Keep Your Mouth Shut and Wear Beige (9 page)

Back outside, I caught Dad’s attention and pointed to Finney’s fanny pack, mouthing, “EpiPen.” He nodded. He’d already guessed that.

We watched the limo carry Guy and Rose off to the Ritz. “Darcy, Annie was just telling me,” Dad said, “that your house reminded her of their grandparents’ cottage in the Adirondacks.”

“Annie!” Cami exclaimed. “How can you say that? The cottage was falling down. All the ceilings had water stains, and there were mice in every closet.”

“It doesn’t look the same,” Annie acknowledged, “but it’s cozy like the cottage, with just one place to sit so people have to be together. You remember how we always played games there.”

“I have games,” I said. “I don’t have water stains or mice, at least not yet, but I do have games.”

So that’s what we did the rest of the afternoon. Cami and Jeremy had planned to study, Annie was supposed to be working on a paper, and Zack had to be doing something—dear God— anything, on his college applications, but instead we played games.

Annie wanted to play the card games that they had played with their grandparents. I found the cards and everyone started to gather around the table. Finney waited for one of his sisters to tell him where to sit, but my dad patted the chair next to him. “Let’s be a team, you and me.”

The games were simple and easy to learn. Annie was enthusiastic, teasing, flirting; it was clear that she wanted everyone to have a good time. I’m not much in the flirting department, but I’m a good sport. If she wanted people to have fun, I would help. As soon as I had a good hand, I slapped down my winning cards with PG-rated trash talk. Then everyone got into the spirit of inane and pointless competition, and we had a grand time. Zack roused himself from his Annie-induced stupor and was enjoying himself, provoking Jeremy to the point that Jeremy, in fun, hooked his elbow around Zack’s neck and rubbed his knuckles across Zack’s skull. When they were kids, Jeremy used to do this to him . . . although not in fun.

Perhaps because the playground at his very expensive, very specialized school was highly supervised, perhaps because he had no built-in tormentor in the shape of a brother, Finney had never seen “noogies” before. He was fascinated. First he wanted Jeremy to demonstrate them on him. Then Jeremy obediently bent his head and let Finney curve his thin arm around Jeremy’s neck.

Who had the “fun” house now?

Everyone, even my boys, took it for granted that Claudia and I knew each other, but we’d never met. I wasn’t looking forward to our meeting. What on earth would we say? So I decided to take a Ritalin. I don’t usually take them late in the day—I have too much trouble going to sleep—but if I took one, I would be more controlled. I could better endure tedious conversations; I would be less likely to blurt out something that would offend someone, embarrass myself, or both.

I had to give Claudia credit for one thing: my guys looked absolutely great in their vintage tuxes. Broad-shouldered and light-haired, Jeremy appeared elegantly assured, a character out of
The
Great Gatsby.
Zack’s tux glided over his sharp angles, giving his frame maturity and dignity. With his longish black hair and fair skin, he looked mysterious, even a little sinister. Twice I saw him glance in the small mirror that hung near the front door. He liked the way he looked.

Finney was wearing neat gray pants, his fanny pack, a white dress shirt, and a little crimson tie. He had dressed in Zack’s basement bathroom and was very happy to report that Zack had been able to tie his tie for him. He told each of us about it, how Zack could tie a tie just like his father could. He now considered Zack his very dear friend, something that clearly made Zack uncomfortable.

That was one problem with the private schools Zack had attended. He had never been in classes with “mainstreamed” students—kids with various kinds of disabilities who joined the traditional classes for a few hours a day. The benefits to the mainstreamed kids probably had to be assessed case by case, but getting to know their part-time classmates as individuals broadened the outlook of the so-called normal students.

But Zack hadn’t had that experience. To him, Finney, sweet, earnestly well-behaved little Finney, was unpredictable and unknowable. I watched unhappily as Zack drew away from the boy, leaving my father, as we waited for the girls, to carry the conversation about knotting ties.

A few minutes later, Cami floated down in a sleeveless, pale rose satin dress that drifted and clung to her in a Jean Harlow way. She looked spectacular. Dad met her at the bottom of the stairs. He took her left hand, the one with Mother’s ring, and tilted it toward the light. He looked down at the ring for a moment, then lifted her hand to kiss the back of her palm. “Jeremy’s grandmother said that she did everything with her left hand for the first month she had that ring.”

“I did too,” Cami said. “Jeremy didn’t tell me at first that it was her ring in case I didn’t like it, but I loved it right away.”

“She did, too.”

Dad’s face was soft. He was thinking about Mother. I couldn’t stand to. Everything would have been so much better if she had been here.

We were now all waiting for Annie.

Jeremy was getting tense.

“Annie is late. Very late,” Finney said. “It makes Mommy mad.”

Cami had already been upstairs once. “I’d go again, but when I try to rush her, it just gets worse.”

Jeremy looked at his watch again. Finally he looked at me. “Mom, could you do something?”

It had been a long time since he’d asked me for help. Sometimes I felt as if he’d drunk his dad’s Kool-Aid and thought of me as this huge screwup. I could endure that from Mike, but not from one of the boys.

I went upstairs. The two sisters had decided that Jeremy should move into the second twin bed in Dad’s room, and Annie could share the double bed with Cami. That bed was now covered with stuff— clothes, scarves, I didn’t know what-all. Annie was at the mirror, a chem lab full of makeup spread out across the top of the bureau.

Any hospital nurse knows how to disguise controlling behavior with faux helpfulness. “Let me help you gather up this makeup,” I said, starting to shovel things into her makeup bag as I spoke, “so you can finish in the car.”

She shot me a resentful look. She clearly didn’t like me manhandling her makeup, but she was too well brought up to stop me.

