A Slender Thread (31 page)

Margot remained at the window, not seeing her reflection in the black glass. She folded her arms across her chest. When Lacey came into the room it was as if Margot had disappeared. After she had come all this way, her presence barely mattered. The urgency of her departure from San Francisco seemed ridiculous now. With a niggling sense of shame, she remembered Alex's voice on the phone. Oliver was right—why had Alex called her and not Lacey? Margot stood, turned off the kitchen light, and made her way upstairs in the dark.

She found it impossible to sleep that night. Her worries loomed large in the silent house. The future seemed to be spinning ahead of her as she grew more and more powerless to control it. Lacey's speech faltered with greater frequency and Margot thought she saw a difference in other ways, too. Lacey was more withdrawn, perhaps because of Edith's death, and the tension in the house was palpable. Wink, the worrier in the family, was nervous about leaving for college; Toni continued to be distraught over Ryan; and Alex, if not absent because of work, seemed distracted and remote. Margot's own history had taught her the difficult complexity of family life. Yet Lacey's family had always been so happy, as if immune from trouble. Now they all seemed fragile.

Margot lifted her head and turned her pillow over, resting her cheek on the cool side of the pillowcase. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture her time with Oliver in Sonoma, distant and dreamlike to her now. She pictured Lacey's loom across the hall with the threads taut, pulled equally in two directions.

 

Alex let his bike coast down Waldoboro Hill. He had pedaled twenty miles inland, a long distance this early in the season. After a winter without riding, it took him several weeks to rebuild his endurance, going farther and farther with each ride. His travel schedule this spring had allowed him little time for his bike. His muscles spoke to him, but today the exertion made him feel alive. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, euphoric in a brief moment of oblivion, thankful to be out of the house. The tires bumped along the gravel shoulder. His lids flew open. Fuck. He couldn't go and get himself killed.

The road leveled and rolled gently for the next few miles. A fine drizzle kept his face cool. It was a typical spring day. Summer was a ways off in New England. The temperature was in the low sixties. By July, he'd be sweating doing that hill.

His mother's service was tomorrow and Margot had put off her return to New York. Apparently, Oliver was still in California and she didn't need to go back to work until Monday.

Fortunately, nothing major had gone wrong in his absence. As Wink had suspected, Toni's troubles had been boyfriend-related, and not as dire as she had originally thought. Toni would get over Ryan. She had the resilience of youth on her side and her whole future ahead of her. What worried him more was Lacey's sadness. Margot had assisted her with the funeral arrangements and kept her company on her rounds of errands, as if sensing that Lacey shouldn't be alone. Thankfully, the lawsuit threatening his business deal had been averted. He had arrived home exhausted and tense, but at least he wouldn't have to travel again for a while.

“I think you need to get out and get some air,” Margot had said earlier that morning when Lacey had gone upstairs to have some time in her studio. He and Lacey had been going over the program for the funeral service and Margot was taking it to the printer later. She was taking Toni with her. The two of them had been on lots of long walks and Toni seemed to be gradually coming out of her funk. “I'll be okay, Dad,” she had told him when he stopped by her room last night on the way up to bed.

Alex had tried to tread lightly since he'd been home, as his household felt like a minefield of emotion. Lacey was keeping her grief locked inside. When he had hugged her on his return and thanked her for taking over for him, her eyes had brimmed with tears. “I loved her, Alex,” was all she had said.

He had loved his mother too, but weeks of arguing with lawyers and negotiating with hard-nosed business types had momentarily cordoned him off from any deep feeling, as if he couldn't rid himself of a tough outer shell. His mother had been gone from him for years already, it seemed. For now, he remained numb.

He was sorry to have pulled Margot away from her trip, but he was grateful for her quiet presence, which seemed to have a calming effect on all of them. Their awkward conversation in New York seemed remote to him after all that had happened. He needed to remember that the Margot who was with them now was a different person from the one he had known long ago.

He reached the trailhead that led to the lookout tower, a rickety platform with a view of the entire valley. He and Lacey had hiked here one summer when they still lived in Boston. He had brought her to New Hampshire to see his parents. Shortly after that visit he had proposed.

Had it been a day like this one, misty and gray? Lacey was teaching art at the Barnhill School in Brookline. He had finished his first year of business school and they had been living together for several months.

Alex leaned his bike against a tree, out of sight of the road. He walked the few hundred yards to the tower. The climb up was not as high as he remembered. The steps creaked under his weight. The sound of the wind grew louder when he reached the platform at the top of the stairs. He stood alone above the trees and looked at the valley below. Rolling fields, humble farmhouses, weathered barns, clusters of fruit trees in flower, and the spiky tops of pines edging the woods were all slightly blurred in the damp haze.

The dilapidated state of the tower made him wonder if the county or state looked after it at all anymore. When he and Lacey had hiked here it had been like new. He recalled how it was Lacey who had initiated the kiss when they had reached the platform those many years ago.

“Alex, Alex, my sweetest sweet,” she had said, laughing and putting her hands in his hair. Her hands had roamed over him. “Let me feel you,” she whispered. Her hands, those beautiful hands, were at first like feathers and then firmer, sure of what they wanted as they explored his skin. The two of them slid to the floor of the tower and began to make love.

He liked that Lacey was often the initiator. She had been the one to suggest he move in with her and he had jokingly said, “Whatever you say, Chief.” That day he had taken her shirt off and was kissing her breasts when they heard voices and had to scramble, readjusting their clothes and coming to their feet.

