Chance Harbor (14 page)

Tonight they’d arranged for Russell to take Willow to dinner even though it was technically Catherine’s Friday, because Willow would be in Canada next week. Many of Catherine’s divorced friends had admitted they’d quickly learned to love having a few nights a month to themselves, with no children to feed or prod through odious homework. “Even if you just take a long soak in the tub with a glass of wine, it’s like a vacation,” one friend claimed.

But Catherine found the prospect of facing an empty house depressing. She’d have to sign up for classes and start working toward her doctorate or something. Maybe an MBA.

As she opened the front door and heard his voice, she realized Russell must have already brought Willow home. Damn it. It wasn’t even six o’clock! She wasn’t prepared to see him yet. She reeked of beer and the house was still a mess.

A shiver crawled up her spine. This scene felt too familiar and too strange at the same time. Russell’s shoes were paired in the corner by the hatstand. His black wool coat was draped over the hall chair, the same place he always dropped it no matter how much she hounded him to hang it up. At least she wouldn’t have to put up with
that
anymore.

“Hello? Willow? Russell? I’m home!”

“We’re in the kitchen,” Russell yelled back.

Catherine rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the dog first. A puppy, small enough to hold in two hands. It had a whorled brown and white coat, a curly piggish tail, and a crumpled face like a troll’s. The puppy was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor and chewing on one of Willow’s old sneakers. At the sight of Catherine, it lifted its ugly squashed face, eyeing her while still teething on a shoelace. It had the nerve to wag its tail.

“Whose puppy?” Catherine said.

“Mine,” Willow answered.

Her daughter was perched on one of the stools by the counter. She looked terrible, like one of those strung-out skaters around Harvard Square. Willow’s hair was unwashed and stringy, and she wore the same blue hoodie and jeans she’d worn all week.

“What do you mean, it’s yours?” Catherine asked.

“Just what I said.” Willow lifted her chin, and suddenly it was as if Zoe were sitting in the kitchen with them. Zoe, high on something, telling their parents
no way
was she staying home at night and missing that rave or whatever. All Willow needed was black eyeliner. “It’s my dog,” Willow said. “I found it in the park.”

“Come on, Willow. We can’t possibly keep it,” Catherine said.

“Why not?” Willow’s voice had an unfamiliar edge.

“Well, for one thing, that animal probably belongs to someone else,” Catherine said.

“Yes, I told Willow that she has to make signs and hang them around,” Russell said. “She should report the dog to the SPCA and the police, too.”

Catherine spun around and folded her arms, glaring at him. “Hello? Did anybody ask your opinion? No. This isn’t your house anymore. You don’t get a vote.”

She spoke more sharply than she’d intended, to cover the fact that her knees had gone wobbly the minute she’d seen Russell’s face, his familiar broad shoulders encased in his favorite tweed jacket. Russell had never smoked a pipe, but that jacket had always made Catherine imagine she smelled cherry tobacco.

She wanted to do what she had always done when greeting her husband every day for the past fifteen years: to walk over to him and tuck her head in the hollow beneath his chin.

Catherine forced herself to take a deep breath. She didn’t want to give Russell the satisfaction of knowing how hard her heart was pounding as she stood there, or of how much she was hoping—foolishly, she knew—that maybe he had arrived early at the house to see her. To tell her that he’d made a horrible mistake.

She would forgive him if he did that, Catherine decided. They’d put this nightmare behind them.

Just then the toilet flushed in the bathroom off the kitchen and the door swung open. “Hey. Just so you guys know? You’re out of toilet paper in there.”

Nola. In her kitchen! Catherine had seen pictures of her, of course—had scoured through Willow’s yearbook to find them, had even Googled and Facebooked and checked out Twitter and Tumblr, searching for images. She’d found plenty. Because of that detective work, she had known before seeing her that Nola would be beautiful. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of this extraordinary creature.

The girl didn’t even look human. More like some digitally generated girl in a video game, the sort who would wear a leather bikini and tall boots while wielding a saber. She was incandescent, too, as if she’d been permanently posted beneath a spotlight. The kitchen dimmed around her.

