Deep Down True (44 page)

“Shutting,” said Connie in mock sweetness, and Dana was tempted to lash out, but Connie put a hand on her shoulder. “Love you, Day,” she murmured.

“Blah, blah, blah.”

Connie burst out laughing.

 

 

Dana left them all sleeping on Friday morning. She put a note on the kitchen table: “Went to work, back at five. Love, D.” They knew this, but she wrote it anyway. She preferred to have her whereabouts confirmed.

The patients were as genially languid today as they had been frenzied on Wednesday. They seemed to be still full of turkey and the relief that comes of having mounted a successful holiday campaign, or at least survived it. The schedule was light. There were no cleanings, only lesser procedures that Tony could handle without an assistant, since Marie had put in for a personal day. Tony confided that he’d heard her on her cell phone during a break between patients, booking a flight to Canada.

“Wow,” said Dana. “She really meant it when she said she didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“I’m thinking she’s on an alternative spiritual path,” he mused, leaning in the doorway to the reception area, waiting for the next patient to show.

“Aren’t we all,” she muttered. She looked up to see him gazing at her in amusement. It was the look he’d given Lizzie when she said they had better things to talk about than him. A kind of thinly concealed admiration.

Such a nice face,
she thought. The graceful lines of his nose and eyes. The smoothness of his skin peppered by closely shaved whiskers. There was a strange contentment in just looking at him that dusted away drama and disappointment. But after a moment it felt strange to stare at her boss as he stared back, and she blinked and said, “So how did it go? Did all your girls get along?”

His expression turned wry. “They got along some of the time. The rest of the time they acted like hens at a pecking party.” He described a twenty-four-hour period—from Martine’s arrival on Wednesday to her dramatic departure on Thursday, shortly after her fig tart had gotten burned because Lizzie had shoved it to the back of the oven rather than placed it at the front as had been requested. “They fussed at each other like five-year-olds,” he said. “It was hell.”

“And where was Abby in all this?”

He chuckled. “Flying under the radar, as usual. Holed up in her room, studying for the clinical-skills exam of her medical boards. It was the only thing Lizzie and Martine agreed on—that Abby wasn’t helping enough.”

“Sounds awful,” she commiserated. “Have you talked to Martine since?”

“Yeah . . .” His expression went flat, and he looked away. “It didn’t go well.”

“She broke up with you over a
pie
?”

“Well, yes and no. I think it was because I didn’t really try hard enough to talk her out of ending it.” He shrugged. “Hey, the girls weren’t on their best behavior, and I told them so. I was pissed. But Martine wasn’t exactly behaving like a grown-up either.” He looked perplexed. “I’d never seen her act like that. She’s usually so smart and self-possessed.”

“Some situations don’t bring out the best in people,” said Dana.

“Yeah, I thought of that. But then I was taking Abby to the airport last night, and she said, ‘Dad. Really. Her?’” He shook his head, then glanced at Dana. “What did you think of her?”

“Oh, um, she’s very . . . tall, isn’t she?”

Apparently it wasn’t the kind of answer he was looking for. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Does that . . . did it bother you? Dating someone so tall?”

“You mean taller than me? Nah. It could, I suppose. But at my height it’d really reduce the options.” He flashed a quick grin, “And where’s the fun in that?” Then he dialed down the light in his eyes. “Seriously,” he said, pursuing his earlier question. “What did you think?”

She treated me like an orphaned handmaid.
Dana jiggled her computer mouse and watched the cursor flick across the screen. “She seemed nice.”

Tony studied her for a moment. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“Okay,” said Dana. “I didn’t like the way she said, ‘You are the single mother.’ As if it’s a role I play on some TV show.” She returned his gaze. “Is that how you talk about me?”

“Dana,” he said, shame coloring his smooth features. “I never—”

The bell on the door jingled, and Mr. Kranefus came in, removing his fedora and fingering the brim as he made his way to the coatrack.

“Hi there, Mr. Kranefus,” said Dana. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Endless.” He slid off his overcoat and hung it on a hook. “But now it’s over.”

