Accidents of Marriage (40 page)

“It’s difficult when families go through these tragedies,” Mr. Epstein said. “So often it’s the children who are forgotten.”

Zach sent his father a warning look. She could imagine what he’d told his family.
Poor Emma with her messed-up family.
Then they’d all gazed at each other in gratitude for their perfect non-messed-up home.

“I’m lucky,” Emma said. “We have a great family. Super close—in fact, my mother’s accident brought us even closer.”

•  •  •

“What was wrong with you?” Emma asked the moment she and Zach left the house. She zipped her coat to her chin as they walked to the bus. “You hardly said one word.”

“Because my family wants to get to know you. They already know me.” He put his arm around her shoulders.

“You mean they want to see if I’m good enough for their precious son.” Emma batted him away. She stopped in front of the bus stop, watching her breath float away in cold winter puffs. “Your family is wrapped too tight.” She stamped her feet from the cold. “It’s not like we’re engaged or something. That was like an inquisition.”

Bands of pressure went across her stomach. She felt like throwing up. Last time she took the pills the same thing happened.

What if she’d poisoned herself?

“They were only trying to talk to you. You turned into a mummy.”

“That’s your family’s idea of talking?
How are your grades, Emma?
Are you thinking about colleges yet?
” she mimicked. “It was a second degree to see if I deserved to be your girlfriend.”

“My parents care about me,” Zach said.

“And mine don’t?” Emma jammed her mittened hands into her pockets to keep from throwing something, anything. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the pulsing from her stomach cramps, the nausea.

“You’re the one who’s always complaining about how your dad doesn’t even know what you’re doing.”

“That’s because my mother almost died, idiot.” Her chest burned with hating him. “My father worried about me all the time before this, and even now he’d never have been rude to you. Nobody at my house would quiz you about being Jewish.”

Zach put a hand on her shoulder. “Relax, okay? I was upset at how stuck-up you were acting, but I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“Stuck-up?” Emma lifted her puffed-up jacketed arms and pounded the air. “News flash. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Zach’s drawn-out sigh made it seem as though she were dating some old man.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Can we drop it?”

“Just go home,” she said.

“I’m riding home with you. That’s it.”

They rode the bus in near silence. Emma pressed her forehead against the dirty window each time Zach tried to talk, the cold glass comforting against her hot skin. Taking shallow breaths helped with the cramping.

When the bus arrived at Emma’s stop, Zach followed her off and took her hand.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, his voice indicating his interest went beyond walking.

“I don’t want to,” Emma said. “Go home.”

“Come on,” he begged. “Just for a while.”

Zach no longer looked cute, but like one more person in this world who needed something from her. He squeezed her hand as she tried to pull away.

“Don’t ruin the whole night,” he said.

Without answering him, Emma slipped her hand out of her mitten, leaving Zach holding the empty blue wool, and ran the block to her house.

Once inside, she slammed her backpack on the hall table, tore off her jacket, and stomped into the living room. Gracie and her mother sprawled on the couch, her mother resting her hand on Gracie’s ankle.

Afraid that she’d throw up right then and there, she ran into the small hall bathroom, landing on her knees in front of the toilet just in time. Everything she’d eaten at Zach’s came out in waves. Her hands shook as she tried to grab the towel from the rack.

“Here.” Her mother stood in the open doorway holding a half-full glass. “And here,” she added, handing the towel to Emma.

“What’s that?” Emma croaked out, pointing her chin at the glass.

“Coke.”

“We don’t have Coke,” Emma said.

“I’ve always kept some in the basement. Hidden. For when one of us. Got sick. Drink a little. It helps with nausea. Or if you. Throw up again. You’ll need something in your. Stomach.”

Emma took the chilled glass. Smashed ice floated in the Coke.
That’s what her mother had always done when any of them got sick—smashed ice in a plastic bag so they had the soothing feel of ice chips in the medicinal soda. She glanced at her mother’s hand to make sure she hadn’t bashed a finger or something, but they all looked intact.

She pulled herself away from the toilet and sat cross-legged on the cool tile. Her mother leaned over and flushed away the horror that had been the Epstein dinner. She wet a washcloth, sank beside Emma, and took her hands. Scratchy hot fabric soothed away the awful bits of sick on her hands and face. Her mother’s touch brought forth a bout of tears.

