A Slender Thread (6 page)

He bent and kissed the top of her head. “Forgive me. It never gets easier. I'm being my nasty bastard self.”

“I love you,” she said. “Why don't you get some air? I'll see you here at seven.”

“You're right,” he had said abruptly, and moved off toward the door.

Margot opened her eyes. She must have slept. A streak of late-afternoon sun fell across the dresser on the opposite wall. Lacey had set a vase of bittersweet there, and the curving branches and berries made a lovely shadow on the wall. She sat up and reached for the small tablet of paper that Lacey had thoughtfully left on the bedside table along with a freshly sharpened pencil in case her guests needed to jot down a note in the middle of the night or make a list. Lacey always thought of such details, like the guest bathrobe Margot had worn earlier. She studied the shadow and began to draw.

She remembered her first art teacher at college telling her that an artist must draw every day, and that drawing, like breathing, is something you must never stop. When she was little she had spent rainy summer afternoons drawing at Bow Lake, moving her colored pencils on the paper to the sound of pattering drops on the roof. She did a drawing once of their rowboat, Pigtail, floating at the end of the dock. Even then, she had known not to draw a round yellow sun with straight lines shooting out at the top of the paper. Instead, she had made the sky three bright shades of blue with the fancy pencils that Granny Winkler said came from France. One knew from that sky that it was a beautiful day. Lacey had told Margot how good her picture was and that none of the girls in her class could draw as well as Margot. To Margot, Lacey's praise meant everything. She didn't care what anyone else thought.

Margot looked again at the bittersweet. For the next few minutes her pencil flew across the page. The lines were pale and broken. She examined the result. Her hand had been unsure, as if she was wary of what would end up on the paper. The drawing was all wrong.

Margot's ex-husband, Teddy, had liked the idea of Margot becoming an artist, but he had taken no interest in her actual paintings, particularly after they were married. When she had moved in with Oliver, she had started painting again. Initially, he was encouraging, telling her the work was good, though he never understood why her canvases were so small and he kept insisting that she might try to open them up. He suggested she set up and work in a corner of his studio. When he advised her to try deeper colors, she did. The more she loosened her brushwork, the more uneasy she became, as if she might lose control. His criticism hadn't bothered her at first, but gradually every new technique she tried made her feel more and more uncertain. Her life was stressful enough with trying to placate temperamental artists at her job, as well as coping with some of Oliver's fragile moods. Most of all, she feared that Oliver would see her lack of talent and think her an impostor.

Eventually she put her work aside. And now she saw that she no longer had the confidence to draw.

The sound of voices rose up the stairwell. Kate and Hugh must have arrived. Margot put down her pencil and crumpled up the paper. Thanksgiving dinner was about to begin. Glancing at the clock on the dresser, she hurriedly changed from her turtleneck into a black cashmere sweater, something that Lacey would say was “very New York.” Margot's throat constricted. She closed her eyes, not wanting to cry at the unbidden thought that one day, maybe one day soon, her sister would not be able to say anything at all.

T
he Georges' home was a large shingled house built at the turn of the century. Though it was not as old as the smaller houses surrounding it, Alex and Lacey had chosen it because even on a gray day the rooms were filled with light. Margot and Lacey's grandmother Winkler had left them each a bequest, stipulating that it be used to purchase “Real Estate.” This was her way, as it had been explained, of ensuring that her granddaughters would not have to depend on a man for providing them with a place to live, a sort of old-fashioned feminism. Margot and Lacey had called their inheritance “the house money.”

Alex hadn't minded selling the small cape in Exeter, New Hampshire, where they had been living and moving to this house in New Castle. He had been running his family's company in Newfields, getting it ready to sell. It had been Lacey's dream to live near the water and this house had room for a studio for her as well as an office for him. As a businessman, he viewed the new house as a good investment.

