After the Fire (25 page)

In the background stood an elderly-seeming woman wearing a white uniform and a cheerful smile.

“You're Mrs. O'Malley,” said Hyacinth.

“Oh yes, and haven't I had a time with them this morning! They would have started at six o'clock if I'd let them. They were in such a hurry to see Mommy.”

“We brought our swimsuits!” Emma cried. “Daddy says this hotel has a pool, and you would let us go in.”

Could she ever have thought that the word
Daddy
would be abrasive?

She answered brightly, “Of course. I'm sorry I never thought to bring my suit, but Mrs. O'Malley and I will sit and watch you. Then we'll have lunch outside by the pool. It'll be fun.”

“Her name is Nanny,” Emma said.

“Nanny and I will watch you. You can change in there. Which beach bag is yours, Emma? I'll go in to help you.”

“No, Nanny will,” Emma said. “She always does.”

“Fine. Then I'll go find some chairs in the shade.”

Nanny always does
. It was such a small thing, yet it made her feel extraneous, as if she were not needed.

Having arranged the chairs, she sat and waited. The kiddie pool was uncrowded. A few young children were splashing, and a few more were running while mothers warned against the slippery tiling; you could tell they were mothers not only by their appearance but by the
way they spoke. There was always something recognizable about a mother's voice.

I am looking for trouble, she thought then, reprimanding herself. I am simply waiting and expecting to be hurt. Can't you look for the positive, Hyacinth? Here they come. Here in the red trunks and the pink bikini, the little bodies, my flesh and my heart.

“Oh, no!” she cried as Jerry dove into the adult pool.

Nanny assured her that he was allowed to, “as long as there's a lifeguard and he stays in the shallow end. Jerry's a fine swimmer already. You don't have to worry.”

“I didn't know he was that good.”

“Yes, he's a real athlete, Jerry is. He started tennis lessons last month, and the coach says he's way ahead of any other kids his age.”

“He didn't tell me, and I speak to both of them almost every day.”

That had been a stupid thing to say. It sounded positively apologetic, as if she wanted to explain herself, or show that she was, in spite of all, an attentive, caring mother.

“Oh, I know. I'm always there to remind them of the time. You must be waiting for their ring.”

They were acting, playing a role, the mother and the woman who must be—in a perfectly decent, understandable way—fascinated by this odd situation. And the mother is sitting here, imperturbable, well groomed and calm, in the groomed setting of marble, sky, and pool, pretending that there is really nothing odd about the situation. Surely there must be plenty of speculation
between this nanny and the other woman in the house, the unfriendly servant on that awful day. Nanny was even now stealing a curious look at Hyacinth, but catching her glance, she pretended to be watching Emma, who was talking to another girl in the pool.

“Emma's the sociable one. A real chatterbox. Makes friends everywhere she goes. And people take to her, even people you wouldn't expect. Why, the other day a real grumpy-looking old man in the drugstore got talking to her, and—”

The woman was speaking as if these children were strangers who needed to be introduced to Hyacinth and described for her.

“—and so, when I told her daddy, he laughed, got a big kick out of it. He always—” She stopped.

Fight anger and pain, Hyacinth. Keep your dignity.

“It's quite all right to mention their father, Nanny,” she said.

Nanny flushed. “I only meant she's a personality, that one.”

Yes, that's another resemblance to Francine, and it was a good thing, too. It would make life easier.

Jerry, who had also found friends, came bringing one with him. “This is Doug. He wants to have lunch with us. His parents won't be back till after lunch. Can he have lunch with us?”

It was not clear whether the question was being addressed to Nanny or to Hyacinth. She answered quickly, just as Nanny did the same.

“Yes, he's welcome.”

He was not really welcome. This innocent little boy
was, on this one day of days, an interloper, as was Nanny or anybody who took her precious minutes away from Hyacinth. She was a prisoner here, without transportation to take the children anywhere else. She could not very well ask Nanny to go eat by herself. And then the thought came that, quite possibly, or more likely probably, Gerald had instructed the woman not to leave the children alone with their mother.

“You are out of control, Hyacinth. You've got a problem.”

