The Comfort of Lies (25 page)

Okay, she wouldn’t lie to herself, but this place needed a deep cleaning whatever the impetus. How could Bobby come in here without wanting to throw up? His tolerance and compassion made her feel like screaming. Why would he sit in the midst of her dust and dirty dishes and not even say something, like, “Hey, ever think of running the vacuum?”

Nathan, what would he say? “What’s wrong, Tia? Do you think your home is reflecting your state of mind?”

She could hear Nathan saying something like that, and she wanted to show him just how okay her state of mind was.

Not that she was expecting him to come to her apartment.

Right.

But he might.

 • • • 

“Wow.” Bobby took a deep breath. She’d opened every window to let spring air wash the apartment.

“Wow, what?” Tia asked.

“Wow, everything looks terrific. Is that a terrible thing to say? Don’t get prickly on me.” He pulled her close. “And you look great. As always.”

In fact, although she’d scrubbed the apartment and carefully arranged her best ornaments—placing her collection of cobalt glass in the exact spot where afternoon sunlight refracted from it, and placing her most artistic paperweights on top of loose papers, while hiding the milk glass vases that might seem tacky to Nathan—she’d done little to make herself look good besides showering. Instead of spending time smearing herself with eyeliner and blush, she’d gone through her books, looking for the ones that would make her
seem more intelligent and thoughtful. She hid her cheap mystery paperbacks in a box under the bed, leaving out only the ones Nathan would think interesting, such as novels written by Norwegians and Africans.

“The apartment looks great, not me.”

“Baby, you don’t need makeup to look good. You look energized, and that makes you look even cuter than you usually do. Look: I have something for you.” Bobby stepped into the hall and came back holding out a pot of pink and white hyacinths. “I saw these and thought of how much you like them.”

Tia took the pot and dipped her nose into the sweet fragrance. Hyacinth and freesia were her favorite flowers. The deep purple pot set off the bloom’s paler color.

“You like hyacinths, right?” Bobby shut the door and locked it. Careful Bobby.

“People steal these, you know,” Tia said.

“People steal them?”

“Right out of the ground,” she said. “Because they’re so popular. And expensive.”

Tia placed the pot on the kitchen table, moving it to the right and then the left until she was satisfied. She pressed her thumb into the dirt, checking to see if the flowers needed water. She looked at Bobby. “I love hyacinths. And I love that you remember.”

Tia admired her shiny white sink as she washed the flowerpot dirt off her hands. She’d scrubbed the porcelain until almost all the black marks were gone—she’d even looked up and tried out best practices, even making the concoction suggested by the Porcelain Enamel Institute:

“ . . . mix household scouring powder with water to make a slurry, and mop it over the area. Let the solution stand for approximately five minutes.”

She shouldn’t feel so prideful. Slurry, that’s all it was.

“Make love to me.” Tia circled her arms around Bobby’s waist.

 • • • 

Tia climbed on top. She was ready before Bobby began. Her synapses fired at a million miles per minute.

Nathan. Nathan. Nathan.

She rode Bobby to the sound of Nathan’s name in her head; the chant sent her over the top. “Oh God,” she murmured.

“Oh Jesus,” Bobby answered as he arched into her.

Afterward, Tia curled up in Bobby’s arms and stroked the reddish chest hair that wasn’t Nathan’s. Everything about Nathan was dense and dark.

Her fingers itched to touch Nathan. She settled for resting her head on Bobby’s shoulder, which, like Nathan’s, was thick and muscled.

“Damn.” He kissed the top of her head. “From now on, I’m bringing hyacinths every time I come over.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“You cooked
and
cleaned?” His voice teased, but hope showed on his face. He knew Tia didn’t cook—hated it, in fact. If she cooked for Bobby, he’d think it meant true love.

“There are some eggs in the fridge,” she said. “I don’t remember how old they are, though.”

Bobby sat up. “I’ll make us an omelette. Going out is too much work.” His kiss was gentle. “Did you send out any resumes today?”

“I cleaned today.”

He took both her hands in his. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want to be part of your life; I want to make your life better.”

Tia’s chest tightened. “You’re too good to me.” She laughed so as not to cry. “Am I good to you?”

He stroked her hair as though petting a kitten. “Of course you are, baby.”

Nathan was never coming. She’d acted like a love-struck girl, cleaning for him. God himself must have looked down on her scrubbing and laughed until He and Jesus cried.

Nathan called because his wife ordered him to check up on Tia, that’s all. They had a hidden agenda, something to do with Honor, and Tia had better face that truth.

 • • • 

The clean living room brought Tia a feeling of purification. Her life offered possibilities. She could let go of Nathan. Seeing him had led to nothing worse than cleaning the house and making Bobby feel like the hero into whose arms she wanted to be swept. Nothing awful had happened.