Margot, then still in her twenties, had used her inheritance to purchase a tiny one-bedroom apartment with a terrace on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Alex couldn't believe how expensive it was for so little space and thought it a poor choice. Buying it was what Margot's boyfriend—soon-to-be husband—Teddy wanted.

Now, as Alex stood in the dining room in New Castle opening the two bottles of Côte de Beaune to serve with their dinner that evening, he thought of Margot's ex-husband, who had come only once to New Castle for Thanksgiving. Alex remembered how appalled he had been that Margot had fallen for Teddy. He recalled one awful, though expensive, dinner with them in New York, and later, when Margot had brought Teddy home for the four-day holiday, he hadn't liked him any better. That guy was too smooth, too certain of himself, and superficial. In Alex's opinion, Teddy didn't appreciate Margot. Lacey had agreed, and urged Margot not to marry so quickly.

Later, after Margot's marriage fell apart, Alex was sorry that he hadn't intervened in some way, but how do you tell your sister-in-law that her fiancé is bad news? Margot would not have wanted to hear it from him. His mother had used an old-fashioned expression when she spoke of Teddy's effect on Margot, saying that Teddy had “taken the bloom off the rose,” when the marriage ended. Still, that was years ago, and Margot looked happier now. Alex assumed Oliver was the reason for it. Funny how he wasn't coming for the holiday this year. Yet lives got complicated with past marriages and grown children added to the mix.

Alex inspected both corks and brought one to his nose. The wine would be good. He surveyed the room. Everything was ready for another Thanksgiving. He liked the brief calm before a party. This room had been the scene of many fine meals: dinner parties with friends, birthday celebrations, and the ritualized holidays that followed one after another. Lacey prided herself on getting everything just right—the combination of guests, the perfect glasses and dishes, flowers, candles, no detail forgotten. On the surface all was well—the gracious room, the table set, the wine open to breathe. But it was not just another Thanksgiving. Their lives had changed. So far, only he and Lacey, and now Margot, knew that.

Alex wondered if Hugh and Kate, longtime friends, would sense that anything was wrong. Hugh had been Alex's roommate in college, a fellow history major, and they had been best friends ever since. Hugh and Kate were the prototypical New England prep-school teachers. Hugh, a slight man, doubtless would show up that evening wearing a tweed sport coat and corduroy pants that bagged at the knees. His prematurely gray hair was usually long and carelessly combed, making him look like a flash-forward photograph of one of his students. He had an endearing earnestness, always giving his full attention to anyone who spoke to him. His former students often returned to visit him years after graduating from Warner Academy, and Alex could see why.

Kate, whom he had married immediately after they graduated from college, also had a sweet, naive quality and the same perennial youthfulness. It was as if living with high school students most of the year kept both of them in a time warp, where normal aging was held at bay. Her shoulder-length brown hair stayed in place with a tortoiseshell headband and she wore no makeup at all on her wide face with its girlish, turned-up nose.

The Martins' lives seemed so easy and uncomplicated to Alex: They had jobs they loved and two happy grown sons already out on their own. Kate and Hugh lived in a small community where they were revered and respected. They had the benefit of free housing at the school and because of this they were able to save for and purchase their home in New Castle, where one day they would retire. Their sons had received full tuition at Warner Academy before going on to college. The school had a world-class athletic center, with swimming pools and a hockey rink, an art museum, a performing arts center, and hiking trails in the adjacent woods. The years seemed to unfold before Kate and Hugh in a predictable progression where little could go wrong.

Alex had loved history like Hugh did, but instead of becoming a teacher, he had decided to get his MBA after college. His family had expected him to work in the family business, George Manufacturing. The company, which made movable window seals for car manufacturers, had grown larger over the years and his father had seemed less and less able to cope in the changing world market. Alex's older brother, Daniel, was already entrenched in his scientific career on the West Coast and uninterested in helping. Fortunately, Alex had been able to sell the company before the threat of foreign competition forced them out of business. He now consulted for other family businesses caught in similar situations. The work could be lucrative, but it was not always steady.

