The History of Us (22 page)

They didn’t go far, certainly less than a mile. Crossing a tree-lined street Claire dug in her bag again—watch for cars! Theo thought—and this time she pulled out keys. She walked up a flight of concrete stairs that led to a house, and when she
reached the door she unlocked it. The house looked ordinary, or at least ordinary for Cincinnati, where many houses were a hundred years old and three stories tall. This house didn’t even have the flourishes of their house—no columns or stained-glass windows. It was a skinny white house with a brown front door. Ordinary. But how could it be? None of this was ordinary. Claire had closed the door behind her. After standing there for a long, uncertain moment, Theo climbed the stairs, too. They were steep. She stood panting at the front door, which was half window. She was going to rap on the glass, as soon as she caught her breath. In the meantime she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through it.

The foyer was much smaller than in their house, just a space big enough for the door, the bottom of the staircase, the cabinet Theo recognized as being from IKEA. Claire’s bag was on top of it. As Theo stared, looking for some explanatory detail, Claire suddenly appeared through one of the two doorways off the foyer. She didn’t notice Theo, engaged in flipping through the mail in her hand. It was all so normal, and that normality was utterly unnerving. Theo might have been less surprised to see cages full of imprisoned girls. If there had been any sign that Claire didn’t want to be where she was, that Theo could have handled. She could have charged in, demanded explanations, rescued or scolded or comforted, whatever it was that needed to be done. Her sister had unlocked the door of this house, gone inside, put down her bag, looked through the mail. What rescue or remonstrance or comfort could Theo offer against the ordinariness of that?

There was no doorbell, so Theo knocked—rap, rap, rap—on the front door’s window. Claire looked up from the mail, and
Theo saw recognition dawn on her sister’s face. Her expression morphed from surprise to worry to what? What did that look mean? Claire opened the door. “Hi, Theo,” she said.

“Hi,” Theo said. My God, this woman was a total stranger.

“How did you know?” the stranger asked.

“How did I know what?”

“Where to find me.”

“I saw you. I saw you in Hyde Park Square. That’s why I called. Then I followed you.”

The woman’s eyes welled up, and she was Claire again, and Theo was her big sister. That was who she was. Claire bit her bottom lip and released it. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Oh, Claire.” Theo stepped inside, shut the door, and put her arms around her sister. “Claire bear, what is happening? Is it something awful? Are you sick? Are you pregnant? Are you a drug addict? What are you doing here?”

Claire shook her head against Theo’s shoulder. “I’m not sick,” she said. “I’m not pregnant. I’m not a drug addict.” She stepped back, pressing a knuckle to each of her eyes and then her nose. She sniffed. “I’m fine. I just didn’t go.”

“You didn’t go at all?”

“I went through security and waited awhile, and then I came back out and went home.”

“You didn’t go home. You came here.” Theo walked into the living room, where everything from the couches to the silver picture frames seemed to be from Pottery Barn. “Where is here?”

“Do Eloise and Josh know?”

Theo shook her head.

“Can you wait to tell them?”

“Wait for what?”

“For me to do it.”

“When will that be? Looks like we might all have waited forever if I hadn’t spotted you. And I still don’t know what exactly you plan to tell. Why are you here? What is going on?”

“I just wanted to give it time. To be sure. I knew how disappointed you’d all be.”

“Give what time?”

Claire, already so upright, managed to find some more length in her spine. “I fell in love.”

“Are you serious? With who? Someone at the ballet?”

“No, though I met him there. He was at a fund-raiser a few months ago. He’s a donor.”

“A donor? So he has money? How old is this guy?”

“He’s forty-five.”

“Forty-five? Are you kidding me? And this is his house? That’s his car?”

“This is our house,” Claire said. “It’s a rental.”

“Forty-five!” Theo said again. “What does he do?”

“He’s a developer.”

“Oh my God. A developer?”

Claire seemed amused. “Would you be less upset if he had a different job?”

“Well, Jesus, Claire. It’s just bizarre. At least if he was a ballet master or something this would make more sense. You can’t even claim to understand each other. You can’t say this is about your respect for what he does.”

“It’s not bizarre,” she said quietly. “I think you’d like him. He’s very into local history.”

