The Concealers (15 page)

Katherine thought of the changing demographics of America, the country she loved, and the stark contrast between Marion, a rural community, ninety-seven percent white, and the cultural diversity of the city of more than eight million people that she had just left that morning, which she also loved. She turned onto North Main Street, drove past the elementary school on her left, and soon turned right, pulling into the driveway leading to the large white two-story wood frame house with the country porch, a house her great-grandfather had built, where her grandfather lived, where her mother was raised and still came home to, exhausted after taking care of patients at the hospital, where Katherine had grown up. The place she still thought of, and would always think of, as home.

The last time she'd seen her college roommate, Marcia had left Preston, discovered she was pregnant, and spent the whole visit unloading on her best friend.

“Absolutely. You have to come over. Can you stay a couple of days?”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything.”

“I'm hungry.”

“I'll feed you. How long before you can get here?”

“I'm in your lobby now,” Ann said. “Talk to the concierge, I'm handing him my cell phone.”

Marcia asked the concierge to send Ann up, and in a minute was at the door waiting for her with a big hug. While Marcia called the Trump Grill and ordered lunch, Ann was busy talking to the airline about changing her return flight to the next day. Soon their lunch arrived. They moved to the stools at the marble countertop, ate lunch, and drank wine, and Marcia listened to Ann's colorful description of the speakers and interactive exercises at the editor's conference.

After an hour or so, Marcia could see and hear from the monitor on the counter that P.J. was starting to wake up.

“I'll introduce you to His Majesty in a moment,” Marcia said. “I'd like to make him presentable first.”

Marcia went into P.J.'s room, cuddled with her son, changed his diaper, and brought him out with considerable fanfare and presented him to Ann, who took him in her arms.

“Look at him. Those eyes. Wow. Marcia.”

“I agree,” Marcia said, taking him back and placing him gently in his bouncer with wheels. “He's a bit wobbly, but he'll be walking soon. We've baby proofed the whole condo. Our nanny will be here in half an hour to take him to the park.”

Marcia and Ann sat on the floor and played with P.J. for a while.

“How's his hearing coming?” Ann asked.

“It's not. That's one of the five thousand things I want to talk to you about before Preston comes home. You'll have to keep extending your flight.”

“Tell me.”

“Remember our phone conversation about the nature of P.J.'s loss, the architecture issue, and the Clarke Schools for Hearing and Speech?”

“Of course.”

“P.J. needs hearing aids. The window is about twelve to fourteen months. Preston loves P.J., but he doesn't get it. He thinks because P.J. hears certain sounds, everything will work out—that P.J. just needs time for his hearing to develop—and the pediatrician he consulted for a second opinion agrees with him.”

“It's good that P.J. hears certain sounds, right?” Ann asked.

“Sure. But the audiologist has tested P.J. His loss is moderate at certain frequencies and severe at others. Even though he hears sounds, he's not hearing all the letters. It's gibberish. And it's harmful.” Marcia felt a sense of dark despair, like the sky had suddenly been overtaken with heavy black clouds blocking out all the light. She reached for a box of tissues. “I'm sorry, enough of this.”

“How are you and Preston doing—apart from the hearing stuff?” Ann asked, curling up on the couch, her legs and feet beneath her.

Marcia followed her to the couch. “Do you remember when we talked at your house last year and I told you about my conversation with my dad when my favorite doll broke?”

“Yeah—well, not word for word, but the idea was he could either fix it or get you a new one . . . ”

“That's right,” Marcia said. “If he fixed it, it wouldn't be perfect, and if he got me a new one, it wouldn't be my favorite.”

“And if I remember correctly, you said that's the way you felt about Preston, that deep down he was a good man, but you couldn't wait forever for that to surface. You said you'd lose yourself in the process.”

“Right. It's complicated. Preston's father was not a good guy. He was always chasing rainbows, waiting for the next big deal—to make up the losses from the last one—and that's not all he chased. He wasn't the most attentive father either. Finally Preston's mother had enough of the squandering and womanizing and divorced him. Preston was just fifteen at the time. He's always been scared that he, too, would be a failure.”

“I thought his business problems were turning around.”

“It looks that way. I never know, but that's another problem.”

“I'm missing something,” Ann said.

Marcia got up, walked to the credenza, and poured herself bourbon, neat. She looked at Ann, who shook her head and held up her half-filled wine glass. Marcia looked out the window to the park, sighed, and returned to the couch.

“He has a daughter.”

“
What?
”

“He recently found out that he's the father of a twenty-three-year old. Her name is Katherine; she lives in New York. Just finished her graduate studies and is about to begin her career as a reporter.”

