The Good Life (33 page)

 

Upstairs, Ann got a glass of water from the bathroom and set it down on her bedside table. She climbed onto the king-sized bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She was shaking, freezing. She opened and closed her legs in a scissors motion in an effort to warm the cool sheets. But still she shook. She turned onto her side and drew her knees up to her chest. And then she was crying, tears spilling out of her eyes and moans pushing out of her mouth. “Oh God,” she said, flipping onto her back so her lungs could fill with air. “Oh God, help me.”

She was here when she should have been there—with her mother and her father, who had been repaid for their kindness and patience in raising her with little more than silence. When she had broken free of their vine-like grip on her, resentful of their interest in her teenage likes, dislikes, and decisions, Ann had been so heady in her new independence, just like Nate and Lauren were becoming now. Her mother would always accept Ann back into her life, almost on any terms, but her father would not, could not. The hurt she had inflicted over the years had settled into his head, his heart, all his organs, like an inoperable cancer. With his run-down brain, he might not remember some of the selfish tricks she had pulled over the years, but she knew he could feel it, her betrayal. And Ann, with all her money and influence, could do nothing to change that.

 

At the beach, Sally and Paula were full of questions. “You don’t look so good,” said Paula, after Jesse had sat down. “She didn’t take it well, did she?”

“Well,” said Jesse, taking a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag, “no one really wants to hear she has a drinking problem.”

“Do you think she has a drinking problem—really?” asked Sally, in the hushed tones of someone sharing a secret.

Jesse rubbed some lotion onto her arms. “I think she has a number of problems.”

Paula closed her book. “She is always so in control,” she said. “It was strange seeing her so completely out of sync last night.”

“Was she that far gone, Paula?” asked Sally. “Maybe we’re exaggerating here.”

“I don’t think so,” said Jesse, rubbing lotion onto her legs.

“Maybe I just don’t want to face it,” said Sally.

“Face what?” asked Paula.

“That our perfect friend is not so perfect after all.”

“You think Ann’s perfect?” asked Jesse, glancing at Sally.

“She has everything,” said Sally. “How can she not be perfectly happy?”

Jesse coated her lips with balm and then shrugged. “I think having everything breeds emptiness more often than happiness.”

“You’re kidding,” said Paula, sipping a Diet Coke.

“I’m completely serious,” said Jesse, sitting back in her chair and digging her toes into the sand.

Sally sat up in the chair, removed her sunglasses, and looked at Jesse. “You think Ann Barons’s life is empty?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I don’t know,” said Jesse, reaching for her hat.

Paula put her book in her beach bag and looked at Jesse. “Ann Barons has the fullest, most exciting life of anyone I know,” she said. “She has gorgeous clothes; she drives an incredible car; she travels the world, and she’s beautiful. She is the absolute envy of every woman in town, and you say her life is empty? Because she drank too much last night?”

Jesse dug her toes into the cooler sand beneath the surface. “I didn’t say I thought it was empty,” she said. “I said I didn’t know.”

“Well, she sure seems happy to me,” said Paula. “Every time I see her, she’s got something new to show me: a piece of jewelry, some fabulous Italian leather boots—hell, she’s got things before the fashion magazines come out with them. She’s been on the cutting edge of everything for as long as I’ve known her.”

“I think you’re right,” said Jesse. “Now you tell me what you think life on the edge is like.”

Sally thought for a moment. “Scary?” she guessed.

“That’s what I think, Sally,” said Jesse. “I think Ann’s scared out of her mind.”

