The Yellow Braid (12 page)

The fact, however, that Livia was the cause
of her sexual stirrings horrified Caro. And yet, she could not deny
them. Even now, as she stole looks at Livia she saw a girl on the
cusp of young adulthood—still the tomboy, but in a flirty, feminine
package—and her moral and ethical reserves weakened. A momentary
image of kissing Livia rose to her consciousness. She immediately
crushed it.

To raise, to elevate, to
endorse with timeless reverence the image of woman,
has been my
mission––the reason for my work. ~
Ruth Bernhard

Sexless. Innocent. Truthful.

Perfect love in its simplest form begins
with an attraction to a beautiful object, but then is raised beyond
the body, to its highest form—spirit.

This was the dictum Caro recited and
meditated on as she continued to smother thoughts and impulses
regarding Livia that were even mildly suggestive. The current
arrangement between them was proving advantageous for both of them:
mad at Abby, and sorry for the love she’d wasted on Zach and
Marcie, Caro was happy to bestow her love on Livia.

As for Livia, she reveled in the
unconditional affection of a maternal figure, especially one who
understood without question the eccentricity of her poetic
sensibilities.

Consequently, in the days that followed
Phyllis’s party, Caro came to depend on Livia’s presence for her
sanity. Her nights were a fragmentary progression of hours between
fitful sleep and blurry wakefulness. Marcie and Zach appeared in
disquieting reveries.

The rhythm of Caro’s days often got underway
before daybreak. Huddled under a comforter, she contentedly watched
the lazy strokes of pink and purple filter across the sky. In
slowly widening increments, the sea separated itself out, a bullish
companion as it heaved itself endlessly forward to the shore. Caro
appreciated the forthright action of the swift-moving tides because
their movement represented the daily swelling of enthusiasm as the
minutes edged toward nine or ten when Livia would appear.

During this early hour Caro recalled from
the day before Livia’s sweet smile that Caro could now coax out of
her quite easily. It was a smile that produced the hint of dimples
on her cheeks. Or she’d hear again Livia reading a poem from a
volume they’d chosen on one of their trips to the library. Better
yet, the young poet would read one of her own, and Caro would hang
on to every word. She’d dissect it not for its literary worth as
much as to discern Livia’s moods.

The previous afternoon, Livia had brought a
poem she’d written about ants. The title was “Lamentation,” another
ode to her absent mother. Livia had read:

sand ants

with

long legs

bent at ninety
degree

sharp angles

scurry up and

down
endless mounds of sand seemingly
going

no where

like my mother

doing the same thing

only at a much slower pace

Afterward, she confessed in a shaky voice
that she’d felt sad to think that no matter how fast ants scuttle
up and down on the beach, the time it takes them to cover two or
three yards is accomplished by adults in a second with one long
stride.

Livia continued, “Now multiply the distances
humans travel and in the same time the ants haven’t gotten anywhere
at all because they keep going around the same miniature sand
dunes.”

“But how do you relate that to your life?”
Caro had inquired.

“I think of all the miles Mom travels but
they don’t get her any closer to me because she keeps going in the
same circles, just like the ants.”

“Not having your mother around is a very
real thing to lament,” Caro had offered, at the same time wishing
Carmen would never return.

Hours with Livia were what Caro lived for
and gave all of her concentration to, all the while attentive to
the fact that she had no existence other than what she took from
her relationship with Livia.

She didn’t plan anything unless the activity
was of a kind that could include Livia. She didn’t socialize with
anyone except for Nina and Tommy, because on those occasions, Livia
was there as well.

On the beach, Caro was usually in sight of
Livia’s brown legs skipping through the breakers or her head
bobbing in the waves; she gazed upon Livia sunbathing, the girl’s
skin iridescent with tanning oil.

As a voyeur––a poet––Caro was skilled at
enjoying long, sidelong glances from her elevated position on the
dune or from inside her portable cabana. Caro knew every line and
plane of her protégé’s body, whether in motion, or in stillness,
and from her vantage points the magnificence of the sun and sea and
sky were but mere background for Livia’s graceful progress in the
world.

Caro didn’t see a problem with her life
until now, when she realized that the structure of her days was a
claustrophobic repeat of when Zach and Marcie were alive. Except
that instead of concentrating her attention and energy on her
poetry, she focused on Livia.

Abby had been right to say that Caro didn’t
see what was going on between her husband and best friend. How
could she when she lived most of her time in the limited world of
her study?

There were some small intimacies that she
hadn’t missed, just not readily acknowledged until reviewing them
in retrospect. Once, on a rare evening when Caro had joined them to
watch a talk show, the TV host had joked to his guest.

“Let me get this straight,” the host had
said. “Rather than put your socks on both feet, followed by your
shoes, you do one foot completely and then do the other.”

“Even to tying up the laces,” the guest had
said.

Caro had opened her mouth to comment.

Marcie had been quicker. “That’s so weird,
Zach. Could be you he’s talking about.”

“Don’t I wish I was a rich celebrity,” Zach
had quipped.

Not until the next day did the question
register in Caro’s mind: how would Marcie know in what order her
husband put on his socks and shoes?

When Caro confronted Marcie, she’d said,
“Every time he goes to the gym.”

Marcie’s explanation was satisfactory
enough. Caro made Zach keep his sneakers in the laundry room so he
was in full view of anyone who happened to be in the kitchen when
he put them on. Still, Caro experienced an uneasiness in the brief
bluntness of Marcie’s reply.

***

“I have a favor to ask,” Nina was saying to
Caro. They were sitting on Caro’s deck. “Tommy and I were wondering
if you’d mind having Livia sleep over Saturday night. Some friends
invited us to stay on their boat, and there’s a slight chance we
might not get back until Monday.”