They both sat quietly for a few moments, staring at each other. Then Marcia looked down and ran her foot across the soft carpet.

Ann broke the silence. “Has he met her?”

“Yes, we both have. Preston had lunch with her not long ago, and the three of us had dinner together across the street at Armani's last Thursday.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes. She's smart and thoughtful,” Marcia said, feeling comfort in their symmetrical exchanges and her ability to read the analogical codes. “This has been difficult for her, too. She'd been told by her mother that her father was killed in the Air Force before she was born. There was a man killed in the Air Force—her mother's boyfriend—but, recently, Katherine discovered that he was not her father, and that Preston was,” Marcia said in a soft, distant voice.

“How's Preston doing with all of this?”

“He loves it. He's got a new sales campaign.”

“What does that mean?”

“He's got to win her over—going all out.”

“And you're pissed.”

“I don't know what I am anymore. Preston didn't ask for this. He was twenty-three, for God's sake. He never knew . . . until the girl's mother called him out of the blue about a month ago. I thought he handled it pretty well for the most part.”

“So you're not upset?”

“I'd like not to be. Okay, I am upset. But I'm not . . . pissed. I'm okay with his having a daughter, and, in a way, I admire his reaching out to her. She needs a father. And she's a good kid. My problem is with Preston, his inability to truly understand P.J.'s impairment. Passive-aggressive procrastination. Maybe even embarrassment. He'll use his newfound daughter as a welcome distraction. I've already seen him pulling away from me and P.J., and I hate it.”

“Embarrassment?”

“I'm not sure, but he's always wanted a son. Now he sees imperfection in the mirror.”

“Sounds like a psychology paper. Does he know you feel that way?”

“I haven't told him in so many words. He knows I'm upset. And it's likely to be fueling his fears about my leaving him again. He's never really gotten over that. And you know what? I may do it. I don't know.”

“How long has that been going on—your thinking about leaving him?”

“If you're asking whether I started this after I found out about Katherine, the answer is no. Everything was going well when I was pregnant. Preston was attentive; his business was getting back on track; he was talking with the Collectibles—you know that group of Joe Hart's friends I told you about—and he seemed headed back to the Preston I fell in love with.”

“That sound like a, Yes.”

“No.”

“Okay, so what was the trigger? P.J.'s hearing?”

“Probably. His lack of response . . . but even before that. It's a pattern. He didn't follow through with Joe's friends. He and I see his commitment to Joe differently.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which opened and a pleasant-looking woman walked in.

“This is Nadine, our nanny. We love her to death. Nadine, this is my dear friend, Ann.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Ann,” Nadine said with a Jamaican accent, smiling at them both and picking up P.J. “How's my little man today? Are you ready for a stroll in the park?”

They all laughed when P.J. thrust his arms in the air and smiled.

“He responds readily to smiles and laughter,” Marcia explained to Ann. “C'mon, Ann, let's get you settled in the guest room while P.J. and Nadine go out and get some fresh air.”

P.J. and Ann were asleep when Preston came home and found Marcia sitting on the couch, staring at the bookcase.

“Ann's in the guest bedroom, Preston. Her conference ended early and she came over to talk—she's leaving in the morning.”

“That's fine. I'm sure you two have had a good time. How's she doing?”

“Very well. Her newsletter has really taken off.”

“Great.”

Preston looked in on P.J. for a minute and then, back in the living room and seeing Marcia's glass of wine, poured himself a scotch, and sat down in one of the leather wingback chairs across from the couch.

“Have you had dinner?” Marcia asked.

“Yeah. At the club.”

“We need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“I'm serious. This can't wait.”

“What can't wait?”

“Your son.”

“How much wine have you had?”

“Not enough. It's not the wine. I'm going to have P.J. fitted with hearing aids as soon as the audiologist can do it.”

“We've been through this,” Preston said.

“This is important to P.J. and to me. My way can't hurt him. Your failure to see the need—or your procrastination—can.”

“But P.J.
is
hearing. You know what my pediatrician says. These are honest differences of viewpoint.”

“I don't care about honest differences of viewpoint anymore. There's the big D school of thought, too. Is that what you want?”

“I'm just saying give it a few more months,” Preston asked.

“I'm not doing that, Preston. I'm having him fitted with bilateral aids as soon as possible.”

“I thought we were a team on this,” Preston said.

“Then I'm resigning from the team.”

“What does that mean?”

“You figure it out. I'm going to bed.”

“Hi, Grandpa,” Katherine shouted, throwing her arms around him.

“Hi, Kitten,” Adrian said, hugging her long and hard.

