Keeping Time: A Novel (15 page)

Her moments of doubt, gone. Firm and committed now, toughening up under the scrutiny, employing a new approach to the Irish-looking one. Seeing him now as an IRS agent, a certain type that she had dealt with countless times at countless audits—the suspicious ones who were looking for the big bust, disappointed that she was clean, driven to stretch out the probe when there was no reason to.

“I know nothing about that. I only know that someone’s going to get a present of a free hunk-of-junk bike in the morning and my husband’s going to get a new one—a shiny safe one he’ll eventually get attached to.” Shrugging nonchalantly. Lobbing light humor. “It might take him twenty years.”

They listened, taking it all in. The Hispanic-looking one, clearly convinced. Scratching the back of his neck, shifting his nd really Dart

TWENTY-FOUR

THE NEXT MORNING, Elisabeth back in a business suit. Her teenage attire, retired during office hours, slung over the back of the low silk chair in the bedroom, awaiting her return, which she would do. When Michael pulled up his drawers, so would she.

The first morning after her escapade was awful, starting with a painful rising. Fifteen minutes after the alarm went off, her cheek, still pressed deeply into the pillow, her stomach, down, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, nearly touching the floor. Then Josh broke in, rousing her, informing her that her alarm had been going for fifteen minutes and that she had better get up or he would miss the bus. They all would. Where was their breakfast?

Somehow Elisabeth made it. She got their breakfasts, got them on the bus, got to work, vowing to cut out her nighttime madness. Rubbing her tired eyes. Fretful. Today was Monday. Richard rode his bike downtown. Elisabeth, plagued by guilt and worry. He would call to tell her. How could she talk to him? What would she say when he told her? Her naughty little secret. Dreading his call, trying to focus on someone else’s taxes.

By lunchtime she was relieved that she had made it through the morning. Two open, untouched Chinese food containers on her desk, a set of chopsticks poking out of one. Up to her chin in tax returns but not
attending to any. Instead, her eyes on her computer. Gazing at the screen, her head cocked, drinking in pictures of cocker spaniel puppies.

Afraid of his call. Half hoping it would come so she could get it over with. Counting the moments, mentally tracking his day. Switching to Shetland sheepdogs. Sampling possible responses for when Richard told her the news about his bike.

Because now that she sat in the light of day, she could hardly believe what she had done.

DAISY, ALONE. THE FAMILY, GONE. The boys#he hadha home and went to school in a whirlwind. Richard left before Daisy awoke, but she couldn’t help hearing Elisabeth blowing through the house like a fast-moving hurricane. The whole morning was combustible because of Elisabeth’s oversleeping, sprinting to catch up. But now it was quiet, and Daisy was alone in the garden.

The sun, beaming down radiantly in glorious hues of gold, a sight sorely missing in Liverpool. Daisy, with nothing else to do, lingering outdoors in the beautiful gardens and exquisite landscaping. Walking slowly along the perimeter of border flowers, the foxgloves, lilies, and geraniums, inspecting the flowers, fingering them, smelling them. Ambling over and around the full property: two acres. Watching the colorful birds of many different species skirting around the trees, busy in their lives. Daisy, testing herself by identifying the trees: several apple trees, a cherry tree, a magnificent Japanese maple, a giant ash in a far corner of the back property, close to a walnut tree, a sassafras, and several magnolias.

Back into the house to make herself a cup of tea. Then back out with it, sipping it on a low-slung chair by the pool, listening to the different calls of the birds, a wide variety; some were similar to home, some were new. Hearing a distant fire bell ringing, lawn mowers, leaf blowers, occasionally the faraway rumbling of trucks and closer sounds of passing cars.

In the afternoon she went to her room, opened her suitcase, and pulled out the letters. Treating them with care, she brought them back out to the garden to look again at his picture and reread the old letters from New York.

While in New York.

AT 6:30, ELISABETH, pulling into Ann’s driveway, parking. Getting out.

