A Field Guide to Deception (27 page)

“Labor makes women the way war makes men?” Drake mused. “What a wicked thought.”

“It is, isn't it?” Claire said. “It troubled me for months. I worried I might behave dishonorably.”

“Labor isn't destructive,” Drake said. “War and labor aren't at all analogous.”

“They both require courage,” said Liv, “and sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Bailey said. “How do you figure?”

“You have to be willing to die—you have to accept that it's possible.”

“Help,” Bailey said, “the hyperbole's killing me.”

“You're giving your body over to another organism,” Liv said. “That organism takes your nutrients, saps your energy, grows until it literally cannot thrive in its environment any longer, and has to be ejected. I do think that labor requires sacrifice, Bailey. Less than it did thirty years ago, sure, but a lot can still go wrong.”

“Well, this is pleasant,” Claire said.

“Why don't you two arm wrestle?” Drake said, “And then we can all be friends.”

“Sorry,” Bailey said lightly. “Am I being aggressive?”

Inflexible and dismissive, Liv thought, and yes, aggressive as well. The beer glass comment in particular had caught Liv unawares. All evening, Bailey's behavior had been hostile, almost goading.

“You're romanticizing it, Liv.” Bailey said. “You want pregnancy to be heroic—noble rather than biological. I mean, we're animals, procreation is a basic function of our existence.”

“Not of mine.”

“But that's a choice, isn't it?” Bailey said.

“No. That's a reality: an absence of contact with sperm.”

“What is all this?” Claire asked, looking from one to the other.

“Bailey's dictating,” Liv said.

“Liv—” Bailey and Claire began.

“You are, Bailey, you're dictating. You're telling me about my own experience as though you were qualified to explain it.”

“What experience? What am I dictating? Hello, Liv, you've never actually been pregnant.”

“And you're telling me that was a choice.”

“Yes, you chose not to sleep with men.”

“Because every sexually active straight woman chooses pregnancy? That's spurious.”

“Liv, what is your argument exactly?”

“Bailey, we aren't wombats, or fucking orangutans. We're analytical and verbal, and our brains are developed enough that we're conscious of parenthood—of the consequences of behavior. Humans are more than their biology. Simon is a marvel. A child with arteries and musculature and organs, but that will never explain him. You're minimizing motherhood. You're minimizing the endeavor of creation.”

“The endeavor of creation,” Bailey repeated, looking around the room at the others.

“You said Sophia's strongest argument was to put your hand on her belly. You're moved, Bailey, because it's moving.”

Drake had leaned back in the sofa, her coffee cup rested on her thigh. The fire crackled beside them. Claire's hand rubbed the small of Liv's back, gliding back and forth like an eraser on a blackboard.

Twenty-seven

Swim lessons and other advances

Liv and Simon held hands as they hurried through the snow to the Y. The stretch of pavement beside the curb was particularly treacherous, and Simon bent his knees, leaned into Liv, and let her brace him. His down jacket, and thick navy sweatpants gave him the appearance of bulk, but he was still slight enough for Liv to lift him easily with one arm.

After the lesson, they were to meet Claire for dinner. It would be dark by then, but now the light glared off the snow so that they squinted as they hurried, spurred by the idea of a heated pool.

This was Simon's third lesson. His instructor, Stacy—a petite blond, twenty, taut, and perky—mesmerized him. Whenever she stood near him, he found it difficult to hear, and had to concentrate on each word to ensure it wouldn't get lost. Her hands were small, and nimble, and she usually held his torso while he kick kick kicked. She loved to yell emphatic things like,
Tear it up!
and
You are so awesome!
and
Way to push!

Liv wasn't allowed in the water, but would sit on the sideline with a battered copy of
Outside
, and cheer for him. He could hear her voice, like a hum through the water. Today he was going off the diving board. Stacy had promised.

“There's my boy!” She yelled as Simon hurried poolside. “Are you ready, Simon? We're going to have a super lesson. Hop in here, buddy!”

The water, though heated, always surprised him. To submerge felt like he was being swallowed. For half an hour he cupped his palms, kicked his legs, reached with his arms, kept his head down and his
eyes squeezed shut. He pulled through the water as though he had a destination.

“Yes, Simon!” Stacy hollered.

And he stroked and stroked. He stroked though her voice diminished. He stroked and heard Liv, very clearly, roaring his name. He knew their voices carried to him, that they weren't nearby. Still, when his hands touched the side, and he hoisted himself up, he was surprised to see Stacy on the opposite side of the pool.

“Simon, you did it. You swam across the whole pool. You're super amazing. You swam all by yourself.”

