Homecoming (13 page)

Swans were monogamous, faithful.

Then, as she turned her head to follow the great white wings, she saw a car come up the driveway. Now who? Who else was coming? Surely not Mark and Ellen?

“Oh, no! Mom, you won’t believe this. Come look, it’s Ellen with Mark and the children and, yes, they’ve got his father and mother with them too.”

Daisy peered out. “Of all the senseless, confused, and idiotic messes, this gets the first place. What can have possessed Annette? If I didn’t know she wasn’t, I’d say she must be senile.”

“Do you realize that those two fathers despise each other? They haven’t been in the same room for the last—it must be eight or nine years!”

There was a slight bustle in the hall, and then a short procession, with Jenny at the head, appeared around the corner and paused for a moment of astonished recognition.

Jenny was in a red-faced fluster. “You’ll all be comfortable in here. There are plenty of chairs. Can I get you anything?”

“I think we have everything. Thank you, Jenny,” Ellen replied.

Indeed, they seemed to be laden; they had a tote bag full of toys, a diaper bag, and an armful of sweaters. Mark held a partially consumed bottle in one hand, while with the other he juggled Freddie onto his knee.

Now Gene has two enemies, Daisy thought. This should be interesting.

“This is quite a surprise,” Mark said brightly. “We were wondering whose car that might be.”

“We rented it,” Daisy said.

“Do you remember each other?” asked Ellen. “My aunt, Daisy Byrne, and Mark’s parents, Aaron and Brenda Sachs. Dr. Sachs.”

“How do you do?” said Daisy, who only remembered black whiskers.

Lucy had run to Brenda and was being hugged. “Grandma’s little doll. Somebody loves Grandma and Grandma loves somebody.”

“Where’s Gran?” asked Lucy.

The question floated for a moment until Daisy replied, “She’s in the sunroom with Gene and Lewis.”

Ellen gasped. “What’s happening? Is it working out?”

“I doubt it. Personally, when I left there, I was thankful that neither of them is armed.”

“Oh, what can Gran have been thinking of?”

“Only Gran can answer that, I’m afraid.”

“It’s all so sad and so unnecessary,” Cynthia said.

Ellen smiled at her. Regardless of their fathers they were fond of each other. But their paths had led them far apart. It must be agonizing for her to see me with my children, she thought. I understand why she doesn’t visit.

“I think Freddie’s wet,” Mark said.

“What, again? Stick your hand in and feel.”

“No, my mistake. I apologize, Freddie. Now get down and play with your blocks.”

He’s a sweet man, Cynthia thought. She watched the blocks tumble into a little pile on the floor. She hadn’t seen Freddie in months, which was wrong of her. It made her sorry and ashamed to think that she, living in the same city, had been staying away. She could have come to the party when he turned one. Sending a good present was not the same. He was a cute little boy, still pudgy, like a baby.

“Do you live nearby?” asked Brenda, who, having caught Daisy’s eye, felt it necessary to say something to her.

“No, we’re in Washington now.”

Brenda nodded. “I thought I remembered Ellen’s mentioning that you had moved out of New York, but I didn’t recall where to.”

She was making conversation. It’s like being at a funeral, waiting for the service to begin; you always feel that you have to make some remark to the stranger who’s sitting next to you. What an odd thought to be having, Brenda said to herself, and looked toward Aaron for solidarity.

But Aaron had gone down on his knees beside
Freddie and the blocks. He was feeling signals in the room. They seemed to stream like electric currents speeding through the world, filling the air with messages from man to man. He sensed the vibrations in this room. Brenda was feeling out of place; his son was uneasy; that young woman—Cynthia, wasn’t that her name?—was grieving; and her mother was suppressing a boiling anger.

Ah, stop it, he admonished himself. None of this concerns you.

Lucy asked Brenda, “Is Papa Gene here?”

Brenda’s glance consulted Mark, who did not see the glance because he was, in like silent fashion, consulting Ellen.

“I don’t know,” replied Brenda.

Lucy slid down from her lap and went to Daisy. “You said he was here with Gran. Why doesn’t he come to see me?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy said.

“I want to see him.”

“Well, you can’t right now.”

