The Woman Next Door (21 page)

Thus, burdened even in sleep, she awoke in Graham’s arms thinking that he was in bed with her to ease his conscience, holding her out of guilt. That easily, she found herself thinking like her mother again.

Struggling against it Sunday morning, she slipped out of bed while Graham still slept and made the trifle for his mother’s party. She brewed a fresh pot of coffee and set the Sunday paper on the table, but by the time he woke up, she was heading for the shower, then back to school.

***

Watching her go, Graham wondered if there had been something subconscious in his sleeping late. Sleeping was better than dealing with the unease between them.

It was, of course, the coward’s approach and not at all what he had planned after talking with Russ. Ashamed of himself, he vowed to be more proactive. It wasn’t until afternoon, though, that he and Amanda were together long enough for any kind of serious talk, and then he couldn’t get her going.

“The trifle looks good,” he tried. “Thanks for making it.”

She smiled politely. “You’re welcome.”

A while later, he said, “I thought about calling Mom this morning. But I decided against it. I figured I could wish her a happy birthday in person.”

“I tried calling from school,” Amanda said. “She was in the bath, so I left a message.”

“You’re a better daughter-in-law than I am a son.”

“No. I’m just desperate.”

“Desperate?”

Another polite smile. “To make her like me.”

“She does like you.”

Amanda gave him the kind of look that said he was lying and knew it. Not knowing what to say to that, he said nothing at all.

***

Arriving at an O’Leary affair was a physical thing. There were loud shouts and hugs, enthusiastic back-slapping and boisterous greetings. Amanda had been included in the ritual since the first day she had come with Graham. He had warned her that first time, and still she had felt overwhelmed. But she had loved it. The raucousness was everything she hadn’t experienced as a child. She
adored the genuine outpouring of feeling, the easy show of affection.

It was all there this time, too. Today the difference was in her. Totally aside from Quinn’s death, which weighed heavily on her, being with Graham’s family—being with Graham’s
prolific
family —brought back the issue of the pregnancy that wasn’t. She smiled and laughed and hugged and was hugged in return, but she heard thoughts and imagined words. She felt as though everyone
knew
— as though everyone blamed her, since the problem they were having in conceiving couldn’t possibly lie with Graham.

Determinedly, she immersed herself in the festivities, led by the hand of one child or another into one room or another. She had always been drawn to the toddler brigade, which meant that the children she had played with during the first years of her marriage were now six, seven, and eight. They adored her, and understandably so. More so than the other adults, she was willing to read to them, to play card games, or fall for corny jokes.

“You are the prettiest aunt,” one niece said, clinging to Amanda’s side, looking up with a gap-toothed grin. “I don’t
want
you to have kids. I like having you all to myself.”

What to say to that? Amanda couldn’t begin to think. The trifle came out well, though the
mmmmms
were inevitably directed at MaryAnne, who—in all fairness—had masterminded the party. If Dorothy even knew that Amanda had made the dessert, she wasn’t letting on. She made no mention of it during either of the times that Amanda sought her out to chat. Rather, she babbled on about the Garden Club or the Historical Society or even Megan, all subjects that she knew Amanda wouldn’t want to discuss.

Still, Amanda was unfailingly polite. She smiled and nodded and asked as many questions as she could. Dorothy didn’t ask a single one in return. Eventually the conversation between them died.

Malcolm O’Leary came to her rescue the second time. “Sorry, Mother, but I’m stealing my sister-in-law away.
Joseph,
” he called to one of the nephews, “come talk to your grandmother.” Putting a large arm around Amanda’s shoulder, he steered her off.

“Where’s Graham?” she asked. She had barely seen him all afternoon.

“Playing volleyball out back. Good thing Mother has a big yard. We needed it when we were kids, and we sure need it now. How are you?”

“Great,” Amanda said with a smile.

“That’s not what Gray says. He says you’re taking this last setback hard. We all feel terrible, Amanda. I know how much you want a baby. I can imagine the frustration you’re feeling.”

Amanda doubted that. “Well, it’ll come in time.”