 

Ann spent most of the day in her room, sleeping, crying, and drinking as much water as she could. She had no interest in joining her friends, even though it was a perfect beach day. Every window in the room was open, allowing in the warm breeze, allowing her overworked lungs to fill with fresh air. As a child, she’d always had difficulty breathing when she was upset. Ann could remember her mother telling her to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. Only then, after Ann had taken several deep breaths, would Eileen try to address the cause of her daughter’s tears. It didn’t matter how long it took; Eileen waited patiently while her daughter calmed herself enough to talk. And after they talked, Eileen had always sat down at the kitchen table with Ann for milk and cookies. They were homemade, as Eileen had never purchased store-made cookies, only the ingredients to make her own. Chocolate chip had been Ann’s favorite, but Eileen also made peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, molasses, sugar, and a variety of specialties at Christmastime. She had the time, Ann guessed, because she did little else. Oh, she volunteered at church and baked for the Women’s Auxiliary Bazaar and took the minutes at the first selectman’s meeting every month (which Eileen said was the best way to keep up with town politics), but, for the most part, she was home, attending to the needs of the house, the farm, and her husband and daughter. She had the time.

It was something Ann hadn’t thought about much. She’d been so busy over the years with various activities. She worked out every day. If she went to the gym, she had coffee or lunch out. She shopped several times a week. She had her weekly nail appointment and her monthly facial and pedicure. Of course, being who she was, Ann was asked to be on the board of a number of charitable organizations. And that was fine because all it really meant was a monthly meeting. Ann was thankful for that, as well as for her name on the charity literature found at benefits or in the waiting rooms of various professional buildings in town. She had no interest in what the Do-bees called “getting your hands dirty.” She could think of little more depressing than actually visiting terminal patients in the hospital or serving meals to the poor. Ann got up and walked into the bathroom. She blew her nose, drank a glass of water, and returned to bed. Again, she started to cry. She tried to focus on the good things in her life: she was a very healthy forty-five-year-old woman. She had a life most people could never have. She had a firm, young-looking body. She had a pretty face.

She blew her nose again.

She was an only child who had abandoned her parents. She had pulled away from her children because they pulled away first. She thought of her husband increasingly as a paycheck. She had everything she wanted and nothing she needed.

 

Ann was subdued at dinner. Sally, wanting to smooth over the awkwardness, chatted about their day. “It was one of my top ten beach days,” she said. “Not too hot, not too cold—just perfect. Wouldn’t you agree, Paula?”

“Yes,” said Paula. “It was lovely. I’m sorry you missed it, Ann.”

“There will be other beach days,” Ann said.

“Tomorrow,” said Paula. “Tomorrow is supposed to be perfect.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” said Sally. “It’s horrible to be sick, especially when you’re away from home.”

Ann nodded her head and took a sip of her Perrier. She looked at Jesse, who winked.

“This food tastes so good right now,” said Ann. “I’m hungry.”

“Just go slowly,” said Paula. “A little is better than a lot.”

Ann smiled at her. “I think I’ve said that to you a few times.”

“I’m listening,” said Paula. “I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m listening.”

“Me too,” said Ann. “Me too.”

They talked for several minutes about their children: braces, behavior, curfews, college applications, and homework. All the while, Ann ate her dinner, nourishing her body. When she had finished everything on her plate, she sat back, satisfied. A minute later, she pushed her chair out from under the table and stood. “I think I’m about ready to head back,” she said. “I’m tired.”

“Of course you are,” said Sally. “We’ll come with you, dear.”

Ann shook her head. “It’s early,” she said, looking at her watch. “Stay and talk. I’m going to get back into bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jesse.

“Positive,” said Ann. “You’re on vacation, girls. Enjoy yourselves. Order dessert.” Paula grinned. Ann smiled and then turned her back on her friends and walked to the bar. There, she paid for the meal, as well as any other expenses her friends might incur in her absence. Afterward, she made her way to the maître d’ and, after a brief exchange of words, hugged him. And then she walked along the cement path to home.

C
HAPTER
20

N
o one greeted Ann when she got home, which was not unusual. She walked into the empty kitchen from the garage and hung her red leather coat on a wall peg. Strangely, there was no sign of her mother anywhere. And while she was somewhat relieved not to see Eileen stooped, poised to take something out of the oven, Ann was surprised because there was nothing
in
the oven, at least nothing she could smell. She looked at her watch. At five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, there was always something in the oven. Ann crossed the kitchen and opened the oven door. It was cold and vacant. Puzzled, Ann spun around and surveyed the room. Nothing on the table and nothing on the island or counters. Her kitchen was completely void of any sign of activity. It hadn’t looked this sterile since the day they moved in. It was as if Ann had stumbled upon a preserved archaeological site. She washed her hands in the sink, destroying the integrity of the dig.