We were hardly out of the neighborhood when Jeremy’s phone rang. It was Mike, wondering where we were. He was going to blame me for our being late. I wished that I didn’t care.

The atmosphere in the car wasn’t exactly party hearty. Jeremy was uneasy about being late; Annie was unhappy about being rushed; Cami was worried about the seat belt wrinkling her dress; and I fretted with the alone feeling that I got when I thought about my mother being gone. After a few minutes Finney started to look anxious. He wanted the people around him to be happy, and we didn’t seem to be cooperating.

Shortly after we passed through Great Falls village, the driver turned into a development of huge suburban McMansions. The houses had three-car garages and elaborate curbside mailboxes. I supposed they also had high ceilings, grand foyers, and huge kitchens. Houses like this were supposed to make the owners feel grand. But how grand could you feel when the house next door was almost exactly like yours?

Claudia and Mike and Rose and Guy were in the front hall, forming an informal reception line. Rose and Guy immediately detached themselves to go talk to their kids. Mike spoke to my dad; that left me with Claudia.

As I knew from the picture on her Web site, she kept her dark hair very short, the kind of style that looks good only on women with good skin and closely spaced, narrow features, both of which she had. I’d be afraid to wear my hair that short—I’d worry that I was trying to look half my age—but this crisply defined haircut suited her. She must have had a lot of confidence in her ability to judge things like that.

“I’m Darcy,” I said.

Her eyes flicked up and down, judging my dress, probably dismissing it as boring. Her earrings were pearls surrounded by something sparkly. I had no idea if they were real.

“The tuxes you fixed for Jeremy and Zack,” I heard myself say, “were great. They looked fabulous.”

“Thank you.”

I waited a moment, expecting her to continue. She didn’t. The even, small features of her face were pointed in my direction, but her pale blue eyes were focused at a spot beyond my left shoulder. Once she had assessed my dress, apparently there was nothing about me worthy of her gaze.

I’m hardly the Queen of Social Interaction, but I knew that she should have said more:
Thank you, but they are such handsome young men that they would look well in anything . . . it was a pleasure to work with them . . . how sweet of you to say so.
But she wasn’t saying anything else. She’d spoken and now it was my turn.

“It’s nice of you to do this. Your house is lovely.”

“Thank you.”

This was some kind of great conversation. I wondered how long we could keep it up, me paying her compliments, her thanking me. Before I could invite her to marvel at the fact we both had
a
’s in our names, I felt a warm hand brushing my arm, drawing me away from Claudia.

It was Rose. Her dress was dark green with a neckline that flattered her curves. She had green sparklies in her ears and around her wrist, and I was willing to bet that they were genuine emeralds. I’d thought her eyes were brown, but I now saw they had green highlights.

My eyes were sort of greenish. Maybe I should wear emeralds.

“I’ve just talked to the girls.” Rose’s voice was warm; she sounded happy. “They had such a good time this afternoon. Guy is thinking that we missed all the fun.”

“I had a great time too.” I got the EpiPen out of my purse and gave it back to her. “Finney’s okay, isn’t he?”

“He’s amazed at how many men can tie a tie. I’d never thought about it, but he’s only seen Guy do it, so he thought only Guy could do it. But Zack can, Jeremy can, and your father can. You have a very talented family on your hands.” Then she grew
sincere. “Darcy, I can’t begin to tell you how unusual today was for me. I may be overprotective, but I can’t help it. To walk into someone’s home for the first time, and then just two hours later to feel that Finney is going to both be happy and be completely safe, that doesn’t happen for me, it just doesn’t.”

This was nice to hear. It really was. I was almost embarrassed to be so pleased.

Outside the hospital I was never entirely sure if other women liked me. They probably did, but I was never sure. I still had, according to the nice mom-type therapist, too many layers of defensiveness and too much fear of rejection left over from growing up as an undiagnosed ADD tomboy.

Could it be different this time? The closeness, the sisterliness, that other women talked about . . . my mother and I’d had that in the end. Could I have it again, with this woman, the mother of the child whom my child loved?

I wanted to ask her about Finney. I wondered what his prognosis was. And how had she managed? Did she still have the perfect life described in the magazine article? Or had she had to come up with a plan B?

“Oh, Rose.” Claudia was suddenly with us, lifting her arm so that her hand was close to Rose, but not quite touching her. She had a pearl bracelet around her wrist. “Could you come with me? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

There was a murmured apology, a rustle of fabric, and I was suddenly alone.

I felt dismissed. I stood, feeling blank for a moment, then forced myself to move out of the foyer.

Both the living room and dining room had been cleared of furniture so that the caterers could set up a bar, tables, and chairs. As Claudia’s Web site had promised, the centerpieces were
camellias—those hardy autumn hybrids—and the linens on the tables were pale rose, the color of Cami’s dress.

The rooms felt empty. We weren’t the only people who were late. A side table just inside the dining room held the cards that would tell us which tables to sit at. Very few of the little envelopes had been claimed yet.

I went looking for Mike’s mother. She was hovering near the entry to the kitchen. We exchanged a vague and distant hug. As always, her clothes and hair smelled of cigarette smoke.

“Isn’t Claudia’s house lovely?” she exclaimed. “It’s so organized, so clean. Have you seen the towels in the powder room?”

Claudia was giving a party for eighty people. Even I would have put out fresh towels in the powder room . . . if I’d still had a powder room.

I looked around, longing to find something wrong. Having kids in private school and visiting the homes of the other families had taught me the snob’s way to judge a house—not by the grand foyer, the high ceilings, and three-car garage, but by the art.

Claudia didn’t have art; she had interior decoration. Her walls glowed with some subtle and no doubt wildly expensive paint job. Her windows were draped with folds and swags of subtle, shimmering fabrics. The only major art piece was a kimonolike garment mounted in a large pewter-toned frame.