The Sabbathday River (13 page)
Read The Sabbathday River Online
Authors: Jean Hanff Korelitz
An H Like an A
“YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL ME, HEATHER?”
Stephen Trask had her in the family room, a faux-pine chamber choked with matching chairs which all seemed to La-Z-Boy back. She could hear Celia in the kitchen, telling one of the boys to keep his hands out of the spaghetti sauce.
“Well,” she heard herself say, “no.” She wasn't leaping to conclusions here.
Stephen glared at her, and Heather was a bit taken aback. If she'd known this was to be the purpose of his invitation she would have said no, flat-out. She hadn't wanted to come home with him for dinner anyway. Going for dinner at the Trasks' meant a lost ride with Ashley, a trade-off that seemed grossly unfair. But he'd never asked before and Heather hadn't known how to refuse. Now, tense in her absurdly relaxing chair, she braced for the next assault.
“I can't stand to see you do this,” Stephen said, gritting his teeth. “You know, I can't stand this.”
She tossed her head. “There's nothing wrong. Everything's fine. Everything's
great
.”
great
.”
“Everything's not great, Heather.” He stopped, regrouped, and leaned forward, his chair bowing into the room. His high pale forehead furrowed in concern. “I know you had a rough time in Hanover. I know you felt you couldn't hack it. I understand that. But you can try again.”
“I don't want to try again.” She sipped tomato juice. She had asked for tomato juice because she had read that it was good for the baby, but she had no particular taste for it.
Stephen shook his head grimly. “No, I wasn't thinking of Dartmouth. I can appreciate that must have been a shock. But you could go to UNH, Heather. They'd take you in a flash. Listen,” he said, urgent, “you're doing a terrific job at the center. It's worked out really well. But it never occurred to me you wouldn't try college again.”
“But why?” She shrugged. “Why should I? I'm happy here.”
Celia came in, bumping Heather's chair with her shin. Her blond hair was wedged back in the haircut that had not even looked good on Dorothy Hamill. She was a smugly maternal woman with two sweet chins, a torso wrapped densely in fat. She had some wine in a glass with a long stem. Noting the charged silence, she readjusted her smile into a frown of concern. Heather felt as if she were facing some kind of oral exam.
“You know how long it's been since Goddard Falls produced somebody capable of getting into an Ivy League school?”
It all felt so distant, and Heather sighed accordingly. It felt like somebody else's story by now. Her concerns were more immediate, and incidentally far more pleasant. The spaghetti sauce smelled good. She wondered what Celia put in hers; Heather's own never smelled like this. “Is that garlic?” she asked.
Celia looked at her husband.
“Heather, Christ, what the
hell
are you up to with Ashley? Where do you think that's going to go?”
hell
are you up to with Ashley? Where do you think that's going to go?”
To hear his name spoken aloud, his name and her own in one breath, was a rush. Involuntarily Heather smiled. “I love him,” she informed them.
Celia, to her credit, did not react. Trask groaned loudly. “Oh, Heather. I really wanted more for you.”
More
from
you, she interpreted this to mean.
from
you, she interpreted this to mean.
“You're not exactly being discreet,” he said tightly.
Heather sat up straight. “I've got nothing to hide. I'm happy.”
“You're carrying on with somebody who's married. At least,” he said gruffly, “that's how it's going to be seen.”
“I don't care,” Heather said, because she didn't.
“Other people will care,” said Celia. Her voice was soft. She was the good cop.
“That's fine.” She shrugged. It seemed as if people were usually angry at her, anyway.
“But why
should
it be fine for you, Heather?” Stephen insisted. “Why should that be enough for you, an affair with a man who'll never leave his wife? And he never will, Heather, I can assure you. You're young and you're bright, and you have a real opportunity to make something of yourself. You think your classmates could go to college like you did? You could be anythingâa doctor, even. Or, I don't know, a business person. You could have seen something of the world.”
should
it be fine for you, Heather?” Stephen insisted. “Why should that be enough for you, an affair with a man who'll never leave his wife? And he never will, Heather, I can assure you. You're young and you're bright, and you have a real opportunity to make something of yourself. You think your classmates could go to college like you did? You could be anythingâa doctor, even. Or, I don't know, a business person. You could have seen something of the world.”
