Shelter Us: A Novel (24 page)

“No! I’m not confused. There is no ‘us.’ There’s nothing to talk about. If you care about me, do not call me. Ever again. Please.”

I hang up, scurry to Izzy, and lift him out of the crib. “Mommy’s here. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” I rock him back and forth and let the rhythmic shushing calm both of our unsettled hearts.

Robert comes home early today. Something is wrong.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

His lack of a quick, reassuring response that all is well in the world says a lot. Before I have a chance to follow up, ask him if it has something to do with the call I missed earlier today or his agitation this morning, Oliver and Izzy intrude with their excitement over this unusual occurrence. “Daddy, let’s play!” They change the subject to hide-and-seek, animal charades, and Candy Land. We play like a happy family. Maybe we are.

The boys soak up Robert’s attention. He sings silly songs and wrestles with the boys, and I decide I must have been wrong about his mood. He’s our helium, again, lifting us all by his innate chemistry. We order pizza. I pour two glasses of wine. We are on the mend. As though they can sense it, too, the kids do not fight. Nothing spoils the mood. If Robert has something on his mind, he keeps it to himself.

I
f only
life could stay unwrinkled and maintain a constant pink-hued pitch. But perfect moments are the exception. While I am bathing my boys, a heat wave of remorse washes over me, filling my head with choruses of
Stupid, stupid, stupid—I’m so stupid
. While I am emptying the dishwasher, my stomach tightens with worry over what to do about Josie and Tyler’s living situation. It’s been over a week since we talked, since Michael was found. I keep trying to think of options for her in case things don’t work out with her mom, but so far I have come up empty. I frequently find myself in a daze, standing in the middle of the house, frozen. I won’t know how long I’ve been standing there, and I’ll ask myself,
What am I supposed to be doing?

This morning, after taking Oliver to school and sending off Izzy with Joan, I come home and get back in bed. I don’t want to drive anywhere. I have no friend to meet for lunch. I can’t even bring myself to watch TV or pick up a book. The phone rings. At first I ignore it—one, two, three rings. Then reflex kicks in—it could be the school—and I grab it just before it goes to voice mail.

“What is going on, Sarah?” In five words, Bibi’s voice conveys as much authority and concern as it ever did.

“What do you mean?” I ask, falling back into my pillows, relieved my kids are fine.

“Robert called me. He’s very concerned about you.”

My ears are at attention. “He is? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Oh, Sarah.” She sounds exasperated with me. “He’s doing his best. This is hard for him, too.”

“What’s hard for him?” Could he know about Brian?

“Sarah, Robert told me you went to visit your friend who is on bed rest, and that since you’ve been back you’ve been depressed and distracted. More than usual. He thought maybe you were upset by being with a pregnant friend, that it brought up feelings. . . .”

Even Bibi has a hard time speaking about it. I want to explain what’s going on, but I don’t know what to say. Finally, I blubber, “Bibi, I’m so confused.”

“Sarah, come over here right now.”

I do as she says.

I find a parking spot on Ocean Avenue a block from her apartment. It is in a two-story 1960s building with six units and a yellow stucco exterior, one of the few originals left, sandwiched by mega-million-dollar condominium showplaces with valets, doormen, and concierges. I wish Bibi lived somewhere with a staff. I worry about her. She’s a young eighty, still driving and grocery shopping and swimming laps at the Y. But how long will that last?

She waves at me from her balcony, then disappears to open the door for me. The cool, shaded courtyard air revives me a little. I trudge up the fourteen steps to her apartment. She’s waiting for me in the open doorway.

“Sarah,” she says. Something in her voice saying my name brings back every disappointment she’s ever helped me through. I take a step toward her and let her hug me. “There, there,” she murmurs. She does not say, “It’s okay.” She never lied to me. It was from her I heard the truth about the tooth fairy and got the unabridged sex talk. I knew I could always go to her when I needed honesty (and when I did not, as in “Red is not your color” or “Freshman fifteen? Freshman twenty-five, I think”).

We go into her apartment, and she says, “I made us some eggs.”

I’m famished. I haven’t been eating. I sit at her small round table and finish every bite. After she clears our plates, we sit on her balcony
and watch the runners make their way up and down the long, lean park that crowns the Santa Monica bluffs. She waits in silence as I try to piece together my explanation of what is going on. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’ve never had such an ugly truth to tell. I’m afraid of what she’ll think of me. If I don’t tell, maybe it will disappear. But when I meet her eyes, they are like truth serum to me.

