheerfully, as though nothing had happened. Will would be spinning the wheel for Candyland or making bologna sandwiches, and she just knew that they’d talked about her while she was upstairs. “Mom’s upset,” Will would have said, “so we need to be on our best behavior.”

It should have made her feel better during those moments, that Will would step in and run interference, that her kids were so willing to put on a smile to appease her. But whenever she came downstairs, it just made her feel left out, like she was the moody member of the team, that needed special treatment, and they had all kept going without her. Will always looked so satisfied, like he thought that he could take over with the kids. He was so pleased that he could handle them for all of thirty minutes, and it didn’t make her feel better—it made her angry, made her feel like she wasn’t even a part of this family that she was running.

ONE WEDNESDAY, WILL HAD CALLED
from his office to suggest they go to dinner. “Somewhere nice,” he said. “Just the adults.”

It occurred to Weezy that their children were now adults too, that there were really four adults living full-time in this house, soon to be six. But she didn’t say that.

“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s so much to do.” Really, the thought of washing her hair and finding something to wear out seemed overwhelming. But Will had insisted.

They’d gone to Pesce, a seafood restaurant that was a favorite of theirs. Usually it was saved for anniversaries or birthdays.

“Well, this is fancy,” Weezy said, when they pulled into the parking lot.

“I thought you deserved a nice night out,” Will said.

They walked in and were seated at a corner table. The restaurant was dark and the table had a small votive in the center, as if that would be enough to help people see. Will ordered a Scotch and Weezy ordered
red wine. It came in an oversized glass, the kind that almost looks like a bucket, which pleased her. She took a few sips and felt the warmth in her chest and stomach.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Will said. “Because you’ve been so worried about everything. You’re going to collapse if you keep this up.”

Weezy sighed. “I have to worry. Just for a little while. Just until things settle down.”

Will nodded and tilted his glass to the left and right, causing the ice cubes to clink against one another. “You’re a fantastic mother,” he said. He raised his glass. “To you.”

He and Weezy clinked glasses and then took a sip. Weezy wanted to tell him how strange it was that she felt so energized lately. How for the past few years, she’d felt like there was nothing surprising to look forward to—that is, until Claire had gotten engaged, but then that had all gone to hell. Her children were mostly grown, they’d gone off to college, and she had just been waiting, stalled really, for the next stage of her life to start. And she thought that it was far away, many years down the line.

But then this had happened. And, of course, she was not pleased at first. Disappointed, really. Embarrassed, for sure. But once that went away, once she dealt with that, she was excited. She couldn’t admit that to herself for a long time, but it was the truth. She was needed again. Max needed her and Cleo needed her. She was useful. And there was going to be a baby.

She thought of how to explain this to Will, who was looking at her with a mix of concern and pity. He felt bad for her! He still thought she was the martyr who was putting everything aside to help their child. So she didn’t say anything except, “It’s what any mother would do.”

Will reached out and patted her hand, leaving his to rest on top for a few moments. “That’s not true,” he said. “It’s what you do. And so you deserve a night out.”

With that, he took his hand back and opened the menu. “Good God, can you see any of this?” He squinted and brought the menu close to his face, then picked up the votive and held it next to it. “I can’t see a thing!”

Weezy pulled the magnifying card that Will had given her a few years earlier out of her purse. It had lights on the side to help as well. He’d put it in her stocking as a surprise one Christmas, as a joke about their old age. But lately she’d really had to use it. It had become their custom for Weezy to look through her menu with it, reading aloud the things that she knew he’d like.

“Seared scallops with asparagus risotto,” she read. “Pecan-crusted tilapia, maple-glazed salmon.”

Will got the scallops, which she’d known he would. Weezy got the tilapia, which Will had guessed. They both ordered white wine with their dinners, and ate slowly. Will cut one of his scallops in half and deposited it on her plate with a scoop of the risotto. She did the same with her fish.

They even split a dessert, at Will’s insistence. “My diet is already shot,” he said. “So we might as well go all the way.” Will’s “diet” consisted of his complaining about his weight and spending a few days each month doing sit-ups in his office and trying to give up butter.

“This was a perfect night,” Weezy said as they left. Will had ordered a glass of port for each of them and they were both a little wobbly as they left the restaurant. Will had started slurring just the tiniest bit, and Weezy knew it probably wasn’t smart for them to drive home, but it was only a couple of miles.

She woke up in the middle of the night with a headache and stomach cramps and spent the next hour in the bathroom. Will came in at one point to get the antacids. The rich food and all that alcohol. Oh, what was she thinking? There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered her one bit, when she would have slept peacefully through the night. But now? Well, now she was old. Practically a grandmother.

She thought of Will then, the way he’d said “just the adults” as if Claire and Martha were still little children they needed to escape from. She thought of the way that she’d passed Claire’s room the other night, seen Claire asleep on the bed, her mouth wide open, her arms around an ancient stuffed moose. How Will had said “Poor baby” to Martha. Her head pounded and her stomach threatened to revolt again. What was going on? She took two aspirin and drank a glass of water and tried to go back to bed.

THE NEXT WEEK, WEEZY TOLD MAX
that she needed Cleo’s mother’s number. Enough was enough. She understood that families work things out in their own way, but Max and Cleo were not in any position to deal with things on their own. “Just have her tell her mother that I want to talk to her,” Weezy said.

She found she was nervous when dialing the number, and even more so when she heard someone else answer the phone. “Elizabeth Wolfe’s office.” Weezy identified herself and was put on hold. She wondered what Elizabeth would say, if she would even take the call. And just when she was beginning to think that she’d never get through, the line clicked.

“Am I ever glad to talk to you,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh! Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

On the other end of the phone, Elizabeth let out a breath, blowing straight into the receiver. “Can you believe this?” she asked. “Cleo is driving me absolutely insane.”

“I’ve said the same thing about Max every day since I found out.”

The two women laughed a little, and Weezy felt relieved. Elizabeth was just a mom after all. Weezy felt guilty for all the things she’d been saying about her, and even though there was no way Elizabeth could have known about them, she almost apologized. “I didn’t want to intrude,” she said. “I just thought we should talk.”

They made plans to meet that weekend for lunch. “I can take the train there,” Weezy said. “It’ll give me an excuse to do some shopping.”