 

 

Dana was just finishing a call with a claim rep when she heard Tony’s drill whine down to silence. A moment later he came into her reception area and pulled down his mask. “I want you to know I never called you that. I talked about you from time to time, and I guess I mentioned you had kids and were divorced, but I would never identify you as The Single Mother.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I don’t think of you that way. And I’m very sorry she said it.” He put his mask up and went back to Mr. Kranefus.

 

 

At lunch she told him about Jet’s inspired contribution at the McPhersons’ house, the surprisingly pleasant substitution of eggplant parmesan for turkey, and Ethan’s bid for forgiveness.

“But what happened out in the driveway?” he asked. “Did she ever tell you?”

“A little. She said she partly forgave him and that the rest of it might come over time. They have no plans to see each other again, but I think they’ll touch base at some point. The most important thing is she’s not walking around with all that pain and rage. Or not as much anyway.”

“Do you think she’ll go home now?”

It was a startling thought. But the way had been paved, hadn’t it? Hamptonfield, Massachusetts, was no longer quite so much of a crime scene to Alder, and relations with Connie had definitely improved. Dana stared at him as she contemplated the days ahead without Alder.

“She’s pretty lucky to have you for an aunt,” Tony said gently. “Giving her a safe harbor while she figured all this out and helping your sister reconnect—that’s a heck of a contribution.”

“It would just be nice if things could stay the same for more than five minutes in a row.”

“What planet does
that
happen on?” He smiled. “My passport’s current, I’m ready anytime.”

 

 

Dana was sitting at her desk, with Tony looking for a patient chart on the shelves behind her, when Connie came in. “It’s colder than a pile of poop on Pluto out there,” she grumbled.

“Connie!” said Dana, putting on a smile as her heart thumped out an alarm. “This is my boss, Tony Sakimoto. Tony—my sister, Connie Garrett.”

Connie gave him a transparently appraising look.

“Nice to meet you, Connie.” Tony smiled. “I hear you make a mean vegan eggplant parm.”

“And I hear you’re the best boss since Santa,” Connie replied dryly. “She hurries off to work every morning like there’s sleigh rides and free candy canes.”

Dana’s face went hot. Tony let loose a deep, rumbling laugh and said, “My secret’s out. I said the heck with health benefits, let’s get some reindeer in here!”

Connie raised her eyebrows at Dana, a look that meant,
He’s weird, but entertaining.

“So listen,” she said, leaning on the reception counter. “I think the girls and I will head home for the weekend. I’ve got a friend at Hamptonfield Auto Service who’ll give me a break on fixing the rest of what’s wrong with Alder’s car, and I really ought to show up for a shift at Nine Muses. Also, I think Jet needs a change of scenery. She’s starting to eat the condiments, and that much soy sauce can’t be good for you.”

“Oh . . . okay,” said Dana, trying to absorb it all. “When are you thinking of leaving?”

“Now, pretty much. The girls swung over to Jet’s house to grab some extra clothes. They’re meeting me at the Hebron Ave Shell station, and we’ll caravan, in case her car gives her trouble.”

“So you’ll be back on Sunday?” Dana’s panic over Connie’s presence was quickly morphing into panic over her absence. It was still another thirty-six hours before the kids got home. And she realized she would genuinely miss Connie.

“Sunday?” Connie squinched up her face in thought. “Probably not. I mean, some subset of us will be, but I can’t really afford to take off any more time. I’ll call you, though. Maybe tomorrow night.” She gave the counter two little slaps. “Gotta go.”

But she didn’t move right away. Some thought came to her, and she smiled at it and looked up at Dana. It was almost a thank-you. Then she turned to Tony, said, “See ya, Santa,” and left.

D
ANA PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY AFTER WORK and looked up at her darkened house.
No one home,
she thought. She flicked on lights as she made her way from the garage up to her bedroom, but it only seemed to confirm her aloneness.

It’s temporary,
she chided herself.
They’ll be home tomorrow night.
She pulled off her slacks, unbuttoned her blouse, and hung them both on hangers to avert an unnecessary trip to the dry cleaners.

It wasn’t the empty house.
It’s me,
she thought as she tugged on a T-shirt and a battered pair of jeans.
Everything’s changing, and I’m not keeping up.