I leap. “I’ve done something really awful, and I’m afraid you’ll hate me and never forgive me.” My hands and voice are shaking.

She takes my hands in hers. “Go on.”

I unburden myself bit by bit, from the first time I encountered Josie and Tyler, through hiding our friendship from Robert, until, when I can postpone it no longer, my time with Brian. I am hoping that confession will bring some relief. I am willing to accept my punishment. When I finish, I guardedly look up to see her reaction, await judgment.

She examines me with a look I don’t recognize, and I try to appear worthy of forgiveness. “My dear girl,” she says.

“I’m sorry, Bibi.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Sarah.”

I take this as a sign that she doesn’t plan to disown me. “But I can’t apologize to Robert. I can’t tell him. Right?”

The room darkens from a cloud passing in front of the sun, then brightens again. She picks at a piece of lint on her purple velour pants. “Only you can decide that.”

“What should I do? Whatever you say, I’ll do. I just want this feeling to end.”

“
Ay
.” She lets out a long sigh. She pushes her chair back from the table, stands up, and holds out her hand to me. “Let’s take a walk.” Her solution for everything. We go down the stairs holding hands.

We cross the street and look out into the wide blue Pacific below us. We take slow, silent strides. Joggers pass us. Some walkers, too. A homeless man sleeps on the grass, surrounded by his belongings in white plastic bags. Two young mothers and their babies play on a square yellow blanket. “Do you love Robert?” she asks me.

I stop walking and look out over the ocean, toward the Ferris
wheel at the Santa Monica Pier in the distance. I think of our New Year’s Eve ride that feels like more than five months ago, and of my family circling in it again while I spiraled downward in Berkeley less than two weeks ago. At the end of the pier, fishermen stand next to their white buckets, waiting for a tug on their line. Just beyond the breakwater, pelicans soar and dive for their lunch. Up here on the path, pigeons fight for crumbs under a park bench. The bright sunlight makes everything look like a movie set. “Yes,” I answer her, and me, “I love him.”

She takes my hand in hers again and squeezes it. “Good. That’s what matters.” She holds my gaze, nods her head, and, to make sure I heard her, says again, more slowly this time, “That’s what matters.”

Seagulls soar, alight for a moment on the painted white fence, then lift off again. The mommies are packing up the yellow blanket and all their gear. “So, that’s it? I love him, and that’s that?”

“Well, what did you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you know it wasn’t really me, that it was the stress, or something like that. That you understand and you know it would never happen again. That you maybe forgive me?”

“I forgive you.” She squeezes my hand with a smile, and I squeeze back.

We turn back, resume our walk. We reach my car, and I chirp it unlocked. “I thought telling you would make me feel better, Bibi.”

“Did it?”

I shrug. “A little.”

“That is a start.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and kisses me. “You’re a good girl, Sarah. Everyone makes mistakes. You were such a careful child. Remember how upset you were when you wore one navy sock and one black sock to elementary school one day? You were in the third grade, and you called home crying and made your mom bring you a new pair. You expected yourself to be perfect. So you’re not used to how it feels to screw up.” She touches my cheek. “But you sure waited to make a doozy.” I let out a laugh, despite myself. “You proved you’re human. Like the rest of us.”

I can’t help but think about her “mistake” that led to my mother’s birth, and therefore mine, and my kids—all the choices that led to our whole life. Mistakes make us.

I hug her and feel her calmness seep into my skin. She watches as I get in the car. “You kiss all those boys for me, okay? Robert, too.”

“I will,” I say resolutely.

“Good girl.” She shuts my door and stands firm on the sidewalk, watching me pull away like I’m sixteen and a new driver. When I check my mirror, she is still standing there, gazing toward the expansive ocean, hands knitted together.

A
fter the boys
are asleep tonight, I come downstairs and find Robert making tea in the kitchen. “How are you feeling?” he asks, handing me a mug, a string dangling over the brim.

I take the cup with both hands. “Fine,” I answer. “I think I was just sick, that’s all.” I take a sip of my tea. “I’m feeling better now.” I want to be better now.

“Good. You look better.” He moves toward me. The concern in his eyes stirs my guilty feelings. I wonder if he spoke with Bibi again, what she might have told him. “I’ve been worried about you.” He looks down at his tea as though he’s considering whether to say more. I’m nervous. I suppose we have to talk sometime. He takes a sip and sits down on the love seat. He pats the cushion next to him. I sit where he indicates and try to act normal. Just another end to another day.

