Immediate Family (21 page)

He’d nodded, looking equally unconvinced. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

She’d remembered then that they had reservations at Nobu for next Tuesday, their first evening out since the baby—a sort of belated celebration. “Oh, that,” she’d said, rushing in to cover her disappointment. “Don’t give it a second thought. Besides, I’m sure Emerson will be relieved to hear we won’t need her to babysit. She’s probably already regretting the offer.” Not that Emerson didn’t adore Ruth, but she had so little free time.

Jay had eyed her with regret and something else—a touch of longing?—then Ruth had awakened from her nap, filling the gap of unspoken words that had opened between them.

Now, a week later, Franny was still at loose ends, trying to make sense of it all. And with Jay and Vivienne due to arrive any moment, she knew the toughest part was yet to come.

Ruth nodded off at last. But just as Franny was putting her down, the door buzzer shrilled, causing her to awaken with a start and let out a yell. When Franny answered the door, it was with a squalling infant in her arms and her breasts leaking milk down the front of her shirt.

“I’m sorry. She’s usually down for her nap by now.” Franny raised her voice to be heard above Ruth’s wails. “Why don’t you guys make yourselves at home while I get her to sleep.”

“Maybe if I take her…” Jay stepped forward with his arms outstretched, but Franny shot him a warning look. The situation was awkward enough without his playing proud papa.

But Vivienne maintained her composure. “Anything I can do to help?” she asked brightly.

“I have a frittata in the oven,” Franny told her. “Could you take it out when the timer goes off?”

She was in the nursery attempting to rock Ruth back to sleep when Vivienne appeared in the doorway. She hovered there for an instant before stepping forward, the picture of elegance in a maroon pencil skirt, calfskin boots, and a fitted blazer of a soft heather shade. Her hair was swept back in a chignon that showed off the diamond studs in her ears, the only jewelry she wore other than a gold bangle bracelet. Vivienne didn’t need jewelry or makeup; she looked stunning just out of the shower. Franny, in her maternity jeans and blouse stained with milk and spit-up, felt lumpish in comparison.

Vivienne gazed down at Ruth, transfixed, shades of emotion chasing like clouds across the smooth planes of her face. At last she bent down to place a finger in one of the baby’s loosely curled fists, and Ruth obliged by clamping down on it. Vivienne smiled, a slow-breaking smile tinged with heartache.

“She’s looks just like Jay,” she said softly.

“Would you like to hold her?” Franny asked.

Vivienne eyed her uncertainly. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

“I should be asking you that,” Franny said, eyeing Vivienne’s expensive-looking blazer. “But if you don’t mind a little spit-up, she’s all yours.” She transferred the baby into Vivienne’s waiting arms. “Just watch her neck. She can’t hold her head up yet.”

Ruth immediately grew still, staring raptly up at Vivienne as if at an entirely new creature, one she’d never seen before. Vivienne couldn’t take her eyes off Ruth, either. She examined every inch of her, peeling back the blanket to marvel wordlessly over each finger and toe. Seemingly oblivious to Franny’s presence, she began to sing softly to Ruth in French, a melody as haunting as the expression on her face.

The oven timer pinged in the next room, and Vivienne came out of her daze, reluctantly handing the baby back to Franny. “I’ll get it,” she said, in an odd, tight voice, hurrying out of the room.

It was at least ten more minutes before Franny was able to get Ruth down for her nap. When she finally emerged into the living room, it was immediately apparent something was wrong. Jay sat slumped on the sofa, staring into space, and Vivienne was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s in the bathroom,” he said, his tone letting her know it wasn’t just a call of nature.

“Is everything all right?” Franny asked, concerned.

Jay shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I was afraid of this.” He dropped his voice. “But she insisted on coming. She said the longer she waited, the worse it would get.”

“She’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” Franny perched on the arm of the sofa, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I know. I guess it was too soon.”

“We don’t have to do this. You could come another time,” she said, noting how drawn Jay looked, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“It seems a shame, after you went to all this trouble.” He gestured toward the table, set for three.