“But I don't want to see the world. I like it here,” Heather said simply. “I like my life. I like working for you and living with Pick. And she's not too strong anymore, you know. She needs my help for things. And I'm in love,” she added, as if this settled things. It
should
settle things, after all. It was a vast event, dividing time, changing the course of history.
should
settle things, after all. It was a vast event, dividing time, changing the course of history.
“Ashley,” said Celia Trask carefully, “is very handsome. He has not been the most constant of husbands.”
Heather turned to look at her. “What's that supposed to mean?” She was honestly perplexed.
It meant, Celia told her, that she wasn't the first girl he'd paid attention to, but Heather just stared. Surely Celia could understand that nothing Ashley had done before had the slightest relevance to Heather. After all, Ashley was married. If she were to be angry about anything it would be that, wouldn't it? She faced them. She felt a little sorry for them.
“It's kind of you to be concerned about me,” said Heather. She paused, eyeing the quilt tacked to the wall behind Celia's head. One of Celia's own, star-patterned, pieced with ugly modern calicos. Heather wondered why you would bother to make such an ugly quilt in the first place, and then why you'd hang it on the wall. Quilts were to keep you warm, in her view. Pick had made her a quilt when she was a little girl, pieced from the dresses she'd worn and outgrown. It was a fan quilt, intricate and precise, but even so it had never occurred to her to do
anything with it but throw it across her bed. Things were really so uncomplicated when you got right down to it. It was only people messing up the simplicity that got you in trouble. That got you up against
this,
she thought, letting her gaze drift back to the Trasks' intense, expectant faces.
anything with it but throw it across her bed. Things were really so uncomplicated when you got right down to it. It was only people messing up the simplicity that got you in trouble. That got you up against
this,
she thought, letting her gaze drift back to the Trasks' intense, expectant faces.
She took a breath. “I was good in school. I mean the school part of school,” Heather acknowledged. “I took it seriously, at least, because I wasn't distracted by the other stuff going on, and I was sort of interested. I was good at the tests and that, but you know, I really wasn't any more into that than I was into the, whatever you want to call it, social world.” She paused. Something occurred to her. “I don't want to be a doctor!”
“You can't want to stay here all your life,” Stephen said.
“What's wrong with here?” Heather said, fully perplexed.
“Butâ” He stopped himself, and she understood: she was disliked here. She had always been disliked here for her contented alienation. Now she would be disliked for Ashley and the baby. But it had never bothered her before, and it wouldn't now.
“I have everything I need in Goddard,” she told them, beaming. “I have work I love, I have friends.” She nodded to them. They did not react. “I'm happy.”
Down the hall, a great thump as one of the kids leaped off the top bunk onto the floor; the frail house shuddered.
“You deserveâ” Celia began, but her husband cut her off.
“Heather, look, just send an application in to Durham. It's January now. School doesn't begin till September. You'll have tons of time to figure it out, but you'll at least have the option. And you can stay at the sports center till then.”
She balanced her empty cup on the arm of the tipping chair. It was filmy with red glaze, which made her smile. “The baby's due in summer,” Heather told them. “I couldn't possibly go to college in September.”
You give it back,
shrieked Phillip, who was nine. Celia, shaking her blond head, excused herself. Stephen was staring at Heather. For the first time, she felt a bit bad for him.
shrieked Phillip, who was nine. Celia, shaking her blond head, excused herself. Stephen was staring at Heather. For the first time, she felt a bit bad for him.
“It's what I want,” she said instead. Then: “But I
am
sorry.”
am
sorry.”