She left the kitchen and walked down the back hallway to Mike’s office. His desk light was on, as was his computer, but his desk was bare: no file folders, no legal pads, no agenda. It was inconceivable that he hadn’t worked that day. Normally, he worked at least two hours on Sundays. Ann walked from Mike’s office up the stairs to her bedroom. “Mike?” she called. No response. She walked to the other end of the hall, past Nate’s closed door to Lauren’s room. She knocked and was met with silence. Slowly, she turned the knob, opening the door just enough to put her head through the crack. The first thing Ann saw was a stack of schoolbooks sitting on Lauren’s desk. The next thing she noticed was Lauren’s carpet, all of it. There was absolutely nothing on the floor: no clothes, no papers, no clutter of any kind. Ann pushed the door open and walked in. Lauren’s bed was made and her bureau drawers were completely closed. Ann peeked around the corner into the bathroom. The countertop—usually covered with hair products and accessories and makeup—was bare. Lauren’s pink bath towel was hung up properly on its rack. Ann reached out to touch it; it was damp. Suddenly not wanting to get caught, Ann scurried out of Lauren’s room and down the hall to Nate’s. She put her ear to the door and heard no music. She knocked. Again, there was no response. Ann opened the door ever so slightly and found the familiar sight of Nate’s belongings scattered about the room. His clothes, not on the floor, lay on the end of his bed and across his desk chair. Textbooks, notebooks, a legal pad, and a Ward Just war novel covered the area rug next to his bed. The tiny red lights on Nate’s music system silently danced. Ann looked at Nate’s bed, which looked like it had been occupied recently. When Ann bent down to touch it, however, there was no hint of human warmth. Feeling very alone, Ann quickly walked out of Nate’s room and closed the door behind her. She hurried back down the hall and the stairs and into the kitchen, where the only sign of life, still, was the cool fluorescent light above the sink. Bewildered and oddly nervous, Ann looked out the bay window at the guesthouse. Its windows were warmly aglow with yellow light. Ann grabbed her coat from the peg, walked out of the house and jogged down the path. She knocked on the front door of the guesthouse and Eileen answered. “Hello,” said Eileen, smiling and stepping aside to let Ann pass. “We were just talking about you.”

“Where is everyone?” asked Ann, taking off her coat.

“In the living room,” said Eileen. “We decided to play Monopoly and order pizza. It was Lauren’s idea.”

Ann turned the corner to the living room and found Mike, Lauren, Nate, and Sam sitting on the couch and in chairs pulled up to the large coffee table in the middle of the room. When Ann walked in, they all looked up. Nate, Ann noticed, returned his attention almost immediately to the board, while Mike stood to greet his wife. “Hello there,” he said, approaching her and then kissing her on the cheek. “Good trip?”

“Yes,” said Ann, wrapping her arms around his waist in an uncharacteristic display of affection in front of her children. “I’m exhausted.”

“It sounds like you had a good time, then.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” asked Eileen. “We’re all having hot chocolate.”

“That sounds great,” said Ann.

“You want hot chocolate?” asked Nate. “Gran makes it with whole milk, Mom. I’d guess one mug holds your calorie intake for the day.” Saying nothing, Ann followed her mother into the kitchen.

“Just have some, Mom,” called Lauren after them. “It’s awesome.”

“Is anyone interested in playing this game we have in front of us?” asked Sam.

“I am, Gramps,” said Nate, scooping the dice from the board and handing them to Sam. “It’s your turn.”

Sam took the dice from Nate and started to put them in his mouth. “No, Gramps,” said Nate calmly. “They’re not food.”

Sam lowered his hand and examined the dice. “I thought we were eating these beforehand,” he said. “The other day, I guess it was.”

