For Love (28 page)

‘A lot of people do. And even more horrible things. Hell, I worked as a secretary once.’

Elizabeth’s head tilts. ‘Don’t be hard on me, Char.’

‘I’m not being hard, Elizabeth. It’s the truth. Besides, I feel for Cam. How could I not? I know it’s been stressful for you. But Cam’s the one I feel for.’
Lottie shrugs. ‘You can understand that.’

Elizabeth says she does. She’s sorry. ‘But can you come over?’ she asks, after a long silence. ‘There’s just this one more night to get through, with Mother
hovering; and the children, and Lawrence just . . . perplexed, I think. And I think if you came it would answer some questions he’s got, first of all, and then simply help us get through a
few hours. Please.’

And so Lottie says yes, in part because she has the hours to get through too. She fixes dinner for herself and Ryan, and they both eat, ravenously. Then he goes out, and Lottie showers and
changes and crosses the street to Elizabeth’s house.

And now she’s walking home – she’s being walked home – by Elizabeth’s husband. Lawrence. She stumbles on a dent in the lawn, her ankle bends, and he reaches over in
the dark and cups her elbow with his hand.

‘I’m all right now,’ she says. ‘Really.’ His hand on her flesh is warm, moist; and he doesn’t let go. ‘You really don’t need to be doing this
anyway. It’s not New York, or something. I go out all the time by myself at night. Here, and in Chicago. I run after dark.’

They step off the curb, into the wide, black street. There’s no light on at Lottie’s house. Ryan has gone out with a friend from college who lives in Boston. He said he would be
late. Lottie is aware of Lawrence’s physical presence, like a heat that travels in the dark beside her.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘I was hoping, actually, you’d offer me a drink.’ Lawrence has a quiet voice, an insinuating voice, Lottie would have said. But what is it
insinuating? She can’t tell. She looks over at him again, but his face is turned away and obscured in the shadows.

‘I’m not really sure what we’ve got in the house,’ she says.

‘Really? From what Elizabeth said, I would have guessed you inherited a sizable liquor cabinet.’

Lottie laughs. ‘Now that wasn’t nice of Elizabeth, was it?’ she says. ‘And it’s not true. A bottle at a time was Mother’s motto. Waste not, want not. The New
England virtues.’

‘Still, how ’bout it?’ he asks. There’s something urgent in his voice. ‘I’d settle for a beer.’

They’re standing now at the bottom of the porch stairs. Lottie suddenly has no wish to go into the dark house alone. ‘Well, we’ll see what we can dig out,’ she says, and
he follows her up the stairs.

In the kitchen, she leans over the refrigerator door, the Ryan pose.

‘Okay, there are two beers, Anchor Steam. And part of a bottle of white wine. A California Chardonnay. But a cheap one, about four bucks a bottle, so you know what that means. And’
– she turns to the counter – ‘some red, though it may be vinegar by now. And I think . . .’ She opens the freezer door. ‘Yes. Some vodka. But no tonic or
anything.’

Lawrence is standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘I’ll have vodka. Neat.’

Lottie pours him some in one of the little jelly jars, and pours some white wine for herself. ‘Why don’t you go on into the living room? Such as it is,’ she says. ‘I have
one call I need to make.’

She can hear him in there, shifting. She feels she can see him looking around. The rotary dial on her mother’s phone seems slower, noisier than ever, and she hangs up as soon as she hears
Cameron’s recorded voice start his message again.

When she comes into the living room, Lawrence is sitting, leaned back in one of the chairs – the first person, it occurs to Lottie, to somehow manage to look comfortable in here. His feet
are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the bare ankle. His shoes are light-brown loafers of a leather so soft-looking it seems a dully shining fabric. Lottie can see the shape of his toes
through it. He drinks, a long swallow, and sets his glass on the floor under his dangling fingers. He rests his head against the chair back and looks around. ‘Your son is helping you in this
. . . enterprise?’ he asks.

‘Yes. Ryan.’

‘And then you’re back to Chicago?’ She nods. ‘To your husband too,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ she answers. She slides one of the chairs across the floor and turns it, sits down almost opposite him. The light from the dining room falls in a long rectangle that slices
across his pants’ legs. Lottie rests her toes exactly at the rectangle’s edge on the other side of the room.

Lawrence is watching all this carefully. After she’s settled herself, he says, ‘So. It was an unhusbanded summer for you and our Liz.’

Something in his voice makes Lottie feel uncomfortable.

‘She seems to have flourished,’ he says.

Lottie doesn’t answer.