“Do you feel any. Better? Bad food? Maybe a stomach flu?” Her mother held her damp hand. “Should I call Daddy?”

“No!” Emma wrapped her arms around her mother. “Please don’t tell Daddy!”

“Okay. Tell me. What’s wrong?”

Emma spoke into her mother’s robe. “I did something bad. Very bad.”

Her mother said nothing, just stroked Emma’s hair from her forehead in a soothing rhythm, reminding her of . . . of her mother.

“I . . . Caro gave me . . . I didn’t feel like I could do everything. And Caro gave me pills.”

“What kind?”

“Legal ones. She had a prescription. Ritalin.”

Her mother nodded. “So many kids. Get that pill. It’s stupid.” She took a breath. “Though not as stupid. As her giving it. To you. And you taking them.”

“I know it was wrong, Mom. And they made me feel awful.” Emma sat up and looked into her mother’s eyes. “Well, not every one felt awful. Some made me feel good.”

“That’s very, very scary. For you. And for me.”

“Once I felt so bad I took one of your pills. One of your ‘relaxing’ pills.”

“More scary.” Her mother put a hand to her chest. “We need to make this. Stop. Now. I have to talk. To Daddy.”

“Please, please. Don’t tell Daddy right away, okay?” Emma clutched
her mother’s hands. “I swear to God that I won’t do it anymore. It was stupid. I know. There was just . . . I was so—”

“Overwhelmed. There was too much work. For you. I know, baby. I know.”

“Will you?”

“Tell Daddy?” Her mother shook her head. “Not right now. But I can’t make forever. Promises. We have to talk. A lot.”

“I know.” Emma smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Come to the couch. And bring a brush.”

•  •  •

“So. Besides your upset. Stomach. Bad night?” her mother asked as she settled next to Gracie. “Emma had a bad something. Maybe Zach’s mother’s cooking.”

“Zach is an idiot.” Emma sat on the floor in front of her mother and unplaited her braid.

“What did he do?”

“Oh, I can’t even describe it. His parents are so . . .” She grimaced. “His father even grilled me about my grades!”

“Poor Emma,” Gracie said.

“And they asked me things about being Jewish!” Emma added. She shook out her long hair, spreading it over her shoulders.

“Like what?”

Emma put the brush in her mother’s hand and leaned back. “Like who was Jewish—you or Daddy. And like they gave me some big prize by saying that since you’re Jewish, I’m Jewish.”

Calmness enveloped her as her mother brushed her hair. For the first time since the accident, Emma felt almost happy.

“That’s why I’m. Glad. I married Daddy.”

“Because he’s not Jewish?” Gracie asked.

“No. Because it didn’t matter. Like that. Like Zach’s family. Like just being born. One way. Makes you special. Or better.”

“Is that why you never took us to temple?” Emma asked. “Or had us bar mitzvahed?”

“Bat mitvah. For a girl.” Emma turned and saw her mother’s sweet
smile. “I got. Lots of presents. It felt like. I was being welcomed. Into a club. Where only some people. Could join. I never liked that.”

“You didn’t like being Jewish?” Gracie asked.

“That’s not it. I love it. Especially the food.” Her mother rubbed Emma’s temples in soothing circles. “But people fight. Religion. Makes people mean. Or lonely. Like they’re not. In the club. Or their club. Is wrong.”

Her mother took a breath after the long speech. She bent over and kissed the top of Emma’s head and then continued. “So Daddy and I never. Joined. Anything. Maybe. We were wrong. Did you miss it?”

Emma wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to hurt her mother. “It was fine.”

Gracie fingered the angel on her collar. “Should I take this off?”

“No!” her mother said. “In fact, I think. I want one. Prayers can be answered. But they should never. Be called. To hurt. As though. You have. The only answer.”

“What do you think the answer is, Mom?” Being able to ask her mother for guidance made Emma want to hug the world.

Her mother answered with slow surety. “Your deeds. An open heart.”

“Oh, I really love you, Mom.” Emma reached up and took her mother’s hands. “God, Zach wasn’t even embarrassed by his parents.”

Emma paused. “Mom? Do you think Daddy hates me?”

“Daddy loves you.”

“But he blames me, right?”

“For what?”

“For telling you. And making him move out.”

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Emma. I told Daddy to leave.”

“Because of what I said. Because I said he was so mad that he hurt you.” Emma slid back down and tugged her mother’s hand back to her hair, hungry for her touch.