Spoiled, thought Daisy. When a child’s that pretty, it gets too much attention. And she really did have a doll’s face. You couldn’t help wondering
how Laura would have looked at this age. You wonder too much, she told herself.

“You have to wait,” Ellen said.

“But I want to see him,” insisted Lucy.

“Not now, Lucy.” And without thinking Ellen explained to Daisy, “She really loves my father so much.”

“Apparently so,” Daisy said. The child was appealing, but she was in no mood to cater to any child, however appealing. And what a stupid remark for Ellen to make, to her of all people.

Ellen was restless. When to the room at large she remarked, “I wonder whether they plan to stay in there all day,” no one answered.

Aaron built a tower of blocks, which Freddie, with great glee, overturned. He kept building more until Freddie lost interest and began to forage in the bag of toys for something else, whereupon he got up, brushed off his trousers, and looked out of the window, observing that the sky was threatening.

“It’s a good thing we’re staying overnight,” Mark said. “I wouldn’t want to be on the roads with the kids if it should get as bad as it looks.”

“Are you invited for overnight?” Ellen asked Cynthia.

“We—” Cynthia started to say, when Daisy interrupted.

“We were supposed to, but we are definitely not going to. As a matter of fact, I’m ready to start right now.”

“Don’t you like Gran’s house?” asked Lucy, turning wide blue eyes up at Daisy. “Don’t you like Gran?”

Daisy liked children, but at the moment this one was really a bit much. Her parents, considering the situation, should make her keep quiet. They should see that we are all nerves here.

Lucy was still surveying Daisy from top to toe. Apparently, she was fascinated by Daisy. “You have flowers on your shirt,” she observed.

“I do.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Why does that man hate Papa Gene?”

This child was too smart. And why, Daisy wondered, must she fasten on me?

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it,” she countered, giving Lucy the smile that
often, but not always, can placate a persistent child.

“You do know. You said the man in the sunroom.”

The adults looked from one to another.
Did you ever? You have to watch everything you say in front of them
.

“Grandpa,” asked Lucy, losing interest in Daisy, “you don’t hate Papa Gene, do you?”

Suddenly, Aaron had a coughing fit. And Mark said hastily, “Come, Lucy. Come over and take a toy out of your bag and play.”

“They’re all baby toys, Daddy. I don’t like any of them.”

“You’re being awfully stubborn,” he said impatiently.

Brenda corrected her son. “Mark, anybody can see she’s bored. She’s only six. What do you expect?”

She would, Daisy thought. A social worker, I heard. Overindulgent. Crammed with pop-Freudian psychology. Just tell the child to be quiet. My head is splitting.

The message came clearly to Aaron: She doesn’t approve of Brenda. Country-club Republican.
Captain of girls’ hockey in school. Champion golfer. Champion hang-glider, for all I know. God, I’d like to get out of this place. Can’t breathe in this atmosphere.

“What on earth is going on in there?” Daisy cried.

“They’ll have to be out soon,” Ellen soothed. “I’m sure everything will be all right.”

You think so, Cynthia thought not unkindly, because everything turned out all right for you.

“That Gene,” Daisy began to protest. “There’s never any telling what that man—” and stopped.

“You’re forgetting yourself, Mom,” Cynthia told her. “He’s Ellen’s father.”

“I’m sorry, Ellen,” Daisy said at once. “I did forget myself.”

“You see, we’re not the only ones who think he’s a bastard,” Aaron whispered to Brenda, who whispered back, “Stay out of this, Aaron.”

Cynthia clasped and unclasped her hands. Unbearable hostility surrounded her. Even her grandfather, looking out of his gold frame, seemed suddenly to be cold and angry, which was, she knew, absurd, for he had been a kindly man who worked in his fancy little garden and
gave her his prize strawberries, warm from the sun, for breakfast.

She had to get out of this room. “I’m going for a little walk,” she said.

Daisy cried, “No, Cindy, no! The minute your father comes out, we’re leaving. I don’t want to have to go looking for you.”

“I’ll only go as far as the pond. You can see me from this window. Excuse me, everyone, please.”