The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. Time to get changed. Alex took a last look at the sideboard, the wine, and the empty chairs where they would soon gather. He felt weary. He had thought he was used to life's hurdles.

 

“So, Georgie, how's the company cleanup business going?” Hugh asked. Hugh liked to joke about Alex's name, reversing the order.

Everyone was gathered in the dining room. One of Lacey's colorful handwoven tapestries ran the length of the table and on it she had arranged gourds and pinecones interlaced with bittersweet. Margot had polished the antique silver candelabra that had belonged to Alex's mother. The candlelight illuminated their faces in the growing dark. They had been at the table for over an hour already.

“I haven't had to travel too much lately,” he said. As a consultant, Alex often had to accept jobs that took him to far-flung parts of the country. Lacey, always busy and independent, had never minded his trips. But what about now? Margot wondered. Would his time away from home be harder for her to endure? And next fall when the girls left for college?

“I had two projects in the Boston area this fall. I like being close to home.”

“I'll agree with that,” Lacey said. While Lacey had not spoken at any length that evening, she laughed easily and made plenty of short comments. “Who'd like more?” She started to get up.

“No, let me,” Margot said quickly and went to the sideboard. “There's lots more Pot of Gold,” she said, referring to the puree of root vegetables, a longtime family favorite. She handed the dish to Kate to pass around the table. “I'll get more turkey.” She picked up the serving platter and headed to the kitchen.

Margot was in awe of the way Lacey put on a beautiful meal seemingly without effort. The turkey had emerged from the oven browned to a golden perfection. Lacey had whisked the gravy while the side dishes warmed—mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, bright green beans, and the corn-bread stuffing, its buttery aroma laced with sage. Kate had brought a casserole of creamed onions and a platter of crudités to have as hors d'oeuvres. Just before sitting down for the meal, Lacey had put the pies in the oven to warm. She had timed the meal perfectly. Yet the timing of her words was already less than perfect. Margot could feel the start of tears as she refilled the platter. No. She'd promised Lacey. She wasn't going to fall apart. She squared her shoulders, pushed her face into a pleasant expression, and went back to the dining room.

“I'd love to travel for my job,” Kate said. “Dorm duty every other weekend this year is killing me. We're getting too old for this.” Kate and Hugh's apartment was in a girls' dormitory at Warner Academy. Kate was in the English department and also the assistant dean, and Hugh was the head of the history department and coached cross-country and track.

“I thought you liked teenagers,” Toni said.

“We do,” Hugh said. “Only imagine what it's like living with forty-six of the likes of you guys. It can be a little intense at times.”

“Besides, you two are perfect, right?” Kate joked.

“Almost,” Alex said, giving Toni a quick glance. Toni had been sulkily pushing her turkey around her plate, still annoyed that she was not allowed to go out with Ryan later that night. In the end, Lacey had prevailed, saying it was a time to be with family, implying that Ryan should be home with his family too, and not hanging out in his apartment during the break.

“So how come you didn't run in the Turkey Trot this year?” Hugh asked Lacey.

“Too busy,” she said. “This fall more than usual.”

“Last year you finished in the top thirty,” Hugh said. “Don't tell me you're giving up running. We have to show those forty-somethings how it's done.”

“Mom's starting an arts program at the homeless shelter,” Wink said. She passed the cranberry sauce to her mother.

“Lacey needs to learn to say no,” Alex said. He looked down the length of the table, but she didn't meet his gaze.

“That does sound like a huge project,” Margot said.

“It's important,” Lacey said, giving Margot an annoyed glance. “Alex, I'm not going to . . . argue with you about this anymore.” With a trembling hand she took the dish from her daughter. The serving spoon fell from the dish, spattering the dark red sauce onto the pine table. There was a sudden silence in the room. Lacey moved to rise.

“I'll get it,” Margot said. She had been passing the platter of turkey, but set it down and went into the kitchen for a cloth.