A Slender Thread (25 page)

Now that Margot was awake, her hip bones felt sore against the hard surface of the raft. She came to her elbows. Alex and Lacey were still beside her, but Alex seemed to have moved closer to Lacey, his left foot touching hers. Lacey's head faced away from him, but his arm lay across her back, his forearm against her bare skin. He had light blond hairs on his muscled arm. His hand curled around Lacey's hip, as if he owned her. Margot wondered what it would be like to have his arm around her own waist, the weight of it pressing onto her warm skin. At that moment, she wanted to be Lacey, to have Alex's attention, not as a tennis partner, a playmate, or a friend, but as something more.

Saliva rose in her mouth as she watched them sleep beside her, unaware of her scrutiny. She felt an uneasy loosening between her legs when she imagined what it would be like to have Alex so close to her. Suddenly, she wished she could disappear; she felt like an interloper, the one on the outside looking in.

Carefully, she got up on her hands and knees, then pushed to her feet and rose. She stared down at Alex and Lacey. Saying nothing, she stepped to the edge of the raft and dove into the lake.

Margot glanced at the photographs once again, this time pulling one of Alex out of the pile. She instantly recalled that light fluttery feeling when you first liked a boy, that lovely sexual awareness that seemed to come out of nowhere. She rose from the sofa looking down at the place where Alex had been sitting. It had gotten late. She stashed the photographs back in the box and went to get her coat.

 

“Mags, where've you been?”

Oliver heard the clatter of Margot's keys being tossed onto the tray in the hall. He had set the table for dinner in the living room. Four white cardboard containers from Mai Thai cooled on the kitchen counter. It was almost eight. He had come home earlier than usual, expecting Margot to be there, and after watching the news for a while, he ordered from the Thai place, imagining her imminent arrival.

“Sorry,” she said, coming into the kitchen. Her face was flushed, as if she'd walked quickly. “You already ordered?” She leaned into him and kissed his cheek. Her skin felt cool and moist against his.

“I thought you'd be here earlier.” He opened a container of rice, a solid gummy mass. “We'll have to nuke it.”

Margot reached for the set of glass bowls they used to reheat takeout. She poured out the gelatinous-looking shrimp pad thai. “Didn't you get the tofu one?”

“The other carton.”

She nodded, and while the first dish revolved in the microwave she emptied the second carton into the other bowl. Oliver opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.

“Beer or wine?” he asked.

“Wine,” she said.

“So what made you so late?”

“Oliver, you're the one who's usually late.”

He shot her a glance, but she didn't appear annoyed.

“I had a visitor,” she said. The microwave dinged and she removed the pad thai, set the steaming dish on the counter, and added the tofu. “Alex stopped by.” Her back was to him. She mashed up the boxes of rice.

“What's he doing in New York?” Oliver pictured the gaunt New Englander in a heavy sweater and corduroy pants on the streets of the city.

“He's selling some company. The buyers are based here. We didn't talk much about that.”

“He came to your apartment?”

“He had some free time late this afternoon. He was walking up to the Met and got me on my cell.” She stopped talking to put the rice in the microwave after covering it with a sheet of wax paper. “He wanted to talk about Lacey.”

Of course, Lacey. Margot carried both dishes of food to the table. He followed with the rice. It smelled nutty and damp, making him suddenly hungry. He returned to the kitchen for his beer and to pour a glass of wine for Margot. The cork in the Chardonnay was wedged tightly in the bottle and didn't yield to his tugging. He grabbed a dish towel and yanked harder, finally opening it with a dull pop. He was annoyed to think of Alex calling Margot and going to see her at her apartment. Why hadn't he called ahead and arranged to meet them both for dinner the way he had on a few previous trips to the city? Lacey's illness was altering the way they all operated.

He filled Margot's glass and carried it to the table. She was sitting still, not having served herself from the dishes of food.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded and spooned some rice onto her plate. “Thanks. This is nice.”

“So what did he say about Lacey?”

“She's not great. He can see it more than the girls can. Each time he comes home from a trip she seems a little worse.” Margot sighed, allowing her shoulders to droop.

They ate quietly for a few minutes.

“You came home early,” she said. “Good day?”

“Not bad. I needed to stretch another canvas. I'd rather tackle that in the morning.” He'd left his studio on another high. The images were coming with a kind of urgency. Most nights it was hard to stop working. “So, were you painting when Alex dropped in?” he asked.

“I was cleaning up. About to come home.”

“Did you show him your work?”

“I didn't show him, but he saw it.” She put down her fork and looked across the room at the window overlooking the river.

“You won't let me see anything.” Oliver realized he sounded petulant.

Margot frowned and turned to meet his gaze. “He literally popped in. I wasn't planning on his visit. I couldn't exactly run around and hide things.”

“So why are you so secretive with me?”

“I'm not ready to show you, that's all.” She resumed eating.

“You come to my studio whenever you want to,” he said, taking a large mouthful of shrimp and noodles. Small pieces of peanuts fell off his fork and scattered onto the table.

“That's different. I don't want you to see my work until it's better.”

He leaned back in his chair and took a swallow of beer. “How long will Alex be here?”

“He's leaving tomorrow. He'll probably be back a few more times before he closes this deal.” She shrugged as if she hadn't given it any thought. “Let's walk tonight. We should take advantage of the full moon on the river.”

Usually, Oliver liked after-dinner walks with Margot. They both agreed it was one of the pleasures of New York to stroll along Broadway after a good meal, looking in windows, maybe going as far as the big chain bookstore to browse. It was open until ten. There was a gritty Italian coffee place where they sometimes stopped for an espresso and to watch people hurrying along the crowded sidewalks. New Yorkers were out on the street until all hours. But tonight he wanted to stay in. He felt the urge to hibernate, to keep Margot to himself. He was working as hard as he had in years and at the end of the day he was exhausted.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Oh, please. I want to be out. It's a beautiful night.” Margot looked unusually energized. Tonight he felt the ten years older that he was. She started to clear the table. He rose and followed her, his legs heavy and stiff.