Nate took the bowl of popcorn from the side table and showed it to his grandfather. “This,” said Nate, “is what we’re eating, Gramps. It’s popcorn. Would you like some?”

Sam put his hand in the bowl and grabbed the last fistful. Instead of putting the popcorn in his mouth, however, he threw the kernels onto the game board. Nate picked up the pieces of popcorn and ate them. “I’ll roll for us, Gramps,” said Nate, picking up the dice and tossing them. “Lucky number seven. That’s free parking. Yes!”

In the kitchen, Ann took a sip of her hot chocolate. She winced, feeling the fat in the milk cling to her throat. “So,” she said. “How did all of this come about? I was worried when I found no one home.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Eileen, tying her apron at the small of her back. “I wanted to leave a note and the others told me I was being foolish. They said you would certainly find us.”

“After searching the house, yes,” said Ann.

“Well, as I said, this was Lauren’s idea,” said Gran, pouring oil into the large pot on the stove. “She said she wanted to play games. She said the basement cupboard was full of games that were almost brand new. They were birthday presents or Christmas presents that were never played because you and Mike were always too busy to play.”

“I don’t remember being asked to play,” said Ann defensively.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Gran. “We all wanted to play tonight.”

“Even Mike?”

Eileen poured some corn kernels into the heating oil. “I cut him a deal,” she said, lowering her voice. “I told him I’d make lasagna for him tomorrow if he played with us and ate pizza tonight.”

Ann sipped her drink. “He likes lasagna?’

“Loves it,” said Eileen, shaking the pot. “I remember making it for him, years ago, and how he raved about it. I gave you my recipe, didn’t I?”

“I’m sure you did,” said Ann.

The kernels popped slowly at first, then furiously. Ann watched her mother move the pot across the burner. As soon as the popping slowed, Eileen moved the pot away from the heat. “There,” she said, lifting the lid. “Doesn’t that look good?”

“Delicious,” said Ann, knowing she wouldn’t eat any of it. The oil alone had enough fat to turn her stomach.

“All we need now is some butter and salt and away we go,” said Eileen, dumping the popcorn into a bowl and then halving a stick of butter into the hot pan, where she swirled it around until it melted. She poured the liquid butter over the popcorn and then grabbed the salt shaker. Ten shakes later, she tasted it and smiled. “I don’t know how people eat popcorn without butter and salt,” said Eileen, mixing the contents of the bowl with her hands. “So, you had a good trip?”

“I did,” said Ann. “What were you all up to here?”

“Not too much,” said Eileen, removing the apron and then walking out of the kitchen with the popcorn. She decided not to tell Ann about the drama of the previous morning, mostly because it didn’t warrant the attention it received in the first place. Sam, of course, had no idea he started anything, and everyone else seemed to have forgotten it happened. “Who wants popcorn?” she asked when she arrived at the table.

“I do,” said Nate, holding out his hand for the bowl. “This stuff, Gran, is better than the popcorn at the movies.”

“It’s the butter,” said Eileen, briefly resting her hand on Nate’s head.

Feeling shy, Ann lingered in the doorway until her mother looked back and said, “Ann, come join us.” Ann stood next to the couch. “You can’t play from there,” said Eileen. “You’re too far away from the board.”

“That’s okay,” said Ann. “I’ll just watch.” No one seemed surprised or disappointed with Ann’s answer and the play resumed. Even Mike, who was the banker, appeared absorbed in the game. Ann watched him, noticing he treated the colorful play money with reverence, as if it were real. He stacked the bills before he handed them out, placing the large bills on the bottom and the small bills on top. It was how he placed money in his wallet, the ones in the front and the fifties in the back. Ann, who shoved money into her wallet usually without looking at it, had once asked Mike about his system. He told her he liked to have the ones in the front where they were easily accessible for small purchases and tips, and he liked to have the fifties in the back so he could reach for one whenever he needed it without searching through his bills. He could pay for a two-dollar item or a forty-five-dollar item without even looking at his wallet. It was a time-saving convenience, he told his wife. Ann’s idea of saving time was skipping meals, which, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with how she did or didn’t organize her money. All she really cared about was having whatever amount she needed readily available. The plastic in her wallet took care of that.