“I feel sick,” Theo said. “What about your life?”

“I’m living it.”

“Here? With a forty-five-year-old rich guy? I mean, what do you do all day, sit around perfuming yourself like a concubine?”

“It’s not like that. We fell in love. You have to understand that, okay? And I wasn’t really sure that going to New York was the life I wanted, but none of you wanted to hear that so I didn’t tell you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re all so invested in me being a dancer.”

“Because
you
were invested in it!”

“But I never chose it, don’t you understand that? It’s this all-consuming life. Your whole life is dance. But I never chose it. It just happened to me, and it was about to take over completely. So when Gary had to get his own place, I realized I didn’t want to go to New York. I wanted to stay here with him.”

“His own place?”

“He’s married. He’s separated. Now.”

“You mean you were involved before . . . you mean he left his wife for you?”

Claire flushed, then tightened her jaw, looked Theo in the eye. She nodded.

“You’re a mistress?”

“We’re going to get married. I’m his fiancée.”

What made Theo the angriest was the pride in Claire’s voice as she said it. “The fuck you are,” Theo said. She hated the challenging expression on Claire’s face. She’d had no idea she could hate any look of Claire’s this much. Without a word her sister raised her left hand with the back toward Theo. Sure enough, on her finger was a ring. A clichéd princess-cut diamond, of a pretty good size. Theo blanched. She took a step back like Claire had raised her hand to hit her, and something in Theo’s face must
have tapped Claire’s reservoir of guilt, because her sister’s expression softened.

“I’m so sorry I’ve upset you,” Claire said. “I didn’t do this right, I know. But this is how I had to do it.”

Theo shook her head. “I just don’t understand.”

Claire grabbed her hand. “I know I might be making the biggest mistake of my life,” she said. “But that’s okay. Let that be my regret, not yours.”

Theo tried not to reject this request without considering it. She really did. She withdrew her hand, but slowly. “Did you quit the company?”

Claire winced. “Not exactly. But I’m probably going to.”

“I hope you told them something. I hope you didn’t just not show up.”

“No, of course not,” Claire said, which Theo found hilarious.
Of course not
. “I said I had a family emergency.”

“I hope you didn’t kill one of us off.”

Claire pressed her lips together, the color in her cheeks deepening.

“You did, didn’t you? You killed one of us.”

“No, I didn’t! I said illness.”

“Illness? What illness?”

Claire sighed. “I said my aunt had breast cancer.”

“Oh, God, Claire. That’s like wishing it on her.”

“No, it’s not! And I didn’t say it was Eloise. I didn’t specify.”

“If she gets breast cancer you’re going to feel like you gave it to her.”

“Jesus, Theo. Are you hoping that will happen? Do you need that badly to say ‘I told you so’?”

Was that what Claire really thought of her? Theo remembered
her little sister at four, looking at her with her big, serious eyes. “When Aunt Eloise dies, will you be my mommy?” she’d asked.

“Did they know you had a dead mother?” Theo asked now. “Because you could have just told them your mother died and failed to mention the year. A dead mother’s pretty bad. You might as well get some mileage out of it.”

“Like you?”

“Excuse me?” Claire walked across the room but Theo followed. “I’m sorry, how do I get mileage out of it? I’d really like to know.” Claire just shook her head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Theo was out the door and down the street in a panting, fast-walking rage. Her feet slapped the pavement. Her hands were fists. Her heart was furious and kept a pace that proved it. Goddamn that little bitch. And then, as that thought reverberated and she realized that never, ever would she have imagined she’d use those words about Claire, Theo knew she was about to cry. She ducked into an alley and jogged toward the back, where she propped herself on a brick wall and fought the tears. Though she told herself she was angry, not sad, her throat wouldn’t stop its stupid lumping. Her eyes burned. Why couldn’t her body do what she told it to? The body should be subject to the mind. In all things. In all things. In
all things,
goddammit. She said this aloud like a mantra until the crying lost its grip on her. Then she strolled out of the alley with an air of casual purpose and went back to the coffee shop. No one had stolen her laptop, so that was something to be thankful for. She still hadn’t gotten that refill, and decided instead to try one of the complicated confections listed on the board. Why not a little caramel? Why not whole milk? While she waited for the steaming and the stirring
to end she stood next to an empty table and flipped through the day-old copy of
The New York Times
sitting there. Isn’t that interesting, she thought, without knowing quite what she was thinking it about.