Walking into the house, a lot on her mind. Richard had not called all day, meaning that the news of his bike would happen face-to-face rather than via the safer, more desirable method of over the phone.

Suddenly barreled down by Michael, his iPod slung around his neck, unplugged, wearing his droopy jeans. Frantic. Telling her not to have her usual gab with her mother. He had to get home.

Elisabeth, perplexed, annoyed, telling him he would have to wait. She had to get his brothers together and say hello to her mother. Michael, huffy, impatient, following her into the kitchen, the tips of his feet crashing into the heels of hers.

Ann was busy, scrubbing the kitchen counter. Scrubbing, with oomph. Frown lines circumnavigating her face. Elisabeth, greeting her. Michael, hurrying Elisabeth along, pressing her to get a move on. Elisabeth, unable to get an unbroken sentence out to her mother, asking Michael where the fire was.

“I have to get home to Daisy.”

“Daisy?” Elisabeth’s eyes widening, not hiding her surprise. Realizing then that she hadn’t given Daisy a thought all day. Scrambling to remember if she even knew what Daisy had planned to do. Casting back to the morning, when she had overslept and flown out of the house. She hadn’t even exchanged a word with Daisy. Daisy had spent the whole
day without interacting with a single member of the house. What must she think?

“Yeah, Daisy,” Michael, in a tone of voice that implied, “You got a problem with that?”

Elisabeth, looking at her mother. She could see all manner of emotions in her face but could read only half. She didn’t want to attempt the other half. tell her she couldahabck

Michael, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Fidgeting with his iPod, saying, “Can we get going?”

“Go get your brothers. I’ll be right there.” Elisabeth, turning to her mother as he left the room. “Where’d that come from?”

Ann, “I thought you’d know. Fast friends, indeed.” Sarcastic. Haughty.

Elisabeth, shaking her head. “I have no idea. The truth is, I’m sorry to say, that I forgot all about Daisy. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. Why’d she even come anyway? When is she leaving?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t she just get here?”

“Michael hardly ate dinner. He didn’t talk. He didn’t listen to music. He read right through it, saying he had to study. His textbook was practically on his dinner plate.” Like it was an accusation of the highest order. The next words spit out more fiercely. “Apparently he made some deal with Daisy that he’d do well on all his tests.”

It was hard to say which woman felt worse.

Ann, “I made his favorite dinner. I spent all day on those barbecued ribs. He barely touched them.”

Michael, flying back into the kitchen, his brothers in tow. “We’ll be in the car. Hurry.”

Mother and daughter, locking eyes. KO’d by someone a quarter their size. A fraction of their weight.

ELISABETH, SUCKING IT in on the car ride home.

Pulling into her driveway feeling terrible, embarrassed that she was able to give a houseguest, a cousin, so little thought. Cringing at what Daisy must be thinking. Guessing she must be disappointed and disgusted.

Michael, bolting out of the car before it was even in Park. Up the porch steps two at a time. Josh and David were slower, struggling to lift their heavy unzippered backpacks off the car floor. Both boys yanking too hard, their notebooks, workbooks, and textbooks spilling out all over the car floor. Then somehow lunch boxes, mixed up. Both boys steadfastly refusing to carry in his brother’s.

The argument, finally ending. Elisabeth, following Josh and David up the porch steps. Telling herself that tomorrow she would make proper arrangements for Daisy. Today was just a consequence of her oversleeping. Tonight she would stay in her bed and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a better day in every way.

Following them into the house. Seeing something different in the family room. Continuing into the kitchen, seeing something different there, too: flowers. In vases, placed all over the room. On tabletops. Counters. Windowsills. Elisabeth, blinking twice, stunned.

Daisy, sitting on a high stool at the counter, carefully watching Elisabeth’s reaction. “I hope you like it. Please don’t mind that I went at your garden with clippers. I only took flowers you had plenty of, of course—some geraniums, butterfly weed, and Iceland poppies in the vase here and over there. In that vase some blue bugles, musk roses, and violets. You have so many beautiful wildflowers, I couldn’t resist helping myself,” smiling guiltily, “to your sneezeworts, your gorgeous oxeye daisies and your poppies. Most of them couldn’t even be seen outside. There were all in the back, hidden by high#tT close shrubs.” Looking for a reaction. Not getting any.