On their broad black feet two swans slid over the ice as if they were on skates. The remains of cut-up bread lay on the grass at the pond’s edge. Gran fed them all winter when, because the pond was frozen, they were unable to reach underwater to feed themselves. Cynthia watched them until they reached a circle of water where those few of their young who had not yet been sent away to fend for themselves were floating. The tranquillity of these creatures and the peace of the wintry silence relieved her tension. A strong wind blew, but there was no rustle of leafage. There were no birdcalls. And she stood still, hearing the silence.

Sometimes she thought of going away to a place where she knew no one and no one knew
her. She imagined a cold place, in Alaska perhaps, near a glacial lake where eagles nested in the trees. She thought of a warm place on an un-touristed island, where the surf rolled and broke on a quiet beach. Like a primitive person you would just live there, simply live out each day; and all the days would roll on with little memory of the past or need to care about what was to happen in the future.

Naturally she knew, even as she was having these escapist daydreams, that they were foolish. She knew as well as anyone could that the best, maybe the only, way to be rid of such malaise is to work and be involved with other people. But she had been doing just that, she had not been thinking only of herself or feeling sorry for herself; self-pity was disgusting.

Yet she had not been healed.…

The wind was rising. It was terribly cold, so that she drew her coat tightly about her. It was a fine, warm coat of gray cashmere, so enormously expensive that she had hesitated to buy it. But when you worked in the fashion world, you could not avoid some extravagances; they were
part of the job. All of that was long ago in another life, to which she never wanted to return.

And she started back toward the house, thinking that something must have been resolved in there by now, most probably for the worst. She felt so sorry for Gran, naive, hopeful Gran, who was trying so hard to arrange everything for the best.

Another car, a black Jaguar, had been added to the three in the driveway. At the sight of it she stopped short. It could not possibly be Andrew’s car.… But of course, it was. She went weak with outrage. Impulsively, she went toward the kitchen door with the intention of hiding, but that made no sense because they would be looking all over for her in order to start home. And straightening her shoulders, she marched boldly through the front door into the hall.

Andrew was standing there with Jenny. Evidently he had just arrived because he was still wearing his fleece jacket. She had a flash of recall: a windy Saturday, a search for a double stroller, and after they had bought it, the purchase of the red fleece jacket. Now she had a quick flash of his
startled face, flushed by the wind, with dark circles under his eyes.

Furiously, she demanded, “What do you think you are doing here?”

“I don’t know. I was invited to come. Your grandmother telephoned. I had no idea what she wanted. She didn’t say.”

“Fine story. You didn’t know I’d be here?”

“No, I didn’t.” He gave her a tentative smile. He was being conciliatory, as if he were not sure what she was going to do. And she could have struck the smile off his face.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You and my grandmother, who seems to have lost her mind, cooked this up between you.”

“I can’t help it if you don’t believe it, but it’s the truth. I’m staying for the weekend at Jack Owens’s house, and your grandmother happened to meet Mary Owens in the village. That’s how she knew I was with them, and she phoned me.”

“Well, now that you’ve come, you should turn right around and go.”

“I can’t very well do that until I’ve seen your grandmother, can I, now, Cindy?”

“I am not Cindy to you, I am Cynthia. Or better still, I am nobody at all.”

“Cynthia—can’t we please talk quietly and sensibly?”

“No. No. Was there anything ‘sensible’ in what you did that night? I was down, as I thought you were, too, all the way down in a dark hole after we lost our children—and I was just beginning to climb up and see a trace of light, just beginning—”

“You were? But you never told me. I never saw—”

“I never got the chance that night when you thrust me back down with my face in the mud. In mud! You did that to me. And you—now you come using words like
sensible
.”

“Cynthia!” Daisy’s voice rang from the guest closet at the back of the hall. “We’re just getting our coats—why, what on earth are you doing here?” she cried, seeing Andrew.

Lewis strode down the hall, his voice booming. “What the devil are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough to my daughter without following her?”

Now Annette came running with her glasses
sliding down her nose. “Stop, Lewis! He’s not doing anything to Cynthia. I invited him.”

“You what? Now I’ve heard everything. You have done more harmful mischief this morning, Mother. I’m speechless.”

Suddenly the hall, which was long and almost as wide as an average room, was as crowded as a highway at rush hour; there could not have been more than a dozen people in it, but they all, even Ellen with Freddie in her arms, came jostling out of various doors toward the little group at the front, toward the loud anger.