He puts his hand on my leg. It’s warm from his mug. He keeps looking at me, like he’s deciding something. “I think we should talk about what happened in Berkeley.”

All sound is sucked out of the room. I don’t want my face to give away my terror over having this conversation, so I try to think of innocent, lovely things—a bicycle ride, licking frosting from a cupcake. “What do you mean?” My brain sputters while I wait for him to say something else.

“You’ve seemed bothered since you’ve been back.”

“No, I’m fine. Nothing happened in Berkeley.” I hear the edge in
my voice and try to soften my face and the sounds coming out of my mouth. “I’ve just been a little under the weather, that’s all. I promise. I’m fine now. I just needed to get some sleep. I’m sorry if I snapped at you just now.” I reach out to touch his leg. He covers my hand with his.

“Okay,” he continues. “It’s just that”—he’s struggling to get through my wall—“I thought maybe being with Carolina might have brought up feelings, you know, about her new baby, and Ella.”

I close my eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about it, if that’s okay.” If we talk, I’ll have to make things up, and I don’t want to tell him any more lies. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I am tempted to tell him about Josie and Tyler and Michael, but I need to put everything behind me. I need a clean slate. “I’m better now. I swear.” I mean that. I’m better. I will be better.

He gives up. “Okay. But you’d tell me if you weren’t?”

I nod silently and lean toward him, nestling my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around me and we stay there, quietly seeping into each other.

“I’m glad the school year’s almost done,” he says. “After I grade finals, we can spend more family time together.”

I smile at him. “That will be really good.” I close my eyes and enjoy this closeness. I let my mind wander, and a thought points to Josie and what the summer months will bring for her and her family. I wonder if she will need me. I wonder what I will do on Monday mornings without her and Tyler. I feel a cry coming. It’s overcome by a yawn that starts in the back of my throat. I indulge it, let it consume my face, give it volume. “I’m really tired, honey.” I squeeze Robert’s hand. “I’m gonna go up.”

“I’ll be up in a little while,” he says. I think I hear relief in his voice. He didn’t want to have this talk either. He picks up the newspaper and begins to read.

I walk upstairs, undress, and climb into bed. I stretch out on our smooth cotton sheets, close my eyes, and whisper into my pillow: “Please let me be happy now.”

I
wake with
a start. I lie heavily on sweat-moistened sheets. I feel as if I am made of iron, the mattress a magnet. I chase my dream but can’t catch it. Something about a tsunami, and I was pushing a stroller. Josie and Ella were there. It takes every ounce of will to lift my head high enough to see the clock: 3:13 a.m. The bedroom glows green by its light. Robert is asleep.

I should have kept my eyes closed. That small movement wiped the heaviness from my body. Now my mind is free to roam, and to worry about Josie. What if she can’t stay with her mom; where will she and Tyler live? She doesn’t have a job. She can’t afford her own apartment. Maybe they’ll stay with her mom after all. That would be best for everyone. But if she doesn’t want to, or her mom doesn’t want her to, then what? Could she stay here? A sofa bed is bigger than the bed they shared at the shelter. And we have all these toys. Maybe Tyler could start preschool with Izzy next year. Maybe the school would give a scholarship, or, wait—Josie could work there! Why didn’t I think of this before? Maybe just as an aide at first—she’ll still need to finish her training (does Santa Monica College have a program? I’ll have to look into that)—and Tyler can go for free while she’s teaching, and she’ll have a job after he graduates and starts kindergarten. Tyler and Izzy can be friends.

I check the clock again: 3:44.
Just go to sleep, Sarah. Stop your brain
. But how long could they live on a sofa bed? Where would they put
their clothes? No, this won’t work. My brain loops around, sorting out maybes and what-ifs and solving nothing. I wish I could sleep. I lift my head: 4:30. I rearrange my body and try to stop thinking. I roll to my stomach, then onto my side. I throw my pillows on the floor.
Relax. Sleep
, I urge myself. I toss and turn, try to get comfortable. Then, like a flash of genius, I think: Carolina! Carolina will need help with her new baby. She lives close to Josie, in a big house in the Berkeley Hills, and I could even stay in touch with her, maybe see them there sometime. This is it! I’ll call them both in the morning and tell them about it. This is perfect.