Nola was several inches taller than Catherine, maybe even taller than Russell. Her flawless skin gleamed across high Nordic cheekbones, and her blue eyes were framed in thick black lashes that looked false but probably weren’t. She had the kind of hair meant to be spun into gold or let down from a tower for a prince. Hair that would keep growing as Nola slept and waited, with her rosebud mouth, for a prince to arrive on a white horse and wake her with a kiss.

Too bad the prince had to be Russell. Russell, who surely didn’t have any idea what he’d gotten himself into with this girl. Catherine could tell at a glance that Nola was used to being in charge, child or not. Or maybe
because
she was a child, the child of a wealthy family.

As if this really were a fairy tale, Catherine felt her own skin instantly dry and crack. She was aging five years for every second she stood in front of Nola. Her knees and back, always slightly achy after hours of tending patients, were burning with pain, and her hair fell in frayed ribbons across her shoulders.

“Sorry.” Russell had the grace not to look at Nola. “We meant to leave before you got here. We just finished dinner and were dropping Willow off when she asked us to come in and see the puppy. Nola, this is my . . .” And here he stopped, reddened, and tucked his hands into his pants pockets, no doubt rendered mute by having his two worlds clash.

Nola stepped forward, well schooled, her hand outstretched to shake Catherine’s. “Hello. I’m Nola,” she said. “Nola Simone. And you must be Catherine, Willow’s mom. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Dear Miss Manners
,
What’s the proper way to greet your husband’s pregnant child-mistress?
Catherine ignored the outstretched hand, other than noting the French manicure, and wondered how this child had enough wits about her to openly acknowledge that Catherine was Willow’s mom while managing to verbally sidestep the whole “wife” booby trap.

“I wish the pleasure were mutual, but it isn’t.” Catherine’s mind was fumbling through a haze of fury and pain toward the obvious facts now available to her: Nola must have a car. She and Russell had taken Willow out to dinner together and brought her home.

Where were this girl’s parents? Why hadn’t they put a stop to things? Or had they only found out about Nola and Russell when everyone else had, when it was too late?

Catherine met Nola’s blue eyes and held them. The girl finally dropped her gaze, saying, “I know this is, like, awkward or whatever.”

There.
Now
Nola sounded her age, Catherine thought, cutting her eyes at Russell before saying, “Why? What could possibly be awkward about meeting your lover’s wife?”

“Mom!” Willow gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

Whether Willow was shocked, delighted, or both, Catherine couldn’t tell and was too tired to care. She turned her back on Nola and noticed for the first time that her black-and-white linoleum floor was spotted with puddles of puppy pee.

Good. She hoped Nola stepped in one. She’d had time to notice Nola’s expensive shoes, too, without letting herself look anywhere at the girl’s body between her knees and shoulders.

“Thank you for bringing Willow home,” Catherine said, proud of her voice, steady and cool. “That was a big help. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Willow and I need to discuss this dog.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m keeping it,” Willow said.

Impossible, Catherine thought: she couldn’t deal with life as a single mother and cope with a dog, too. “I don’t see how. You’re leaving for Canada early Sunday morning and I have to work. You’ll be in school when you come back. Who do you suppose will take care of the dog while we’re both out of the house? Puppies are like babies,” she said before she could stop herself. “They need a lot of attention. You and I do need to talk about this, young lady.” God, she sounded like a school principal.

“Fine. Whatever,” Willow mumbled. “Bye, Dad. See you next week, I guess. After I figure out the whole stupid school thing.”

“Bye, pumpkin. You’ll do great no matter what school you end up choosing.” Russell stood up and kissed Willow on the cheek. Willow remained frozen to the spot, her face a mask of nonchalance.

“Bye, Willow,” Nola said, shifting an enormous teal suede purse onto one shoulder.

Willow didn’t answer.

Catherine followed them down the hall. After they’d exited the house, it took all of her strength not to slam the door. She made sure to latch the chain and throw the dead bolt home before she doubled over, willing herself not to cry. Once she started, she might not stop.

A few seconds later, someone knocked. Catherine opened the door as far as the chain would allow. Russell stood there, shivering in the damp breeze.

“What now?” she said.

