Family Pictures (11 page)

Picking the candle up, Clothilde smells it again. “It’s really very nice,” she murmurs. “It smells good and it’s pretty. Well done.”

Sylvie just stares. Is she hearing what she thinks she’s hearing?

“Dreadful name, though.” Clothilde stares at the label. “You can do much better. I was always very creative. I’m sure I can come up with something clever. You remember that advertising campaign for the soap? You know that was all me? We were at a dinner for the CEO of…”

As she talks, Sylvie drifts off, her mother’s compliments reverberating in her head, mixed in with the voice of Sally Field: She likes it. She really, really likes it.

She is brought back to earth with a bump.

“So where is that husband of yours?” Clothilde asks. “He hasn’t been to see me for far too long. I’m going to phone him and demand he come to see me.”

Sylvie, relieved Clothilde will deal with it directly, says nothing.

“Is he traveling again?”

“Yes. You know how it is. Always on the road.”

“Oh yes, I know how it is. A different town, no wife, no children, he’s out there having fun. You need to seduce him back home.”

Sylvie snorts. “Mom! Are you implying Mark’s out partying? With other women? Because that’s just ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? For a handsome, young, virile man like Mark? Men can’t survive without sex, and if he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from someone else.”

“We have a perfectly wonderful sex life, thank you.” Sylvie tries to laugh.

“I’m sure you do. But he’s not getting it from you enough, because he’s never with you. How much do you see him? A week a month? Don’t be stupid, Sylvie. You need to start making him want to be home.”

“It’s not a week a month,” Sylvie says furiously, mentally working it out in her head. Surely it’s not a week a month. It’s always roughly been two weeks a month, half here, half in the California office or on the road. But apart from his surprise visit this past weekend, he has been here less of late.

The palpitations start again. Could her mother be right?

Could her mother be right?

15

Sylvie

It has never occurred to Sylvie to check Mark’s e-mail. She is not, or has not been, insecure enough to feel she has to delve into her husband’s life. There have, of course, been occasions where she has called him, has heard a woman’s voice in the background, but as she well knows, half his colleagues are women. Part of his company’s policy is engendering a close team by constant, fun, extracurricular activies.

Has she, as her mother seems to think, been naive? Should she do the unthinkable and snoop? Terrifying, yet she is increasingly compelled to do so?

Her brain is firing. First with fear of the possibility being true, then a calmer voice talking her down, telling her how unlikely it is. This is
Mark.
This isn’t Bill. This isn’t a man who is flirtatious, a little too tactile with the women in the neighborhood, a touch too familiar when they’ve had a glass too many at a party.

Not Mark. Even when so-called friends attempt to flirt with him, shoot him seductive glances, lean in a little too close at a wine-tasting soiree, Sylvie sees him smile, then excuse himself, eyes frantically searching over the heads for his wife to come rescue him.

They always laugh about it later, Mark unaware that anyone was flirting, insisting women were just being friendly, Sylvie teasing him about his new “girlfriend,” able to tease because Mark
isn’t
like that, has never given her any indication he is interested in anyone but her.

The shrill ring of the phone interrupts her thoughts. Glancing down, she sees it’s Angie and pulls over to the side of the road to pick up.

“So I just left yoga, and the latest on Caroline and Bill is she’s definitely leaving town. House is going on the market tomorrow. Bill told Don he was having affairs because Caroline hates sex. No surprise there, then.”

“True,” murmurs Sylvie. “I can’t imagine Caroline getting down and dirty with anyone. Least of all Bill. Even though he is rather … large.”

Angie barks with laughter. “What are you doing? Come over. I’ve got a million cupcakes left over from the library meeting. If you don’t come stop me, I may have put on three hundred pounds by the end of today.”

Sylvie checks her watch. “I have to be home in five minutes. The guy’s coming to fix the dishwasher, and I have to make sure Eve goes to visit her grandmother today. Come to me instead. And bring the cupcakes.”

*   *   *

Pushing the back door open, Sylvie walks into a quiet kitchen, the only evidence that Eve is home a trail of teenage belongings, rather like the bread crumbs left by Hansel and Gretel, that eventually will surely lead to Eve.

A backpack dumped in the middle of the floor outside the kitchen, a binder in the doorway, a felt hat on the kitchen table. A carton of milk on the kitchen counter, the cookie jar not in its usual place on the shelf.