Her husband was a handsome man, Ann again realized as she studied him from the short distance between them. His full head of attractively graying black hair was a source of vanity for him, especially since many of his friends were losing theirs. Paula’s husband was just about bald. Mike had a well-defined angular chin that reminded Ann of the old movie stars like Rock Hudson and Cary Grant. Like them, Mike was always clean shaven, even on the weekends. He thought men with facial hair were lazy. His blue eyes were filled with color, intensity, energy, and light. When he looked at Ann, there was absolutely no doubt he was looking at her, giving her his complete attention. His gaze could be too intense, actually, and Ann had sometimes wondered what it would be like to give a report or present an argument to a man with that kind of electricity coming from his eyes. He was not looking at her now, though, apparently unaware of her scrutiny. Instead, his attention was focused on Lauren, who had just rolled an improbable three to land on Park Place, which, if she could find the cash, would give her a valuable monopoly. He grinned at her good fortune. Meeting his happy eyes, she grinned back, his grin. Her husband and her daughter were not in the habit of interacting much with each other, and it pleased Ann to witness this. Lauren had his thick hair, as well as a softer, more feminine version of his chin. And like him, she was attracted to and fueled by success.

The doorbell rang and Nate jumped out of his chair. “I’ll get it!” he called on the way to the door.

“There’s some money on the kitchen counter,” shouted Eileen, getting up to follow him.

“Okay,” said Nate, passing the kitchen.

Eileen rushed up behind him in the hallway. “Honey, you forgot the money.”

“That’s okay, Gran,” Nate said in a whisper. He took his wallet out of his pocket, paid the deliveryman, and took the two warm boxes from his outstretched arms.

“Nate,” said Eileen gently, putting her hand on her grandson’s shoulder. “I wanted to pay for the pizza. That was part of the deal.”

“It’s my treat,” said Nate, smiling. He carried the boxes into the living room, where Mike and Lauren were picking up the game. Ann sat down on the couch, next to her father.

“What do you have there, my boy?” Sam asked. “A school project?”

“A dinner project,” said Nate. “And you’re my guinea pig.” Sam frowned. Nate set the boxes down on the coffee table, and then whispered in his grandfather’s ear, “You’ll love this. I got extra cheese and sausage, just for you.”

“That’s my boy,” said Sam, rubbing his hands together.

Eileen appeared from the kitchen with a salad bowl full of colorful greens and set it down on the coffee table next to the pizza.

“You promised not to fuss, Gran,” said Lauren.

“And I didn’t,” she said. “I knew you and your brother would be heartbroken without some kind of vegetable.”

“Beyond heartbroken,” said Nate.

“Now all we need are plates,” said Eileen, turning to go back to the kitchen.

“Stay right there,” said Lauren, reaching behind her for a brown paper bag. Inside were heavy-duty paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils. She quickly interpreted the surprised expression on her grandmother’s face. “One night,” she said. “We can be wasteful for one night. And no dishes! Sit down and eat, Gran.”

Resigned, Eileen sat back down in her chair, next to the couch, next to Ann, whose silence was becoming noticeable. “Are you okay?” Eileen asked her daughter softly, putting her hand on Ann’s knee.

“I’m fine, Mom,” said Ann. “Just a bit tired.”

“Eat something, honey,” said Eileen. “I always feel better with a little something in my stomach.”

“I will,” said Ann, even though she wouldn’t touch the pizza. No one else seemed to notice Ann, however. They all drew large slices of sausage-and-mozzarella-laden pizza from the boxes and commented, again and again, at how fabulous it tasted. Even Eileen, who politely cut her slice into bite-size pieces with her plastic fork and knife, remarked on its surprising goodness. She hadn’t had pizza in years. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time they’d eaten it. Sam was the one who reminded her they’d eaten it at an Italian roadhouse on their way from Pennsylvania to Florida, when Eileen was pregnant with Ann.