‘For you, of course, I have no way of knowing. No baseline, as it were.’ His face is back in shadow, but Lottie can see he is smiling again. He has improbably white teeth.

Lottie shrugs. ‘She has, I think. Flourished.’

‘Not you, then.’

‘It’s been a different kind of summer for me.’

‘How’s that?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t want to talk about it, really.’ Outside, behind Lottie, a car drives by. ‘Hard,’ she says. ‘It’s been a hard summer for
me.’

‘And not for Lizzie?’

Lottie smiles across the band of light at him. ‘Well, she got you back, in the end. And I think that’s very much what she wanted, all along.’

He lifts his glass again, raises it slightly as if to acknowledge Lottie’s point, and drinks, a quick, small sip. He says, ‘And you were all . . . great friends, as
children.’

Lottie makes a face. ‘I don’t think children have “great friends,” do you?’

‘Elizabeth is someone who
did
have great friends as a child. You can’t believe the numbers of them.’

‘Yes. Well. That is Elizabeth. What I’d say, I think, is that we played together and loved each other and hated each other in almost equal measure. Certainly, at any rate, we knew
each other well.’

‘And this summer you’ve sort of picked up where you left off.’

Lottie laughs. ‘Oh, it’s been lots better than that, I hope.’

His bright smile flashes. Then his head lolls again, left, right. Lottie sees his eyes slowly measure the room. He says, ‘You guys had no dough.’

‘Zilch.’

‘See, I hadn’t got that part. Your brother . . . confused me, last night. I saw him as a kind of tweedy, academic guy. I saw him the way I saw Elizabeth’s father.’

‘Well, he is a tweedy, kind of academic guy. You’re not frozen forever the way you were when you were ten. Thank God.’

‘But he’s not an academic.’

‘No,’ Lottie answers. ‘He owns a bookstore. Part of a bookstore. I think it’s pretty successful, actually.’

He nods. ‘He’s an interesting character.’

‘I suppose. It’s not quite how I think of him.’

‘But you’ll grant . . .’ One hand swings up toward Lottie.

‘Well, I’m not sure what you mean: “interesting.” ’

‘Oh, just a guy like that, driving a car like that, at his age. Our age. Intense. A little humorless. Sort of on the fringes.’

‘But there are lots of people like that. Particularly in big cities, or near universities. He’s not really that unusual. You know that Randy Newman song.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘It’s about people who hang out in bookstores, as he puts it. Who work for the public radio. Who carry their babies around on their backs.’ She lifts her shoulders.
‘Mostly, it’s about people who just don’t know how to make money.’

He seems amused. Then he regards Lottie for a moment. ‘He’s different from you in that regard.’

‘I wouldn’t say so. I’ve never made much money either.’

‘Haven’t you? That’s not the way Elizabeth tells it.’

‘Elizabeth doesn’t know.’

‘I thought she did. I thought you and Elizabeth were great friends. Had become great friends, this summer.’ He sits up a little bit; his knees bend, and his legs slide apart.

‘She misunderstands. She thinks to be published in certain slick magazines is to have a certain slick amount of money. And that’s not the case.’

‘But your husband has a dime or two, I guess.’ Lottie shrugs. ‘He’s . . . what? A cardiologist?’

‘No. Cancer. An oncologist.’

He nods. ‘Elizabeth thought heart. Cardiologist. But there you go. Everything comes back to the heart, with Lizzie.’ He taps his chest, and then he smiles at Lottie. ‘Not like
you, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’ Lottie asks.

‘Just that you seem tougher, I’d say.’

This is so unexpected that it takes Lottie’s breath for a moment. Finally she says, ‘I find Elizabeth tough. Tough as nails.’

He laughs. ‘Do you? Well. I’d have to disagree.’

Lottie gets up to refill her glass. On the way across the room, she looks over at his. He appears to be nursing it. As she leaves the room, then as she returns too, she’s aware of his eyes
on her, on her legs and hips.

After she’s sat down again, she says, ‘Isn’t Elizabeth going to be worried about you?’

‘Should she be?’ He’s smiling at her.

‘Oh, come on,’ she says. She’s not surprised, she realizes. ‘Don’t start that stuff.’

‘But this is fun, isn’t it?’ he asks. ‘Lots better than the Harbour parlor, at any rate. You and I, we understand each other, I think.’

‘Do we?’ Lottie asks. ‘I think you think you understand me. And maybe you partway do. But I don’t much understand you. Why you’re here, for instance.’

‘I’m here for Elizabeth.’

‘No, I mean here, in my mother’s living room.’