“Eve?” Sylvie puts her bag down, pausing only to pick up one of the candles and smell, amazed still that she managed to create this wonderful fragrance. “Are you here?”

She moves through the house, picking up Eve’s stuff as she does so, eventually finding her in the office, hand in the cookie jar resting on her lap as she gazes fixedly on the screen, suddenly bursting out into laughter.

“You jerk!” Eve grins at the screen before realizing at that moment that Sylvie is in the room. “Oh hey, Mom!” She pushes the cookie jar down, attempting to hide it, embarrassed.

“Caught you!” Sylvie says as Eve blushes.

“Guilty as charged.” Eve tries to laugh, although she looks embarrassed. “Say hi to my mom,” she says to the screen, swiveling it round. “Mom? This is Olivia. She’s in New York?”

Sylvie waves at the tiny picture of the pretty teenager, wishing Eve would stop with this upspeak she’s noticing in everyone, all their sentences going up at the end as if they are asking a question.

“Hi, Eve’s Mom!” Olivia waves back. “Wow! You’re so pretty! And so young!”

Sylvie shakes her head and laughs. “Your screen must be soft focus, or you’ve been taking some lessons at charm school.”

“She totally has.” Eve drapes an arm around her mother’s neck so they are both on-screen together. “Isn’t she cute?” She looks at her mother affectionately as Sylvie makes a face at her.

“I’m your mother, not a kitten.”

“I know”—Eve pouts—“but you are cute. Isn’t she cute?” She looks at Olivia on-screen, who nods and gives a thumbs-up.

“Okay.” Sylvie disengages and turns to Eve. “You want something. What do you want?”

“Well…,” Eve starts, as Sylvie remembers what she needs to do. “You know what? I need to use the computer in here. Can you give me five minutes? Is that okay?”

“Then will you say yes to whatever I’m about to ask you?”

“Then I’ll say maybe and I’ll definitely think about it. How’s that?”

“Good enough.” Eve skips out the room.

*   *   *

Sylvie takes a deep breath as she clicks Outlook open. She is breaking the rules; snooping means you will find things you don’t want to know about; you won’t be able to request an explanation without revealing you have been snooping, which, as everyone knows, is the lowest of the low.

First the in-box. She scrolls down, looking for women’s names, looking for addresses that don’t make sense, that could be masking a secret liaison. She finds two addresses that seem ominous, which turn out to be merely from executive assistants at other companies and entirely innocent.

There are numerous mailboxes. Sylvie moves down the list, clicking each one open, finally growing bored with reading sales figures, projections, inventory lists.

There is no evidence whatsoever, other than a slight disquiet, a fear her mother may be right, but she has to ignore it, for her mother is not the woman she once was, and her instincts, though once sharp, are not what they were.

Eve appears in the doorway. “Are you done yet?”

Sylvie nods. “Who’s Olivia, by the way? She seems nice.”

“She is. Really nice. She’s a friend of Claudia’s from camp. We met on Facebook.”

Sylvie gives her a hard look. “Make sure your father doesn’t find out. If he knew you were becoming friends with strangers on Facebook, he’d go nuts.”

“She’s not a stranger, Mom. She’s a friend of Claudia’s. Anyway, you just met her. Isn’t she so nice?”

“She is. She seems adorable. Just make sure—”

“Yes, yes, I know. But can I just tell you? She has this ridiculously awesome apartment in New York, and she’s really mature and sensible. And … she’s going to Columbia.” Eve gives her mother a stare.

“And your point?”

“That’s where I should be going. Columbia. Or NYU. The Eastern schools attract really great people. I really do want to look at NYU again. Please will you talk to Dad? Please?”

“I’ll try again, but I can’t promise anything,” sighs Sylvie. “You know how stubborn he can be.”

“When I’m eighteen, I can make my own choice.” Eve pouts defiantly.

“You can, but who’s going to pay for it?”

“I’ll get a job.”

“You’ll need ten jobs to pay for it. Let me talk to him some more. I know you need to make a decision very soon.”

They both turn at the sound of gravel crunching outside, Angie’s vintage blue Bug swinging underneath the window as Angie and her daughter, Claudia, climb out of the car.