“No. Because of what. He did. Because he didn’t tell.” Her mother reached for Emma’s hand. “You told the truth. That’s good.”

“But now you and Daddy are getting a divorce.” Tears thickened Gracie’s already cold-clogged voice. “I don’t want that.”

“I know,” her mother said.

“Daddy would come back if you said so,” Gracie said. “Please let him come back.”

Emma wanted to beg right along with Gracie.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please bring my father home.

CHAPTER 38

Ben

Maddy, Emma, and Gracie were curled up together, asleep on the couch, when Ben returned with Caleb from the Celtics game. The eleven o’clock news showed a raging fire in East Boston.

“Why is everyone sleeping?” Caleb asked.

“Shh. It’s late, that’s why,” Ben whispered to his son. “Come on, buddy. Bedtime.”

“I’m up,” Maddy said softly.

“Mommy!” Caleb ran to the couch. “Did we wake you up?”

“Ouch. You got me in the stomach, idiot,” Emma yelled.

Caleb dove between Emma and Maddy until Emma finally said, “I give up,” and slid to the floor, dragging a pillow with her.

“Guess what? The Celtics won! Daddy bought me food and candy, and Uncle Andrew got me this.” He waved a green hat in front of Maddy’s face. “He said since he didn’t have a son, I could be his onray son so he had someone to go to games with. What’s onray? Is it like X-ray? Can he see through me?”

“Uncle Andrew meant honorary, stupid,” Emma said.

“Don’t call him stupid,” Maddy said.

Caleb stuck his tongue out at Emma. “I’m not stupid. I’m brain-injured.”

Ben watching for Maddy’s reaction.

“You’re not brain-injured.” Maddy tickled Caleb’s stomach. “You’re tummy-injured. Because Daddy. Put so much. Junk in there.”

Emma groaned. “Mom, don’t encourage him.”

“Why not? He’s special.” Maddy showered Caleb’s face with kisses.

“Special needs, maybe,” Emma said. “Probably caught it from Mom.”

Ben caught Emma’s eyes and laughed. His chest tightened when she smiled back. He turned to Maddy, trying to share the moment, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“We should. All go to sleep,” she said. “Emma? Help the kids into bed?”

“I can do it myself,” Gracie mumbled, her eyes closed.

Emma tugged at Gracie’s arm until she stumbled up; she put out her other hand toward Caleb.

“Daddy? Will you come up and kiss us?” Gracie asked.

“Right up, sweet pea.” The air turned sour the moment the kids left. “Did Emma have a good time at Zach’s house?” Ben asked. “We should probably invite him over here now, right?” He walked around the room, picking up books, a doll, a sweatshirt.

“There’s no ‘we.’ ” Maddy walked over and took everything from his arms and dumped it on the couch. “Leave that stuff. Go kiss Gracie. And Emma. She needs you.”

•  •  •

Ben wasn’t surprised when he found Gracie’s room empty. He opened the door to his bedroom—Maddy’s bedroom—and saw his younger daughter sprawled across the cover. Everything in the room looked spotless. Perfect. Anne’s touch was all over the house. He despised it.

“You have to go to your bed, sweet pea,” Ben said.

He led her toward her own bed. “Emma thinks you hate her,” she murmured as he bent to kiss her. “She told Mommy.”

Ben took an afghan from the foot of the bed and tucked it around her. “I love Emma very much. And you. And Caleb.”

“Do you love Mommy?”

“I loved Mommy before I ever loved anyone else in the world.”

“But you loved Grandma and Grandpa Illica first, right?”

Ben paused. He screwed his kids up enough. “Sure. I meant in the falling-in-love romantic way.”

“Do you still love Mommy that way?”

He bent over and kissed her. “More than ever.”

In the hall, a light came from Emma’s room. “Honey,” he called softly through the door.

“What?” Her tone was neutral.

“Can I come in?” Ben pushed the door and peeked in. Emma sat on the floor, her laptop on her knees. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“How was your night with Zach’s parents?”

Her scowl told him not so good. She shrugged again, her eyes still on the computer. “He’s an idiot. I think I’m breaking up with him. Maybe I already did.”

“Are you upset?” he asked.

“Only a little about him.” Emma turned and looked sadder than she’d been in her whole life. “A lot about us. Everything is my fault.”

He sat beside her. “Nothing is your fault. I told you that.”