“A fritatta? Please. Shaving my legs, now
that’s
a big deal,” she joked in an attempt to cheer him up.

He gave her a thin smile and rose to his feet. “I should see how Viv’s doing.”

He disappeared down the hall and moments later she heard voices speaking in low tones. Franny’s heart went out to them both: Vivienne, who was being asked to do the impossible—move on in the face of her loss with her husband’s baby to remind her every step of the way—and Jay, torn between his wife and his daughter. But it didn’t change the fact that all this left Franny squarely in the middle, with nowhere to turn.

This is my doing,
she thought. If she’d gone to a sperm bank like any normal person, none of this would have happened. They’d tried to fool Mother Nature and had gotten caught with their pants down, with Mother Nature getting the last laugh. On the other hand, if she’d done things differently, she wouldn’t have Ruth. And how could she want that?

Jay reappeared a few minutes later, with Vivienne. She’d done her best to repair her face, but it was obvious she’d been crying. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I guess I’m still a little jet-lagged.”

“Do you need to lie down?” Franny reached out to touch her arm, and Vivienne flinched.

“No, I’ll be all right,” she said, in a strange, dead voice.

“Can I get you something to drink? Some tea? Or maybe a glass of wine.” Franny was desperate to salvage the situation.

“Thank you, no,” Vivienne said, casting a beseeching look at Jay.

He put his arm around her, saying, “We should be going.”

Franny saw them to the door, assuring them repeatedly that it was no big deal, of course they could have a rain check. At the same time, she couldn’t help thinking there was something more she ought to be doing. But what? She couldn’t apologize when she’d done nothing wrong. Nor was it her place to inject herself into what was clearly a private matter. All she could do was stand by helplessly while two people she cared about suffered, knowing she’d unwittingly made it worse by allowing things to get out of hand while Vivienne was away. In playing house, she and Jay had played with fire, and now that fire was too big to put out.

Seeing the forlorn look Jay cast over his shoulder as he was walking out the door, she knew he felt the same way.

As soon as they stepped outside, Vivienne’s mood seemed to lift. It was a nice day, milder than usual for this time of year, so instead of heading straight home they strolled along Bleecker Street, stopping at the Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes—his wife’s one weakness when it came to food.

“You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” she said, licking the last dab of frosting from her finger.

“You could use a little meat on your bones,” he said.

“I’m sorry about lunch.” Vivienne’s expression clouded over again.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Franny understands.”

“I didn’t think it was going to be so hard.”

“I know.”

“She looks so much like you. In the pictures it was hard to tell, but seeing her…it was a shock.”

Jay felt a swell of paternal pride even as he replied, “She looks like Franny, too.”

Vivienne strolled alongside him, not saying much. It wasn’t until they were home, and he was warming up the slices of pizza they’d picked up along the way, that she came undone.

“It’s all my fault,” she said, burying her face in her hands.

He sat down next to her at the kitchen table, stroking her back. She was so thin, he could feel the sharp wings of her shoulder blades through her blazer. “No one’s to blame,” he soothed.

She lifted her head, her anguished eyes meeting his. “No, I should’ve been here. I was wrong to have stayed away for so long.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it so tightly she cut off the flow of blood to his fingertips.

Jay’s heart lurched. Had she picked up on his new closeness with Franny? “You did what you had to do,” he said gently.

“Oh, God,” she said, beginning to weep.

“Viv, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I did a terrible thing,” she choked out, tears running down her cheeks.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reassured her once more. “You said yourself you weren’t in your right mind.”

“It’s not just that.”

“What then?” He eyed her in puzzlement.

She hesitated, clearly wrestling with some kind of decision. Finally, she said, “While I was in Paris, I met someone.”

Comprehension sank in. “A man,” he responded dully.

“It didn’t mean anything, I swear! I wasn’t in love with him. It was just…a way to escape. Please, Jay, you have to believe me.” Her grip on his hand tightened.