“I heard about a great guy in D.C. He works with women who can’t get pregnant. I’m told he’s booked solid, but we did the screens for his sister in Hartford. One call from her, and you’d be in quick. What do you say?”

Controlling herself, Amanda said, “Did you run this past Graham?”

“Yeah. He said I shouldn’t mention it, but hell, Amanda, if they can’t figure out what the problem is, maybe you should see someone else. I’d be glad to make a call.”

“Thanks, Malcolm, but we’re working with someone good.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind. Graham is dying to be a father.”

A short time later, she heard the same words, this time from Megan Donovan, Graham’s first wife. One of only a handful of outsiders invited to the party, she knew all of the O’Learys and was treated like one of them.

To her credit, Megan was sensitive to the situation. She always
came late, left early, and kept a low profile out of deference to Amanda. This day, she gave Amanda a warm hug, told her she looked beautiful, asked about her work as Dorothy hadn’t. In turn, Amanda asked about Megan’s business, a small bookshop that was struggling to survive against the competition of large chains and on-line stores. Megan answered freely, knowledgeably interestingly enough to make Amanda think—and not for the first time—that she liked Megan a lot. That was before Megan lowered her voice and raised the issue of children.

“Gray says nothing’s happening.”

“Not yet,” Amanda said with a smile and a hopefully final, “but it will.”

Megan didn’t let it go. “It must be hard on you. I know how much Gray wants kids. That was the one thing that marked the beginning of the end for us. I kept putting it off. I kept giving him one reason after another why we should wait. I finally ran out of excuses.”

“The situation is different with us.”

“Can I help?” Megan said.

Amanda frowned in amusement. “I don’t think so.”

“I mean, if it’s a question of donating eggs or renting a uterus for nine months ...”

***

Amanda was silent in the car. She had a splitting headache, a knot in her stomach, an ache from having produced so many unwilling smiles, and a bad taste in her mouth.

Graham was as silent, but simmering. She could feel it the minute he turned off his mother’s street. They hadn’t gone two blocks when he said, “Do you hate my family?”

Her eyes flew to his. “No. Why?”

“You were struggling to be pleasant. Anyone could see that.”

Amanda stared out the windshield. There were so many things she wanted to say. So many things she wanted to
yell.
She didn’t know where to begin.

“What’s wrong with my family Amanda?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you have so much trouble being with them? You have a headache. I can see it in your eyes. Why does my family give you a headache? Noise? Commotion? Laughter? I thought you liked all that.”

“I love it. I just feel different from them.”

“Look, I know my mother isn’t the warmest person in the world—”

“She is,” Amanda interrupted. “She’s warm to everyone but me.”

“You’re upset because she didn’t thank you for the trifle.”

Amanda turned to him then. “I’m upset about lots of things. Probably the least is that she didn’t thank me, because I made that trifle while there were far more serious things on my mind, and it was just plain rude of her. I mean, don’t
you
think it was rude?”

He brushed the question aside. “My mother is old. She isn’t modern and isn’t adaptable. We knew before we married that she wouldn’t be easy. She’s no worse now than she ever was.”

“My needs have changed. I need more from her. I need her to be supportive.”

“About the baby? She can’t be supportive, Amanda.”

“Maybe not. But you can.” She grew beseechful. “Where were you all afternoon? You left me on my own to deal with the subject of why we can’t have a baby and whose fault it is and what we’re doing about it. Do you know that Megan offered to be a surrogate mother?”

“That was sweet,” Graham remarked.

“She’s your ex-wife!” Amanda cried. “What kind of soap opera would it be if we let her do that? It’s one thing if a woman’s sister does it, or even her mother, but an ex-wife? But back up a step. What makes her think my uterus is the problem? Why do they
all
think I’m the problem? Emily doesn’t. She says it might just as well be you as me. Did you tell them that? Or did you just tell them that I keep losing babies—like I’m the shortstop you got in a trade, and I keep dropping the ball in the family baseball game?”

Shocked by the ugly sound of her voice, she went still.

They drove on in silence for a while.