Sylvie and Eve go to meet them, Sylvie trying to put those earlier, unsettling thoughts out of her mind.

16

Sylvie

Angie moans as she licks her fingers, savoring every last dollop of icing she can find. “Sometimes,” she announces, leaning back satisfied, “there’s just nothing like a cupcake to make a girl happy.”

“Or three.” Sylvie grins. “To make a girl delirious with joy.”

“Was it just three?” Angie says. “I’m sure I had three and a half. As yummy as they were, I have a horrible feeling I may suffer later.”

Sylvie’s smile disappears. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I heard Eve vomiting the other night.”

Angie sits up. “You mean purging? After food?”

Sylvie nods. “I passed the bathroom the other night after she’d just eaten a ton of cookies. I’m pretty sure the noise I heard was of her vomiting it up.”

“Was that the only time you’ve heard it?”

Sylvie shakes her head, explaining about the ice cream that Eve confessed to eating too fast.

“Does she leave the table right after the meal and go to the bathroom?” asks Angie.

Sylvie, not having noticed anything in particular, shakes her head again.

Angie sighs. “She is really thin and she’s always bundled up in something. I binged and purged when I was modeling, but it wasn’t as serious as it is for some people. As awful as it sounds to say it, I did it to stay thin for the work, not because I had a serious eating disorder.”

“But you must have had an eating disorder. It isn’t normal to make yourself throw up after eating.”

Angie frowns. “I know that’s true, but as soon as I stopped modeling, I stopped doing it. It never felt like a problem; I wasn’t cold, or … furry, my teeth didn’t turn black and fall out. Maybe I didn’t do it enough. Or I just wasn’t very good at it. I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re looking to me for answers, but I really think you should take her to see someone.”

“Does Claudia know anything?”

“She says Eve always has an excuse as to why she won’t eat—she’s just eaten, you’ve got a big meal planned, but she won’t admit to having a problem, and Claudia doesn’t want to push her.”

Sylvie nods. “She freaked out last time I mentioned going to see someone. She’s so moody lately, I’m scared of doing anything to disturb the peace, even though I know we’re probably reaching the point where we’ll have no choice.”

“Don’t wait to reach that point,” insists Angie. “You’re so much better off intervening now before it’s really serious, before she goes away to school. Did she accept USC yet?”

Once more, Sylvie shakes her head. “She still has it in her head she’s going to NYU. For whatever reason, she’s obsessed with New York. I think she thinks it’s all
Gossip Girl.
”

“That’s my daughter’s influence, I’m afraid. She’s going this weekend, and I’m just crossing my fingers they don’t get into too much trouble. I spoke to the mother, and the kids are being chaperoned in their apartment during some party.” She shrugs. “I just have to hope it’s not going to be too wild. When I think New York and partying, I’m remembering Studio 54 and lines of white powder.”

“Oh, the good old days,” Sylvie laughs.

“You got it. And I was truly a kid from nowhere. I had no clue. She’s a different child. She’s going to be fine.”

“Who’s going to be fine?” The girls appear on the porch, their socked feet silent through the house.

“Exactly.” Angie nods her head sagely as the girls roll their eyes, moving automatically to the large cake box on the counter, as if bees to honey.

“We need to ask you something.” Eve pulls her friend’s attention away from the cake box. “Claudia’s going to New York this weekend for her friend Olivia’s party, and Claudia and Olivia both think I should be there too. Before you say no,” she rushes, “I know what Dad would say, but he’s not even here this weekend so he wouldn’t even have to know. And it’s much safer for Claudia if we’re together, and then I could actually visit NYU as well. Please say I can go. Pleeeeeaaassseeee.”

The two girls are almost bouncing with eagerness as Sylvie, feeling somewhat ambushed, looks at Angie for help.

Angie grimaces back. “Are you asking for my opinion?”

Sylvie nods as Angie shrugs apologetically. “I think it’s a good idea. Eve
should
see NYU. Claudia’s already been, so she can show her round. Selfishly, I’d be far more comfortable if Claudia was flying with someone else, even though I know that’s not exactly relevant.”

“Yes!” squeal the girls.

“Hold on,” Sylvie warns. “I haven’t said yes. I think it’s lovely that she’s invited you, but I’m not sure how I feel about you being in New York by yourself with people I don’t know.”