Daisy, her delicate neck wrinkled and stretched, her head held high, looking over at Elisabeth with sympathetic eyes. “Oh, you’ve had a long day, haven’t you? How about I make you a nice hot cup of tea?”

Elisabeth was not moving, not speaking. Only standing there at the kitchen counter, blinking, in a light blue knit top and a string of pearls with matching pearl earrings. Dark blue puffy crescents rose out of sunken hollows under both eyes. Where her eyelashes met her eyes was rung in deep red. Her mouth sagged, and its outside corners were flanked by parentheses. She looked tired, careworn, and beaten—the offer of a cup of tea was the least Daisy could do.

Elisabeth, declining. Shaking her head. Wanting to get out of there. Wondering if she had hit bottom yet.

“I like the flowers, Daisy.” Michael, noticing how stumped his mother was. His arms were thrust straight down, his hands balled in his low front pockets, standing there, rocking back and forth from toe to heel. “It looks good in here.” A look at his mother, a tone of voice as if to say, “For a change.”

Elisabeth, glancing from the kitchen into the living room. Flowers were in there, too, changing the room that had been put together by a host of interior designers. The elaborate living room furniture, window treatments, and Persian rugs were all top quality, all enormously expensive, all put together by someone else. The whole house was redone when David started kindergarten four years ago. Elisabeth and Richard had agreed that the time had come to upgrade to more mature, sophisticated, formal living areas. The last of the children was in school, so it was time to lose the playroom look. But Elisabeth had been without time or confidence to do it herself. Looking at it now, she was able to appreciate how tasteful it was, but how unreflective of them. She didn’t even want it. She should sell it all on eBay and go back to the comfortable college dorm room, playroom, or ski lodge look.

Turning her attention back to Daisy, smiling, saying, “It does look nice in here. Thank you so much, Daisy. I’m sorry we weren’t home for dinner. I hope you’ve been able to find something to eat.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Daisy, making the under suggestion of the year. “I’m fine. I had a gorgeous day, gorgeous.” She had managed to
make do. She had several cups of tea, and scrounging around in the refrigerator had yielded a few hard-boiled eggs and a package of American cheese that she had sampled, carefully unpeeling the cellophane. She had never had it before, not even when she was almost marrying an American. Despite a small stomach growling, she had been content all day. Eagerly anticipating getting closer to that American she had almost married.

“Oh, good.” Elisabeth, showing guilt to the door. At least for the moment. Reminding herself to ask her mother later why she hadn’t invited Daisy for dinner with her and the boys. Maybe Daisy would have eaten those barbecued ribs. “I just need a minute to change out of my work clothes.” Looking at Michael who was still in low-flung jeans. Making a point of noticing.

“Come on, Ma. Quit it already.”

“I’ll stop dressing like you do when you do.” Elisabeth, prancing out the door.

Michael, rolling his eyes, watching her go.

Daisy, turning#x201C;I believe you and I have so tell her she couldahabckme business to discuss.”

“I did okay on the test. I can do better. I begged my teacher to let me take another tomorrow. She hasn’t decided yet, but I’m going to study tonight either way. Will you tell me anyway? I did do better than on the last test. Who are you tracking down?”

Daisy, looking him over. He had a guarded, eager expression, trying hard not to give anything away. But he was a breeze to read nonetheless. Daisy, seeking her own boys in him, catching glimpses, recollecting their thirteen-year-old lives. Finding commonalities—the thirteen-ness. It was there. She could see it.

“I will tell you, of course I will. I’m happy to. Should I wait for your brothers and parents?”

A wave of his hand making it clear where he stood.

So Daisy beckoned Michael, patting the top of the counter stool beside her.