 

The May evening was cool, but the knife-edged sharpness of the New England spring had eased. Lacey had spent part of the afternoon working in her garden. Alex had observed her from the distance of his office window. It was too soon to plant, but she had told him earlier that she wanted to clean up the perennial bed. She looked happy out in the fresh air, bending and moving with the same easy grace she had had when they first moved to New Castle.

Age was an odd thing. On some days he awoke feeling no different from when he was a young man; on others his tiredness at the end of the day amazed him. It was as if his body was betraying him. What could be so hard about his white-collar job? He thought of the fishing boats going out to sea before dawn, the men facing hours of grueling work. He knew he had nothing to complain about.

At seven it was still light. Lacey was in the kitchen starting dinner. He decided to make a fire in the living room. After carrying in some logs from the shed off the garage, he knelt before the grate. His mother had loved having a fire on a spring evening. She used to exclaim over the smell of wood smoke in the spring, especially in June when it mingled with the scent of roses.

Alex had meant to get over to see his mother in the afternoon, but work had kept him in his office. The sale of the fertilizer company to the New York investors seemed to be unraveling all of a sudden, and after a series of conference calls he had booked a flight to New York for the following day. So much for thinking he had accomplished his goal. He felt the hard brick of the hearth beneath his knees. After crumpling the newspaper that Lacey kept in a basket by the fireplace, he arranged the logs toward the back of the hearth. He waited for the flames to build.

Soon enough, puffs of gray smoke wafted back in his face. He grabbed a clump of newspaper and fanned the flames. He thought of the huge stone fireplace at Lacey's grandmother's camp at Bow Lake and remembered one summer just before he and Lacey were about to leave for college. Was he in love with her then, or simply an eighteen-year-old in lust? He had never considered Lacey his girlfriend. She was a year older; he would be a lowly freshman in a school hours away from hers. Lacey had seemed like a dream come to life, but in reality she had remained out of reach.

They used to make out on the sagging sofa in front of the dying embers while Grandmother Winkler snored in a room at the end of the hall. Margot, still a kid, slept upstairs. He rarely saw Lacey the summers after that except for the few days at the end of August before returning to their separate lives on different campuses. Their earlier flirtation became a distant memory. It seemed to him that Margot changed overnight in those years, going from a sprite of a girl following Lacey around like her shadow to a young woman who was very much her own person.

Margot. He really shouldn't have gone to see her last week. Yet it had felt good to talk to her about Lacey. He didn't want to burden his daughters, and outside his family no one loved Lacey more or understood her better than Margot.

“Mom always cracks the window to make it draw.”

Alex, startled by the sound of Wink's voice, staggered to his feet. “The chimney's a little damp.” He leaned in again and fanned the flames. The logs were starting to burn. “Where's Toni?” He looked at Wink, who had slumped down on the sofa.

“Do you need to ask?” she said.

“Mom okay with that?” Lacey had complained less about all the time Toni spent with Ryan, having decided that once Toni went off to college the romance would probably peter out.

“She'll be home for dinner.”

Alex looked at his watch, then back at the fire. “Let's hope so.” The smoke didn't seem as bad to him. He reached for the poker and pushed the logs farther to the rear, then took a seat in the chair opposite his daughter. Part of him wished she had a boyfriend too. Wink, always so studious, seemed almost brooding these days. Even now her head rested against the back of the sofa as if she were too burdened with worries to raise it. “What's going on with you, Mouse?” he asked, using his special pet name for her.

“Have you paid my fall tuition yet?” She appeared to be studying her fingernails and then pushed at her cuticles.

“We sent the amount to hold your place,” he said, watching her face carefully. Her initial excitement after being accepted at Cornell had waned. “The first-semester tuition is due in August. Don't worry. Your old man is working hard.” He smiled, wanting her to think this was a joke. Although he and Lacey had saved for years, knowing they would have two in college at once, he couldn't afford to let his business slack off. He was well aware of when the tuition payments were due.

“I don't know, Dad.”

“Know what?”

“If I want to go. That's all.”

“Wink, Cornell was your first choice. Going to that university is a dream come true.”

“Mom's dream.”

“Not just Mom's dream. You told me you loved the place. They've got that awesome observatory.”

“It's not the school. I'm kind of thinking I'd rather be home.”

“Winky, everybody leaves home sometime.”

“But Mom needs me. I can help her when it gets harder for her to speak.”

Alex got up and went to Wink on the sofa. He put his arm around her. “Mouse, you already help her so much. Mom's going to be fine without you. She's strong. She's going to figure out how to deal with this. I'm going to help her. The last thing she wants is for you to put your life on hold.”

“I'm afraid, Dad. I think it's worse.” Wink curled forward.

Alex rubbed her back. What could he tell her? Lacey
was
worse. “You'll make Mom proud and happy by going to college. She wants you to move on.” He kissed the top of Wink's head. Her heavy golden hair fell across her face. “There's a whole world out there just waiting for you,” he said.

“Alex, this room is filled . . . with smoke.” Neither had heard Lacey come in. Wink sat up. Alex withdrew his hand. Lacey went to the front window and struggled to lift the sash.

“Wait,” he said. He got to his feet and crossed the room. “Let me help you. I think it's drawing now,” he said, raising the window. “Still, if you want to air it a bit . . .” Before he could complete his sentence Lacey went over to Wink.

“What's the”—she coughed and flapped one hand up and down as if the smoke was making her cough—“the matter?”

“Wink and I were just talking about college. She's concerned about going away.”