When she felt she was in control again, she said more slowly and quietly, “I don’t hate your family. It’s just that when I’m with them, I lose you.”

“You don’t lose me,” he scoffed.

“You’re never with me. We’re not connected. You’re always talking with a brother or playing with a nephew or giving a sister or a sister-in-law garden advice.
Or
talking with Megan.”

“I wondered when we’d get to that,” he muttered. “Christ, Amanda, Megan is my oldest friend. I’ve known her all my life. We parted on the best of terms. I like seeing her. And I like seeing my family.”

Amanda grew silent again.

“Do you want me to go see them by myself from now on?”

She closed her eyes. He was missing the point. “No.”

“What
do
you want?”

She wanted him to make her pregnant, that was what she wanted. She wanted him to look at her like she was the center of his universe. He used to do that. At the party today, he hadn’t looked at her at all.

“Tell me, Amanda.”

“I want you to help me with them. Help me feel less isolated.

Stand with me, not somewhere else like you’re ashamed to be with me.
You
be the one to tell Malcolm that the man he heard about that’s so great with infertile women may not be appropriate for us, since I am
not
infertile. Take my side. Help me. Support me.” She took a quick breath and looked at him. “Better still, tell them to mind their own business. Having a baby is between you and me. They shouldn’t be involved at all—and don’t say that they care, because I know they do, but it isn’t making things easier for me. They’re all telling me how much you want a baby, like I can snap my fingers and make it happen. I know you want a baby. I don’t need them telling me. What happened to respecting people’s privacy? What happened to not discussing personal things in public?”

“Your family worked that way,” Graham said. “Mine never has.”

“Maybe they should. Maybe you need to let them know that I come first in your life. Unless I don’t.”

He shot her an angry look. “Is this a race now? To see who comes first?”

Amanda shook her head. His look had chilled her. She had never thought to be on the receiving end of something like that.

“It is,” he decided. “You want me to choose—my family or you.”

“Never. I just want you to act like a husband.”

“I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m doing the best I can in a bad situation. But your being jealous of Megan and my family doesn’t help. Your being jealous of Gretchen doesn’t help, either. You want me to act like a husband? Then act like a wife.
Trust
me.”

***

Naturally, when they returned to the cul-de-sac, Gretchen was in her front yard directing a misty stream of water toward the tulips.

With the last rays of the sun putting a rainbow in the mist, making the entire picture idyllic, the widow suddenly seemed the embodiment of everything that was wrong with their lives.

How to discuss that without fighting? Graham didn’t know. So he followed Amanda into the house and respected her apparent desire for silence.

***

Amanda awoke Monday morning with a lingering headache and a sense of dread. She tried to drum up positive thoughts, but there weren’t many to be had on the morning of a teenager’s funeral. She took Graham up on his offer that she shower first and thanked him when he was waiting with her towel at its end. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t leer at her body, but kept his eyes on her face, and she wasn’t so immersed in thoughts of what the day would hold not to see his concern. He asked what he could do to help, and, when she suggested it, he readily agreed to drop off several dozen doughnuts in the teachers’ lounge for those arriving early.

Then he put on a suit.

“Do you have a meeting?” she asked. He occasionally dressed for a client, but he hadn’t done it in a while.

“A funeral,” he said. “I want you to know I’m there in the back.”

It was a minute before she understood what he was saying and then, without intending to, she burst into tears.

“Ah, Christ,” he murmured, drawing her close. “That was supposed to make you feel better.”

It did. She had been stoic and strong through the whole ordeal with Quinn, keeping a stiff upper lip even during gut-wrenching times of self-doubt when she felt that she could have single-handedly prevented his death if she had only collared him in the hall
and dragged him into her office, or pushed a little harder with his parents. She had been strong for everyone at school, bearing the brunt of people leaning on her. Now Graham was giving
her
someone to lean on. In doing that, she let down her guard, and when that happened, the tears came.

She didn’t fight them. Rather, she slid her arms around his neck and held on until the agony waned. Then, drawing back, she looked up into eyes that were a fathomless green.