He clutched the side of the pool, grinning. Liv was hopping up and down, and Stacy had submerged and streaked toward him like a dolphin. She lifted him from the water, and set him on the side of the pool, then pulled up beside him.

“You ready for the diving board?”

Simon nodded.

“I only let my brave, super strong swimmers jump off the diving board.”

Simon looked up at her. On the other side of the pool, Liv had stood, and paced along with them now to the deep end.

His first few steps on the diving board, Stacy held his hand and walked the pavement next to him. “Liv's going to come stand by the diving board, and I'm going to get back in the water, and I'll tell you when to jump, OK? I'll be in the water, and you'll jump toward me, OK. I'll be right in the water, waiting for you.”

Simon blinked rapidly. He looked at Liv, his heart somersaulting in his chest.

“Alright, Simon!” Stacy called from the water. “Take two more steps and look at me.”

He took two steps. The board dipped beneath him as though it had inhaled.

“You're going to jump right to me!” She yelled. “Right to me, Simon. You can do it!”

He heard Liv behind him, and Stacy in the water, chanting, rooting, cheering. He heard his name like an anthem, and leapt off the shivering
board. Water closed around him a moment later, and then her hands.

Claire had stopped by Patrick's office to give him copies of payroll reports. She would start paying quarterly taxes herself in the New Year, but for now, it was a relief to let him manage the forms and payments. She should have blown him off, and gone to Simon's swim lesson, but she'd already re-scheduled with him twice, and guilt had compelled her to come.

The reception area was deserted. Claire stepped into the hallway, lined with more photographs of isolated mountaintops, and called. Patrick appeared a moment later.

“Claire, it's a pleasure to see you. How's business?” He wore dark blue jeans, a rugby shirt, and his glasses atop his head. He touched the small of her back, and kissed her.

“Wildly busy. We've had a couple of offers to open a second location downtown.”

“That's fantastic. What does Bailey think?”

“She thinks one café is plenty, and I agree with her.”

“Well, it's early yet to consider expansion.”

“Yes.”

“You look good.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Here's your report.”

“Great. How about a quick bite? We could grab some appetizers around the corner at Zola?”

She shook her head. “I can't. I'm eating with Liv and Simon.”

“How about coffee? Lattes at Conti's?”

“No, thanks. I'm meeting them, so I only had time to drop this to you, and now I really have to go.”

“Claire,” he said. “You're always rushing off.”

“If we weren't busy, we couldn't afford you.”

Patrick stretched his arm to her hair. He pulled gently, and Claire stood, regarding him.

“This,” she said, “isn't going to happen.”

“Claire.”

“Patrick, this isn't going to happen.”

He stepped back. “Thanks for dropping this off.”

“Come by the café this week. You won't believe the éclairs.”

They ordered Simon a colossal burger and fries at Frank's Diner. They'd let him choose the restaurant, knowing he'd opt for the train-car diner.

“One huckleberry milkshake for the high diver,” the waiter said. “With extra cherries.”

“Did you really jump off the diving board?” Claire said again. “How did I miss that? I can't believe it.”

“I should have had a camera,” Liv said. “He was the most fearless, amazing fellow. You've never seen anything like it. He threw himself right into the air.”

“Were you frightened?” Claire asked.

“Yes.”

“You were frightened, and you still jumped?”

“Yes.”

“Will you jump again next week so I can see you?”

“Yeah, OK.”

“I can't believe I missed it.”

“And he swam across the pool alone.”

“What?” Claire said.

“Yeah, the whole thing.”

“You're kidding.”

“He was brilliant. Weren't you, Simon?”

He drank the last of his milkshake, and asked for another.

Drake steamed the soymilk, added shots, and stirred. It was ten in the
morning, and Drake had called Liv down from the attic for coffee and éclairs.

“These are masterful,” Drake said. “The woman's blessed.”

The custard took Liv to a train station, herself in a dress and pinafore, her hair wound into braids and pinned up. She might have been four. Her mother on the bench beside her, the luggage pressed against their legs. Liv had no idea where they were. She and her mother, halving an éclair, awaiting a train.

“I asked Bailey,” Drake said, “why she was so mad at you.”

“Yeah? What'd she say?”

“She said she wasn't, and then she got mad at me.”

Liv shrugged.

“Do you have a theory?” Drake asked.

“I don't, but clearly you do.”

“I think Bailey wants a family—a child and a partner and a mortgage and a pension. I think she's wanted that life for a long time, and somehow, you walked right into everything she wanted, and—from her perspective—it seemed effortless. Maybe even something you took on reluctantly. I think she's mad that you have it, and mad that you don't value it, like she does.”