He sat there, too stunned to process what she was saying; it was like gears gnashing in his head without engaging. Then, little by little, it began to sink in: All that time he’d been eating his heart out, worrying about her, Vivienne had been in the arms of another man. Of all the scenarios he’d pictured, that one never occurred to him. Not, he realized now, because he didn’t think Vivienne capable of it—all those times she’d skipped out on him in the past, there had been vague allusions to other men. But that was before they were married.

He’d been raised to believe that one’s wedding vows were sacred. Except for that one time he’d kissed Franny—a kiss that had surprised him as much as it had her—he never would have cheated on Vivienne. Not that he hadn’t been tempted. All those nights lying awake on Franny’s sofa bed, knowing she was in the next room, had been a kind of torture. It was only out of loyalty to his wife that he’d resisted the urge to go to her.

Now, as he sat there without moving a muscle, Vivienne appeared to be receding, as if he were looking at her from the backseat of a car as it was pulling away from the curb. At last, he disengaged his hand from her crushing grip. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He felt cold all over. Even the sunlight warming the tiles at his feet left him chilled. His gaze wandered to the pot of African violets on the windowsill. Each week, while Vivienne was away, he’d faithfully watered it. And all that time…

“Say you forgive me!” Vivienne cried.

He slowly shook his head, bringing her back into focus. “You want forgiveness? For what, cheating on me…or being selfish enough to think you could get it off your conscience at my expense?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if in anguish…or in prayer. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. You have every right.”

“I’m curious,” he said, in an oddly unemotional voice that didn’t match the dull drumbeat in his head. “Why
did
you tell me? If you’d kept it to yourself, I never would have known.”

“But
I
knew. I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“So you think this will just blow over? Am I really that much of a pushover?” But he already knew the answer. Time and again he had gone out of his way to accommodate her at the expense of his own needs. Mostly because he’d wanted to please her, but also because it was easier than having her sulk.

“What I think,” she said, pulling herself up straight to look him in the eye, “is that you’re a good man. A good husband.”

“You’re right about that,” he said coldly. “I wouldn’t have cheated on
you.”

“Am I such a terrible person?” she said. Her eyes, shimmering with tears, seemed to fill her whole face.

It always came down to this, didn’t it? Vivienne thought all she had to do was look at him a certain way and he’d melt. But this time it wasn’t going to work. He saw clearly now how manipulative she was, how she used her charms to wrap him, and other men, around her little finger. No, she wasn’t a terrible person, he thought, just a terribly spoiled one. All her life, she’d gotten her way. In her view, why should this be any different?

“I’m going for a walk,” he said, pushing his chair back with a loud scraping noise that was like a gunshot. He saw Vivienne flinch.

“Jay…” She put out a hand to stop him, her eyes beseeching him. To do what? Stay…forgive her…try for another baby? It didn’t matter. He was done.

He shook her hand off his arm. “No, not this time, Viv. I’m not rolling over. What happened to us was terrible, but we couldn’t have prevented it. This is different. You made a choice. You wanted something to make you feel better and you took it. It’s that simple.”

“You don’t understand. I was in so much pain!”

Something broke loose inside him and he roared, “Dammit, I lost a son, too!”

She shrank back, made small by the blast of his fury. “I know. I never said—”

“You weren’t the only one suffering!” Blood rose to his head, swelling against his temples. “What about me?
My
pain. Didn’t I deserve better than to have you jump into bed with the first guy who came along?”

“It wasn’t about you,” she said, shaking her head.

“Exactly.” He eyed her coldly. “It’s never been about me, has it? Not really. You married me because I adored you. But that’s not the same as love, is it? So maybe I’m to blame, too. I guess I should have known better.”

Vivienne’s pretty, tear-streaked face crumpled. “You can’t mean that. You’re angry, I know, but—”

“I meant every word,” he said, cutting her off. His fists flexed at his sides. He wanted to punch something, anything. “Honestly, Viv, did you think of me at all when you were fucking him?”

She winced at his crudeness, covering her ears with her hands. “Please, don’t talk this way.”

“Dammit, I want an answer!” He smacked a hand down on the table, causing her to jump and her hands to drop to her sides.

“No, you don’t. You only want to punish me!” she shouted back, her eyes blazing.