“I forgot my coat and shoes.”

Catherine glanced over her shoulder and saw that Russell’s shoes were still in the hall. So was his black overcoat. He must have been in a hurry to exit. Or in a fog. She debated. Russell definitely deserved to go home cold and barefoot. But then he’d just turn up again tomorrow.

She sighed and opened the door, standing aside while he retrieved his things. Russell didn’t put the coat or the shoes on; he stood in front of her, the overcoat slung over his arm and the shoes dangling from one hand, and said, “It kills me to see you hurting like this.”

“Yeah, well. You must be a dead man, then.”

“I’m so sorry, Catherine.” His voice broke. “I’ve ruined everything.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit. Willow and I will survive.” Catherine kept her eyes averted, feigning interest in the painting that had hung in the hallway for so long that she’d stopped seeing it until now: a Scottish castle. A pallid watercolor done by one of her father’s cousins. She should take it down. She had hung it up only to make Dad happy.

Russell said, “I know you don’t want to hear what I think about Willow and the dog—”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“All right. Then I won’t tell you to let Willow keep the puppy. She needs something right now to make her smile.”

“Thank you for not saying that. Now get out.”

“I’m going,” Russell said. “But listen. I’d be glad to take care of the dog during the day while Willow’s at school and you’re at work, if that would help.”

Catherine considered this. “You mean you’d come by the house and let the dog out in the yard, then bring it back inside?”

“Yes. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“What about weekends when you have Willow? Would you take the dog then, too?”

“Of course.” He spread his hands and attempted a smile. “It’s not like I’m working. My time is my own until I find another job. And I know it would mean the world to her. Willow has always wanted a dog. We should have said yes before this. Think about it.”

“I will. But only if you promise to never bring that girl here again.”

Russell frowned. “Look, let’s not be one of those divorced couples who has to meet in a neutral place during custody exchanges. We can do better than that.”

“Oh, we’ll be civil. For Willow’s sake, I am not shouting at you, swearing, or setting your hair on fire. We will mediate our divorce and split things down the middle. But that girl must never come to my house again. Ever.” Catherine crossed her arms.

“Of course. Like I said, Nola and I meant to get out of here before—”

“No,” she interrupted again. “You misunderstand. I’m saying that you can’t bring Nola with you, even in the car, when you drop off Willow. I don’t want her anywhere near me. Or our house.”

“Oh, come on, Catherine. Don’t you think that’s being a little unreasonable?”

She glared at him and felt a surprising zing of pleasure as Russell backed up so fast he nearly fell off the front step. As if being bitchy gave her some kind of superpower.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll make sure I’m alone whenever I come here.”

“Fine. I’ll think about letting Willow keep the dog.”

“Thank you. I’ll be going now. Good night,” Russell said, but he continued to stand there, shoes in one hand, his eyes searching her face.

Searching for what? She had no answers for him. Willow would have a pet to distract her from sorrow and pain. Russell would have his new wife and baby. What would she have? Work. Sticky pub dates with Bethany. Wednesday night baths after her footsteps echoed through empty rooms.

Catherine shoved Russell a little on the chest. “Go on. Your girlfriend’s waiting.” She shut the door behind her husband and pressed her forehead to the cold wood.

•   •   •

When the girls were small, the drive from Massachusetts to Prince Edward Island seemed to take forever. That was partly because they made the trip many times before the eight-mile-long Confederation Bridge was built to replace the ferry. Andrew had been so excited about the bridge going up that he’d always made them stop to take pictures of it under construction.

“This is one of Canada’s top engineering achievements,” he’d eagerly told the girls, who could hardly be bothered to look out the window. “A marriage of art and engineering. Think of it! We’re driving over the world’s longest bridge across ice-covered waters!”

Eve didn’t share his excitement about the bridge. In her view, it was sturdy rather than beautiful, a ponderous structure. They’d made the railings so high you could scarcely see the water from the car. Besides, she missed taking the ferry from New Brunswick to PEI. She had loved the excitement of driving onto the boat in a line of cars, the breakfasts of eggs and potatoes in the cafeteria as they waited for the island’s red cliffs and lighthouses to slowly slide into view.