“I've missed you so much,” Katherine said. She loved hearing him call her Kitten, the only one who ever did so. Katherine let Hailey out of the SUV to run. Hailey ran to the open backyard and beyond.

Katherine walked with her grandfather around the house to the back porch, talking all the way, and they sat down in a pair of old wooden rockers. She saw Hailey way up on the hill, but one call was all it took to bring the dog running back, flat out toward Katherine's voice.

“Your mom will be home soon. She's called three times already. Let me help you with your stuff.”

“Just leave it all there, Grandpa. We'll get it later.”

Joined by Hailey, they walked back up the steps and into the hallway leading to the kitchen on the right and the living room to the left.

“Hungry?” Adrian asked.

“Not really. Guess what, Grandpa?” It's a game they used to play when Katherine was a child.

“What?” Adrian replied.

“On the way home, I had lunch at the Seneca Lodge.”

“Well, I'll be. Did you see 'em? Jim? Gloria?”

“I saw them both. They send you their regards.” She could see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Did you play it?”

“Luckily, I had a nickel.”

“How's the track?”

“They said it's fine. I was in such a hurry to get here, I didn't have time to see for myself,” she explained. “Grandpa, I want to go up to my room, rest for a while. You think that would be okay?”

“Of course. You've had a long day—coming all the way from New York City. You go ahead,” he said, giving her a kiss on her forehead.

With Hailey at her side, Katherine climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor, passed her mother's room and her grandfather's room, and continued down the hall and through the door on the right. She marveled at the size of the house, how clean it was, the smell and warmth of the wooden floors, the wooden stairs, and the wooden railings. She thought about the 650-square-foot apartment she'd occupied in the city the past ten months, and the two flights of steel stairs she had to climb, and the noise, and the dirt. She reckoned a house like this would cost at least five million dollars in Manhattan—if you could find one.

When she strolled into her bedroom, she felt transported in time, back to another world. She ran her hand up and down the smooth, carved spirals of the high, four-poster, antique mahogany bed, its laced-trimmed white duvet and matching dust ruffle still in place, and the antique dresser with square mirror nearby.

Katherine sauntered over to her old desk, sat down on the straight chair, and stared at the bare top. The more she looked, the wavier the desktop became. Soon the whole room was uneven and blurry. She knew something was missing from the desk—a framed photo that had been there her entire life. Her mother must have removed it. She knew her migraine would pass. What she didn't know was whether what caused it would ever go away.

She rose from the chair slowly and made her way to the bed, deciding it was time for a nap. Hailey jumped up on the bed and snuggled up to Katherine, still licking her face. Katherine was asleep in less than a minute.

It seemed to Beth that the twenty-two-minute drive from Rochester General to Marion had taken hours. As she pulled into the driveway, she was excited to see that her daughter was finally home. Beth looked over at the brand-new SUV, filled to the brim, and wondered momentarily how her daughter had been able to afford such luxury. She ran into the house and said hello to her dad, who pointed upstairs. A minute later, Beth found her daughter stretched out on top of the bed, dead to the world. She knew Katherine was exhausted and decided to let her sleep.

Beth went downstairs and found Adrian.

“How's she doing? How does she look to you? What did she say? Did she seem happy?”

“She's fine. Let her rest,” he said. “Let's eat.”

“You go ahead. I'll wait.”

Katherine opened her eyes, looked at her watch, and looked again, not believing she'd slept for three hours. She looked out the window, saw her mother's car, and bounded out of the room and down the stairs. Katherine found her mother getting up from her favorite chair in the living room, and moving to greet her with open arms.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Honey. I didn't want to wake you. You must be hungry.”

“I can't believe I slept that long.”

“Pancakes?”

“How'd you know?”

They gabbed in the kitchen while Beth made fresh coffee and cooked blueberry pancakes and bacon. Katherine described her day in detail—packing her belongings, the drive, and the stop at the Seneca Lodge.

“Is that a rental car?”

“It's mine. Preston insisted on giving it to me. Tried to talk him out of it, but Casey, his CFO, persuaded me to take it.”

“I need a father like that.”

“No, you don't. You have the best father in the world.”

“I heard that, Kitten,” Adrian shouted from his den.

After dinner, Katherine got her suitcase and a few other items, figuring she'd tackle the rest tomorrow, carried them to her bedroom, and joined her mother in the living room.

“What time do you have to leave for work?” Katherine asked.

“I moved some things around, took tomorrow off,” Beth said. “Thought you might need a hand.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

That evening things were like always—sort of. Beth and Katherine talked into the night, covered all the ground—everything except the two most contentious issues. Katherine saw the lines in her mother's face, how tired she was, and thought it better to deal with all that after her mother had a chance to rest.