A swirling, nauseating sense of exhaustion swept over her, and she lay back on her bed, legs dangling over the edge. The swirling and a hopelessly dislocated feeling reminded her of the miscarriage she’d had before Grady. She had lain in that very bed when she’d gotten home from the hospital after “the procedure.” That’s how Kenneth had repeatedly referred to it. “Do you need me to drive you to the procedure? . . . How long will the procedure take? . . . Thank God the procedure’s covered under our insurance.”

“Yes!” she’d finally yelled at him. “Let’s thank God for that!”

And he’d looked at her as if her unseemliness affronted him, but that he would disregard it given the circumstances. She had read that in his face and knew it was true. He would grant her the favor of disregarding her. And so she knew she was alone in it. The loss would be hers to carry by herself for the rest of her life. She still missed that baby from time to time, but she never told anyone. Not after the look he’d given her.

I miss all my babies.
It seemed so weak—to yearn for two children who’d been gone only six days and for another who’d never even arrived. And Alder, a child who wasn’t hers to begin with. She thought of calling Connie to see how Alder was doing, back in the town she’d fled two months earlier. And had Jet stopped eating condiments?
Poor thing. Missing her mother,
Dana realized.

She thought of calling Polly—making up just to have someone to talk to. She even thought of using the home number that Tony had programmed into her cell phone. But she didn’t make any calls, partly out of exhaustion, partly out of not wanting to put her weakness on display. And because, most important, in the end she knew it wouldn’t help. It might anesthetize the wound for a short time, but it would not suture it. Things were changing, and the life she’d had with her children constantly and happily tangled around her was shifting into the past.

Not like it wouldn’t have shifted eventually anyway,
she reminded herself. If the parenting books were right, Morgan and Grady would soon become secretive teenagers with social lives she’d only glimpse from the driveways of their friends’ houses. She wasn’t ready for them to have whole pieces of their existence that didn’t revolve around her, that she wasn’t even privy to. But what choice did she have? She could hear her mother saying,
You play the hand you’re dealt.

Ma,
she thought. A woman with vastly different daughters to raise and a husband who couldn’t get up off the couch—until he got up and drove to Swampscott and left his life on the beach. Mary Ellen McPherson came to mind, and Dermott with his gallows humor and wasting body. And three little children.

A mismatched thread shot through the fabric of her pondering, a memory of something she’d neglected—dishes. The serving platters she had instructed Mary Ellen not to wash, that she would retrieve on Thanksgiving night. But then Ethan had shown up and the dishes had slipped her mind. They were probably clogging the counters, plastered with the remnants of yesterday’s meal, annoying Mary Ellen when she had bigger issues to deal with. Dana reached for the phone.

“I haven’t given them a thought,” Mary Ellen told her. “Isn’t that awful? I should have washed them, but we had such a nice time—the kids went crazy for the marshmallowed sweet potatoes. And Dermott is feeling . . . well, not great, exactly, but pretty good! He’s finally starting to get his strength back.” She was elated. “We’re going out tonight, just the two of us.”

“That’s wonderful! And you have a baby-sitter?”

“My neighbor’s daughter is coming over. It’s perfect. Well”—she laughed—“if I can find anything remotely decent to wear. Everything I own is so tired and ugly.”

“I have something.” Dana sat up. “It’s not right on me, but it would look
fantastic
on you.”

 

 

Dana got home from the McPhersons’ with an armload of crusty platters and a satisfied grin she couldn’t seem to get off her face. The perfect blouse, the perfect recipient. Mary Ellen had looked amazing in it. And Dermott had smiled the half-dazed, half-hungry smile of a man in love with his wife.

Dana was filling the sink with soap suds when Morgan called. “Tina’s pregnant,” she murmured tightly. “They’re getting
married.
” And she broke into gasping sobs.

“Oh, honey,” Dana soothed. “I know it’s hard. This isn’t what you expected.”

“You
knew
?”

“Dad told me just before you left.”

“I can’t believe this! You knew they were . . . and this was all . . . and you didn’t
tell
me?”