Now, remembering that long-ago afternoon, he yearned for Lacey, for the way they used to be then, for the urgency, the simple lust, that came over them so suddenly. Alex sat on the floor of the lookout. It was a weekday. No one would come out here now, if they did at all anymore. He still wanted Lacey. He wanted her hands in his hair. He wanted to make love. Since she had been sick, it was as if they no longer knew how to start. The few times they had come together, their lovemaking had been hurried and unfamiliar. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

And Margot—why had he started thinking about that brief time when they were together that summer at Bow Lake? Their short relationship was ancient history. He shouldn't have said anything to her in New York; he should have left the past behind them, where it belonged. Yet he had felt something, a strange unsteadiness, when Margot walked into that bar. When she sat down beside him, smelling faintly of flowers and the spring evening, it was as if he had been on a boat too long, and once he was on the shore again he'd lost his sense of balance. He thought that all he'd wanted was a chance to talk.

New Hampshire was a long way from New York. Alex wiped his face and stood up, stretching his legs one at a time. His muscles had grown cold. He worked his hamstrings and descended the stairs. He needed to get home.

 

It was an ordinary Tuesday evening at the start of June and the city pulsed. The first blast of warm summer air made New York come alive. No one wanted to be inside. At seven thirty it was still light. Oliver and Margot walked side by side in Central Park, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. He had arrived an hour earlier from the airport and Margot, just home from the gallery, had agreed to join him for a walk. They reached the Great Lawn. The path encircling the grand sweep of green thronged with people—couples arm in arm, babies and children being pushed in all sorts of conveyances by their dreamy parents, and of course dogs, large and small, the rare and the pedigreed, along with the mixed breeds, a canine cornucopia.

Oliver said nothing about their disagreement in San Francisco, but kept up a lively account of the rest of his trip. The day after Margot had left, he had sold two more paintings. One, his largest and most expensive piece, had sold to a wealthy collector who had asked Oliver to visit his house in Napa so he could see the rest of his art collection. Oliver had gone there over the weekend with his dealer. He described the house to her—an incredible estate on acres of vineyards, complete with formal gardens, allées of trees, fountains, and peacocks on the lawn. Imitating the birds' piercing cries, Oliver made Margot laugh.

“Shall we sit for a while?” he asked her.

Margot agreed and followed him to a bench. The trees in front of them had low, sweeping branches flush with new leaves, and even as the sun lowered, the day's warmth lingered. She wanted to enjoy the sweetness of this lovely evening, but somehow she couldn't shake off the chill New England spring she'd recently left behind. “You haven't asked me about New Hampshire,” she said.

“I told you I was sorry about Alex's mother.” His tone hardened. “You made the decision to go.”

“Oliver.”

“I hardly knew Edith. You didn't expect me to come for the funeral, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you fix the boyfriend crisis?”

“You don't have to say it that way.” Margot tried to ignore her growing irritation.

“Look, Mags, you know how I feel about this. I don't want to argue again.”

“I spent a lot of time with Toni. Listening seemed to help. But you were right. Toni wasn't about to do anything drastic. Wink overdramatized the whole thing.”

“I'm glad.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I know those girls are going through a lot. I don't want you to think I'm hardhearted.”

“I don't think that,” she said, touching his arm.

“Did you talk to Carl?” Oliver stretched his legs out and moved closer to her.

Margot drew in her breath. “Oliver, Lacey is worse.” Saying this brought back the painful memories of her last visit.

“You noticed a difference.”

She nodded. “She's terribly sad about Edith. That may be part of it.”

“But she's managing okay?”

“Sort of. You know how in the winter she was almost angry? Well, now it's as if she's lost her spunk.” Margot felt sadness rise in her throat.

“Maybe that's only temporary.”

“I'm afraid it's not. For so long she refused to give up any of her activities. Alex begged her to do less and she ignored him. All of a sudden that's changed. Wink told me that Lacey's given up most of her volunteer work. She spends almost all her time in her studio weaving.”

“You told me she loves to weave.”

“Not for endless hours. She's not the same.”

Oliver turned to Margot. “I'm sorry to hear that, Mags.” He smoothed her hair back. “What did Carl say about our plans?”

“He didn't say anything. I didn't discuss it with him.”

“What?”

“I can't go this summer.” Her chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.

“Margot, come on. You told me you wanted to do this. Here's this chance for us. We can both paint. A sabbatical, remember?”

She shook her head. Her resolve began to waver. “It would be hard to get all the vacation time.”

“Mario can fill in for you. You've told me he'd like the extra hours. Carl wouldn't have a problem with that.”

“I'm just not sure.” Margot couldn't get rid of the gut feeling that she needed to be near Lacey in case . . . in case what? Another crisis with Toni? Wink falling apart? Alex needing her? This had never been true before. Everything had changed with Lacey's illness. It was as if they had all become vulnerable.

“I spoke to Grant. We have the house from the middle of June until the middle of September.”

“It's not just my job.” Margot spoke more resolutely. “I want to have some time with Lacey at the lake. There's that and the girls' graduation. I can't afford to fly back and forth.”

“You said you'd come.”

“This might be my last summer at the lake with Lacey.”

“You don't know that for sure.”

“No, but . . .” How could she explain the way she felt about Lacey? Her sister was the last thread connecting her to her family, to her past. How much longer would Lacey still be able to talk? “Maybe we could go this winter?”

“Mags, I want to go now. I've got the house. I'm meeting new people through the gallery. This move is important for my career.”

“Does it always have to be your career?” She felt that forgotten pinch of anger. “Having time with Lacey is important to me. I told Alex I'd be there for her.”

“So it's Alex again?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“He's already summoned you several times.”

“I need to be with my sister. That's what's important right now. And the girls will need me one day, too.”

“What about us, Mags? You and me?” He took her hand.

She looked into his eyes. Why couldn't he understand? “I want to be with you, but I need this summer with Lacey.”