Children's chatter filled the lunch hour. This was not at all what she had planned and longed for. And she thought of the two rooms in which she now lived. Perhaps after all she had made a mistake in selling their house. So her mind spun, round and round.

Emma said suddenly, “I want to go riding. I'm tired of this pool.” There was something new in her voice, a petulant wail. “I'm tired of it. The club has an ice cream bar, and this place doesn't.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jerry said. “Shut your big yap.”

“I don't like that talk,” Hyacinth told him.

“Everybody talks like that, Mom.”

“Maybe they do, but I still don't like it.”

What was she saying? Picking on him for using a word like
yap
? Picking on him
today
? But mothers are supposed to correct, if they do it kindly. Yes, mothers are. She was forgetting: This nanny is his mother now.

Emma repeated, “I want to go riding.”

“I didn't bring anything for you to wear,” Nanny said. “I didn't know you wanted to.”

Jerry protested, “I can ride the way I am.”

“You know you can't. You need long pants so your skin won't rub sore, you need boots and a helmet with a chin strap. You know your daddy would have a fit if you rode without one. It's the same as on your bike. And that's that,” Nanny concluded with the voice of authority.

“Can't we just drive out there to show Mom?” Jerry pleaded. “Just to look? You would like that, wouldn't you, Mom?”

“I'd love to. I'd love to do anything you'd like.”

“It's a good long drive, but nice,” Nanny said. “We should start now before traffic gets heavier.”

Jerry sat in front talking and fiddling with the radio dials in turn. Emma, in the middle row of seats, fell asleep. When her head fell to rest on her mother's shoulder, Hyacinth did not move; even though her body needed to change position, no such comfort would be worth the loss of that warm head so close, with the feel and fragrance of soft hair brushing her cheek.

“We're almost there,” Jerry cried. “I know the way. Two more lights.” He held up two fingers. “Then we turn left—no, right—and the first thing I'm going to do is, I'm going to show you Uncle Arnie's horse.”

In his excitement, he was bouncing on the seat. He had always bounced, even when he sat in his high chair.

And Hyacinth asked tenderly, “Not your horse first?”

“Oh, both. But his first because his is bigger. It's enormous. I told you! It's a Tennessee Walker.”

In almost every one of their telephone conversations, Jerry remembered to give that piece of information.

“I know. And Emma's pony?”

“It's not really hers. She's too young. She gets rides. They have to walk it around and hold her on it. She only thinks it's all her pony. But we never tell her that,” Jerry warned. “We don't want to hurt her feelings.”

There's the goodness in him. That's really sweet, and so funny when you think of how tough he sometimes tries to be.

“What did you say about me?” asked Emma, sitting up.

“Only that you had a nice nap, and we're almost there.”

Emma smiled. Her teeth would not need to be straightened. She had not kept Gerald's dimple, as Jerry had. Someone—who?—had given her a little gold heart on a chain. She had had a scratch or bite on the inside of her arm; there was a Band-Aid on it. Her mother's eyes missed nothing.

On the other hand, the mother's eyes saw nothing. It was all a blur, the passing impression of a shady lane, of some low shingled buildings, and of fields, flat green spaces with white board fences. They brought out a pony, a little creature not much larger than a Great Dane, and for Hyacinth's benefit, they set Emma on it for a minute or two. Nanny clapped, so Hyacinth clapped. They brought out another pony, much larger; Jerry began a demonstration, and still there was that blur before her eyes and in her head: What am I doing here? It is all false.

Nanny touched her arm. “Are you feeling all right?”

She came to. “Yes, yes, I'm fine.”

“I ask because you didn't answer Jerry. He's showing you how he mounts.”

“I'm sorry! I don't know why I didn't hear him. Go on, Jerry, show me.”

“You hold the reins between your thumb and this finger. See? Like this, not in your fist. And you have to sit up straight with your knees down. See? Can I walk around a little? Just a little? I know I'm not dressed and I'm not supposed to, but can I, Tom?”

The young groom who held the pony was patient. He winked at Jerry. Apparently he liked him. Most people did. “Okay, I'll walk with you once around the paddock. Then you have to get off, and we won't say anything.”

“They're very nice to the children here,” Nanny said. “I guess that's because their Uncle Arnie keeps his horse here and comes almost every day. When Jerry's in school, he usually can't come every day, so they exercise the pony for him.”