‘I’m here so I don’t have to be there.’ He nods his head at the windows, the street. ‘Elizabeth and I need to get off her turf. Her family’s turf. Her
mother’s turf.’

‘I like Emily.’

‘I like Emily too. I like her a lot. But to be around her and Elizabeth together . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s like drowning to someone like me.’ Lottie grins in
recognition. She feels this way around Emily too. ‘So I’m here,’ he says. ‘And I’m curious.’

‘About what?’

‘About you. About your brother. About what’s been going on here this summer. I thought maybe you’d care to enlighten me.’

‘I’m not sure I could.’

‘Oh, come on, Char.’

‘It’s Lottie.’

‘Lottie?’

‘Yes, Elizabeth and my brother and mother are the only ones who still call me Char. I prefer Lottie. By a country mile.’

‘All right then, Lottie. And I’m Larry, by the way. Elizabeth is the only person who calls me Lawrence. Elizabeth and Emily.’

‘Larry,’ Lottie says.

‘Right.’ He lets a little silence fall. ‘So,
Lottie
. Clue me in.’

‘As I said, I’m not sure I can.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well. I’m not sure what you’re asking, for starters.’

‘Who’s zooming who? That’s all. What’s been going on? Your brother, for example: he was involved with the baby-sitter?’

Lottie is startled. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘You don’t think so?’

‘I
know
it’s not so.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Elizabeth thought he might have been.’

Lottie laughs, a sort of admiring laugh. ‘
Did
she?’

‘Yes. You’re surprised by that.’

‘I sure am. I think Elizabeth knows better than that too.’

‘Well, as I read it, there was
something
funny going on.’ He tilts his head. ‘Could it be he was involved with my wife?’

Lottie looks levelly at him.

‘Or maybe there’s some other possibility I’m not picking up on. But I think you know. So I’d like to know.’ Lottie shifts in her chair. ‘Is all. Fair,
don’t you think?’

‘He wasn’t involved with Jessica.’

‘What about Elizabeth?’

She sips some wine. ‘Why don’t you ask Elizabeth?’ His eyes are steady on her. She crosses her legs, aware of the sound of her sliding flesh. ‘You know, I probably
wouldn’t tell you he was sleeping with Elizabeth, even if he was.’

‘But you’d tell me if he wasn’t, I bet.’

Lottie recognizes that this is true, and she’s uncomfortable. ‘Why
don’t
you ask Elizabeth all this?’ she says.

‘Why would Elizabeth tell me the truth?’

‘Why should I?’

‘You seem to me like a truthful kind of person.’

Lottie feels confused, suddenly. It’s a few seconds before she answers. ‘I don’t think I’m the right person for you to talk to. To talk to you. If you have doubts about
Elizabeth’s . . . fidelity. Though I’m not sure you’ve got much of a leg to stand on. So to speak.’

‘No, no. You’re certainly right, there. But I love Elizabeth. I do.’ He smiles. ‘And I understand her so well. I understand what she needs, maybe more than she
does.’

‘What does she need?’

‘Romance. For life to be romantic. She has to have things very . . . intense, all the time. In a way, she’s kind of a phony, you know what I mean, but she’s
alive
. I get
a genuine kind of charge out of her. I always have. So maybe you’re right. Just drop it. Be glad she’s coming home. That life is back to normal.’ He sits up suddenly, hunches
forward over his knees in the chair. ‘The thing is, I gave up a lot for her. To get her back.’

‘Your girlfriend.’

‘It was a lot of girlfriend.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You’ve been there, I suspect, haven’t you, Lottie? You seem like someone who likes to fool around a little bit.’ He waits. His voice, when he speaks again, is intimate,
urgent. ‘I couldn’t keep away from her. She was a wonderful, a very dirty girl. I liked that a lot.’

Lottie doesn’t say anything, and after a moment he sits back.

He pulls out a cigarette. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

Lottie shakes her head. ‘No. Go ahead.’

‘Thanks.’ He lights the cigarette and inhales deeply, as though he’s been rationed for a while.

Lottie walks in front of him again, enters the band of light. She goes through the dining room and fetches a chipped saucer for him from the kitchen. She squats to set it on the floor by him;
and then feels uncomfortable, servile, as she gets up again. Stepping back to her own chair, turning, sitting, she is suddenly ashamed and angry. Is he doing this? Is she? He watches her across the
shadowy space for a long time, smoking. Lottie notes that he holds the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, with the lighted end turned in toward his palm; like the tough guys, the hoods, in
high school. What is she doing? Lottie thinks. What is this man doing here?