Stephen said, “Is this about your mother, Heather?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. It had never been clear to her why she was supposed to care that much about her mother. The once or twice
she had tried to explain this to people they had simply failed to accept what she was saying, but the utter truth was that Heather did not dwell on Ruth, or long for some idealized version of her mother. Ruth's reputation had both preceded her brief career in high school and lingered long after, even to the years of Heather's own enrollment. She had been the kind of girl who slept with your boyfriend and then had the temerity not to be sorry about it. She didn't stay long, in any case. She went to Boston (though California had featured more consistently in her tirades against Goddard Falls and her parents), returning only to deposit her child with Pick. Heather had not the faintest idea where she had been since. And this person was supposed to influence her life?
she had tried to explain this to people they had simply failed to accept what she was saying, but the utter truth was that Heather did not dwell on Ruth, or long for some idealized version of her mother. Ruth's reputation had both preceded her brief career in high school and lingered long after, even to the years of Heather's own enrollment. She had been the kind of girl who slept with your boyfriend and then had the temerity not to be sorry about it. She didn't stay long, in any case. She went to Boston (though California had featured more consistently in her tirades against Goddard Falls and her parents), returning only to deposit her child with Pick. Heather had not the faintest idea where she had been since. And this person was supposed to influence her life?
“It's nothing to do with my mother,” Heather said. “I don't know why it should.”
Celia called the boys to dinner. Heather, suddenly convulsed with hunger, wondered if it would be rude for her just to stand up and go into the kitchen. Pregnancy had sharpened her senses and whittled down her needs into basic things. “Smells good,” she said pointedly.
“I'll help you,” Stephen said. “Any way I can, I'll help you.”
She made herself not smile and thanked him. The armchair, tipping forward, popped her up like an ejector seat. She ate three helpings of spaghetti and, much to his amusement, Phillip's broccoli. Everyone conspired to talk of something else, until Stephen could drive her home.
The night was bone clear, picked white by the chilly moon. She could not remember a more rapturous winter, Heather thought, fingering, beneath her sweater, the ridge of her gold chain, Ashley's Christmas gift a month earlier. It had a charm, too, a letter
H
shaped slightly off, with the two vertical strokes just perceptibly inverted. As if, she had thought, examining it for the first time, those parallel lines might somehow meet, at some unspecified point down the line, if only one waited long enough. To squint at it made it an A, Heather thought. A is for Ashley. It was her most favorite object.
H
shaped slightly off, with the two vertical strokes just perceptibly inverted. As if, she had thought, examining it for the first time, those parallel lines might somehow meet, at some unspecified point down the line, if only one waited long enough. To squint at it made it an A, Heather thought. A is for Ashley. It was her most favorite object.
Stephen had a truck, which rode high, and Heather felt as if she were surveying her own lands, stretching in the pale light as far east as the pine-dark Presidentials: everything hers. She rode a cushion of elation, her gold charm between her breasts, just touching, when she leaned forward, her precious abdomen. Stephen was silent until he turned at her drive and bumped down its rocky length.
“Pick know?” he said, bringing the car to a stop.
“I don't think so.” She had her hand on the door. She wanted to get out.
“She'll have to know. If you're not going to give it up.”
“Give it
up
!” Heather's voice was low. She flash-flooded with anger. “I wouldn't dream of giving it up.”
up
!” Heather's voice was low. She flash-flooded with anger. “I wouldn't dream of giving it up.”
Stephen nodded sagely. “Well, remember what I said, Heather. And call on me. You were right to say we're your friends. Now you've got to treat me and Celia like friends.”
“Thanks for dinner,” Heather said lamely.
“All right.” He sounded grim. “Best to Pick.”
It was warm inside. Heather's grandmother had long ago gotten into the habit of overheating the parlor and kitchen even as the upstairs bedrooms shivered in blue cold. Pick was next door, not quite awake in her chair, so Heather said a quiet hello and went to wash up what was left from dinner and put away the meat loaf. She always did the dishes now. Whatever agility was left in Pick's fingers went to sewing, or turning the pages of
The Goddard Clarion,
her chief pleasure. She heated up some milk for herself. Milk was good for the baby, too.
The Goddard Clarion,
her chief pleasure. She heated up some milk for herself. Milk was good for the baby, too.
“Have fun?” Pick said when Heather sat on the couch.
“Yeah. Celia Trask puts a ton of garlic in her spaghetti sauce.”
“Can't stand garlic,” Pick said. She took off her glasses, pinched her eyes, and replaced them. “Can you pick up some groceries for me tomorrow?”
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