Jerry was proud as he dismounted and handed the reins to Tom. He's having a good life, Hyacinth thought. At least I have to be grateful for that, and I am.

“I didn't tell you his name, did I, Mom?”

He had told her, many times, but obviously he enjoyed repeating the name, so she told him he had not.

“King Charles is his name. Do you know why?”

“No. Why?”

“Because Charlie is a King Charles spaniel.”

“Oh. Well, that's a very good reason.”

“I thought so, too. He's a Shetland pinto.”

She had heard that many times also, but she remarked merely, “I like his white stockings.”

“They're socks, Mom. Stockings are when they come up to the knees.”

“You know so much, Jerry.”

“I do. I do.” He nodded seriously. “Did you know I ride on an English saddle? Cowboys use Western saddles, but I don't.”

“Well, you're not a cowboy, are you? You're an easterner.”

Nanny consulted her watch. “If we're to beat the traffic going back, we'd better start. It's good we don't need to be on time for dinner. But Daddy has office hours one night a week, you know, and tonight's the night.”

Hyacinth had quite naturally not known, but the routine and the punctilious dinner hour—barring emergency—were most surely familiar. A picture loomed, flashed, and immediately dissolved: strong, lean hands, impeccable and somehow stern, if hands ever could be stern, laying a knife and a fork in parallel order on a plate. Whether it was this image, with all its corollaries, or whether it was the awareness that the day was coming to an end, she did not know; she only knew that her supply of emotional energy was running low. What was the purpose of this day? It had only reopened her wounds. And she had no way of knowing anything about her children's wounds, if any. Perhaps by now theirs had healed over. She could only pray that they had.

“I want ice cream,” Emma announced, “the kind with chocolate sprinkles.”

“Don't you remember the magic word, Emma?”

“I want ice cream,
please
.”

“Great. We'll have it back at the hotel.”

“Do they have sprinkles?”

“I'm sure they have.”

Nanny was dubious. “It's getting near suppertime, you know. Don't spoil your appetites.”

“It's midafternoon,” Hyacinth said firmly, “and it won't hurt them if they don't finish their supper for once.”

In a polite, respectful way, Nanny was overstepping her role. She wouldn't be doing it to any other mother or any other employer. She was doing it because she saw very clearly that she was dealing with a mother who for some mysterious reason had been defeated and cast out.

On a terrace under a breeze that rattled the palm branches above their heads, they sat in a man-made jungle surrounded by flowers. And Hyacinth, observing the children, saw that they were pleased but not unusually so. Already they were accustomed to places like this one, this oasis of luxury.

Jerry announced that Dad was taking him to the tennis matches. He had a new racquet. Emma wasn't old enough for tennis yet; she was having ballet lessons. And Dad had started to play chess with Jerry. Really there was no harm in any of this. Anyone who could afford to gave his children all these extra chances to learn and do. But if you had been reduced to a meager shelter, you could not afford to give them these things. As so many times before, Hyacinth remembered the woman at that group meeting who had lost her son to their father's lavish house on a lake. And she remembered—when was there a day when she forgot?—the faces of the widow and the little boy….

A startling question roused her. Jerry was asking whether Dad and she were divorced yet.

“Oh, yes,” she replied quite casually.

“The papers are finished and signed, I mean?”

She was astonished.
Papers
. This generation's children knew too much, too soon. Yet how could they help but know?

Again she said simply, “Yes.”

“Why don't you ever come to our house?” asked Emma.

Jerry rebuked her, although not unkindly. “You don't know anything. But it's not your fault. You're only five.”

“I'm five and a half. Why don't you, Mommy?”

I'm tired, thought Hyacinth. I'm tired, and I don't know what to say.

They were waiting. And again the woman, the nanny, the stranger, gave her that curious glance.

Then Jerry answered. “It's because Mom's sick. Tessie said so.”

“Tessie? Who is she?”

“You know. She cooks the food and cleans the house.”

Sick, thought Hyacinth. Yes, I must have looked it that day.

“Oh. Well, she's wrong, Jerry. I'm perfectly well. I had to take care of Granny for a long time, you see, and then—”