“Of course,” Caro said.

“Thanks. Also,” Nina said, her expression
leveling, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“
The editor from
Art World
contacted me.”

Caro sat up straighter. “And?”

“
At first I was disappointed because he
began by declining to publish the photos—”

“Oh, no,” Caro began…

“—because his magazine is covering an
upcoming exhibition at the National Center for Photography called
“Changing Faces of Youth.” Although most of the artists have been
slotted, he wants to push to have my photos of Livia included.”

“Wow! How amazing for you!”

“It is a huge deal. And then, there’s
Tommy,” Nina said glumly. “I know I come off like a bitch
sometimes, but I do love him. We try to make believe that we’re not
angry at each other for me wanting to publish the photos of Livia,
but we both know we are. So we’re politely distant. And now,
this.”

“
But, Nina, it’s not like you weren’t aware
of how Tommy felt before you submitted the photos. In all honesty,
you had to figure you had a shot at
Art Wor
ld liking your work otherwise you wouldn’t have sent
them.”

Nina pouted. “You’re always against me.”

“
There’s an expression that my father used
to use—either shit or get off the pot.”

Nina jumped up in a huff.

“
Oh, sit down,” Caro said. “It’s decision
time, Nina. The way I see your situation is to either commit one
hundred percent to your art, which means moving forward with
Art World,
or
forget about the
exhibition and go back to your life pre-Livia photos, and make
Tommy happy.”

“Thanks much for the options,” Nina
said.

“I’ll accept your slight hostility because I
understand how you struggle with this,” Caro said.

Nina looked at Caro in earnest. “If you
had to do your marriage over again, would you do it the same? I
mean, do you think that’s
why your husband cheated on you—because he was unhappy,
second-fiddle to your career?”

“I would be more like you,” Caro said.

Nina raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

Caro nodded. “You’re aware of the pitfalls;
you ponder long and hard how your choices might affect your
marriage. I never did that. I steamrolled my way through a teaching
and a writing career without much forethought. That’s why I believe
once you make up your mind, whatever happens you’ll be fine.”

“
And if Tommy goes the route that Zach did
and finds someone else…”

“Like I said, if you can walk away from the
exhibition, and be okay with that decision, so be it.”

May we agree that private life
is irrelevant? Multiple, mixed, ambiguous at best––out of it we try
to fashion the crystal clear, the singular...
~
May Sarton

Caro put freshly cut flowers in the guest
room. She’d already talked to Nina about snack foods that Livia
preferred and had rented two of Livia’s favorite movies,
Fried
Green
Tomatoes
and
Benny
&
Joon
. Caro was thinking about the sleepover when Nina
appeared on the deck, rapping on the glass.

“There’s been a change in plans,” Nina
said.

Caro slid open the doors and stepped
outside. “What?”

“The friends with the boat invited
Beatrice’s mother and boyfriend along. So, either you get both
girls or, if you don’t want to––which is totally fine––Beatrice’s
older sister will take them.”

Caro didn’t mean to show how miffed she was,
but her disappointment was so instantaneous at having to share
Livia that she crossed her arms over her chest and threw out her
bottom lip.

“Okay, okay, the girls will go to Beatrice’s
sister,” Nina said. “I only asked.”

“It’s not that,” Caro said.

“Then what?”

“I really was looking forward to spending
the evening with Livia alone.”

“Whatever for? I thought you’d be relived
that she’d have company,” Nina said.

“
Livia’s company for
me
. Besides the poetry…I like having her around.
She’s sweet. Why do I have to explain?”

“You don’t. You’re the one making a thing
about this,” Nina said in frustration. “Okay, let’s start all over
again. Do you want them here or not?”

“Yes,” Caro said.

***

After Caro and the girls had changed into
their pajamas, they went outside onto the deck. Caro lazed on the
lounge, half-dozing with a glass of Riesling, and the girls were
tucked together on the swinging bench, twin soda cans next to them
on the floor.

They gazed up at the sky, blue-black with a
white full moon so vivid they could make out the fine etching of
its craters. Beatrice had spotted a shooting star earlier—the
reason for their vigil—and now they waited for another. Every so
often they told a corny joke in between chatter about who they’d
spotted on the beach that day.

Notwithstanding Caro’s jealousy at having to
share Livia, she had to admit that the two of them were a good
match in spite of their differences. In a bittersweet way they
reminded Caro of how it had been with Marcie.

She was thankful that she hadn’t learned
about the affair with Zach until after Marcie had died. She had no
barometer with which to gauge how she would’ve handled the
situation. If she had to give her daughter advice for a similar
situation, she would encourage her to cut her losses and move on.
There would be no more accurate way of saying it, and no safer way
to keep her heart from getting broken a second time.

Her only regret that evening was that she
was not swinging next to Livia, maybe even with her arm in casual
repose along the back of the bench, barely skimming Livia’s soft
shoulders.

The chains from which the swing hung came to
a grating halt and the girls sprang from their seats in unison.

“We’re going to take a walk,” Livia
said.

Caro also stood up and did a quick survey up
and down the beach. The firelight from a few marshmallow roasts
still burned; other than those, and the infrequent burst of
laughter from one or another resident enjoying late night drinks on
their decks, the beach was empty.

“We’ll be fine,” offered Beatrice.

“I’ll go in and set up the movie. Which one
do you want first?”

After a brief conference with Beatrice,
Livia sang out, “Johnny Depp,” as she kicked off her flip-flops and
headed over the dune with Beatrice in close pursuit.

***

It had been almost a month since Caro had
dedicated herself body and soul to Livia—and about two weeks since
Beatrice began joining them on a regular basis. That afternoon Caro
had driven the girls to Sag Harbor, an old whaling village.