Her drink was ready, so she accepted it with a smile and a thanks. She collected her things and went back outside. It was a pleasant day, really, not too hot. She took an unguarded sip of coffee and burned the hell out of her tongue, and that was just one thing too many. Before she knew it she’d thrown the cup to the ground. At her feet a milky brown splash sent out its runners in all directions. “Oh no,” a voice said, and she realized an older woman was sitting at an outdoor table, watching her.

“I dropped it,” Theo said.

“Too bad,” the woman said. “Did you burn yourself?”

Theo shook her head without speaking, because to open her mouth would be to sob. She picked up the cup like a good girl and threw it in the trash. She started walking fast, then faster, until she was running, and when she finally reached her car, panting and sweaty, she leapt inside like a getaway artist, pulling out so fast she made the tires squeal.

Y
ou look happy,” Eloise said when Josh walked into the kitchen
after work, and Josh said, “I
am
happy.” He loosened his tie, feeling not like a cliché of a businessman home from a good day’s work at the office but like an actual businessman.

“How about I fix us a celebratory drink and you can tell me what there is to celebrate?” She stood on tiptoes to open the liquor cabinet, then stared up into it, hands on her hips. “It’s good gin and tonic weather,” she said.

“That sounds great,” Josh said. He reached up past her to lift down the gin.

She turned with a smile. “I was just going to ask you to do that.”

He tapped his temple with a finger. “Psychic,” he said. He went to the fridge and hunted through the fruit drawer until, at the very back, he found a slightly dented lime. He grabbed a bottle of tonic and, on the way back to the counter, passed Eloise headed to the fridge with two glasses needing ice. His current mood made him take an exuberant pleasure in their teamwork. It was nice to understand another person, and to feel understood, even in this small and particular way.

Eloise mixed the drinks, handed him one glass and lifted the other. “Here’s to—” She cocked her head and thought. “Whatever you haven’t told me yet,” she said.

“Here’s to that,” Josh said, and they clinked glasses and each took a healthy swallow. She’d made the drinks strong. “Wow,” he said. “It’s a gin and gin,” and she laughed. After this, neither one of them was likely to be in any state to cook dinner. They should order pizza. He’d offer to pay. “Are you ready for this?” he said.

“Hang on,” she said and took another sip. “Go.”

“I got a really big client today.”

“You did?”

“All by myself.” He gestured at himself. “In my business suit.”

Eloise laughed, then brought her hand up to the one holding her glass and lightly applauded. “Am I still allowed to say I’m proud of you?”

“By all means,” Josh said, grinning. “Knock yourself out.”

“I’m proud of you, then.”

“Aw, thanks,” he said and felt an actual blush heat his cheeks. Did you ever get over wanting praise from the person who raised you, wanting it on such a primal, childlike level you were embarrassed when you got it? Anyway, he was proud of himself, too. The successful meeting, with the CEO of a corporation Josh had actually heard of, had reminded him that he was good at a large part of his job—what his friend Ben, who’d hired him, called the “charm offensive.” Most people he talked to worked for content providers that had approached the company, looking for help developing apps for mobile platforms, so they were already interested and receptive. He liked talking to them, liked making them laugh, liked listening to their problems and convincing them he was the one to solve them.

“It’s nice to get good news,” Eloise said.

“Uh-oh,” Josh said. “Did you get some bad news?”

“No, no, no,” she said. “I’m just dreading the start of the school year. I feel like the meetings are mating and dropping litters of other meetings. And I feel a little . . . stressed. A little under attack. In general.”

Josh assumed she was talking about Francine, and Theo, and not knowing what would happen with the house. Did she want to talk about all that? She must, if she’d brought it up. But he didn’t want to say anything that might seem critical of her, or otherwise commit himself, so what exactly did he want to say? He’d just opened his mouth to ask if she was upset about Theo’s behavior when, as if on cue, he heard a car motor slowing outside. He listened, feeling his shoulders tense at even the idea of his sister. “I think Theo’s home,” he said.