Tomorrow she’d work on her resume.

Bobby placed the tray on a clean, uncluttered coffee table, took off the two plates, and set them down with a flourish. “Dinner is served.”

Cheese bubbled from perfect omelettes surrounded by slices of apple. Mealy apples, but apples nonetheless, and English muffins, although he’d rescued them from the depths of the freezer and probably had to scrape frost off them. The English muffins looked miraculously good, perfectly toasted with butter melting into each nook and cranny.

“I opened that bottle of Charles Lafitte I put in the fridge last week,” he said. He handed her a wineglass filled with fizzy gold champagne.

No one but Bobby had ever brought her champagne just because she liked it.

“A toast,” he said.

“To what?”

“To being here. I’ve thought about it for a long time.”

“And has it turned out like you’d hoped for?” Tia bit into her English muffin.

“You make me happy. Maybe it’s like they say: every pot has a cover. I’ve always felt like you were my cover.” He kissed her buttery, crumb-flecked lips. “I want to make you happy.”

“I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

He drew back a bit. “What are you worried about?”

With Nathan back in her life, no matter how tenuous the connection, one misstep portended disappearing into him again. She might as well live her life dancing on the edge of a knife.

“I had a baby.” Her words came out twisted and tight.

He stared at her, looking baffled. “When?” he finally said.

“Five years ago this March.”

He sat beside her and took her hand. “What happened?”

“I loved a man who didn’t love me,” Tia told Bobby. “Or he didn’t love me enough.”

She dug shaky fingers into her knees.

“He was married.

“I sinned with him.

“I couldn’t sin again, so I didn’t get rid of her.

“But I gave her away.”

She told him everything she could.

They sat for a while.

Quietly.

He handed her a tissue but didn’t touch her.

“Do you still love him?”

Tia pressed her lips against repeating his question back.

Did she still love him? Did it count that her blood pumped faster since seeing Nathan? That his name was the only one she wanted to say, and that she could still feel the skin of his hand under her thumb?

“No. Of course not,” she said.

“How about the baby?”

“What about her?”

“Do you love her?”

“How does that matter?”

“It just seems like such a sad thing to give up a baby.” He took her hand. “I hate thinking of you going through it. That’s all. I’m not judging. He’s the one who should be judged. He’s the one who was married. He’s the one who deserted you.”

All she could think to do was throw out an easy axiom: words that would keep them at a distance from discussing Nathan and Honor. “Water under the bridge, I suppose.”

“I don’t believe you,” Bobby said. “You look too unhappy. God, this explains so much about you. Maybe about us.”

“Us?”

“You had to keep everyone at a distance, right? Including me. I think knowing the truth will make all the difference.”

“I suppose.” Maybe Bobby was right. He’d be the one—the one who knew. She could trust him. He’d provide a safe haven.

“It sounds like you were under pressure to give her up.”

“From who?”

“From him. He pushed you away; he pushed the baby away. You weren’t thinking straight. And your mother was dying. Jesus, Tee. You couldn’t possibly think straight.”

Honesty could never go all the way, not between a man and a woman. How could she tell him that Honor would have reminded her too much of Nathan? That she’d been the worst sort of coward. That she’d been that stupid with love—or thought she’d been. In the end, was there even a difference?

“It’s all his fault. This is so wrong.” Bobby’s face reddened with anger. “Damn it, she’s your daughter. She belongs with you.”

“It’s too late for that. She’s five years old. I signed her away. Jesus, I still remember the words:
final and cannot be revoked.
”

“We can at least talk to a lawyer, right? It can’t hurt. There are always loopholes.”

Loopholes. Spoken like a true son of Southie. More than anything, she knew she should say no. More than anything, he tempted her to say yes.

CHAPTER 24

Juliette

The shop was cold. Or maybe Juliette was cold. Either way, she shivered as she sat in her desk chair. Perhaps someone had walked over her grave. That’s what Nathan’s mother said when anyone shivered.

Jews could be so awesomely dark. Would Juliette’s father have been gloomy if her mother hadn’t been around to lighten him? Her mother’s soul was made of helium. Juliette worried that she too had a buoyant soul. If she were more melancholy, then Nathan wouldn’t have lost interest in her and strayed to more troubled women.

At that moment, Juliette felt dark enough to depress an entire circus. She’d hoped that finally sharing everything with Nathan would make her feel better, but instead it seemed as though she’d given him the keys to the candy store. Now he had a reason to see Tia. In the weeks since she’d confronted him about the child, he’d given her only the most cursory of answers about what he’d done or was planning to do.

“Nathan,” she’d begged repeatedly, “don’t leave me out. Not anymore.”

He’d given her a tortured look. “I’m kind of lost right now, Jules. Give me some time, okay?”

Juliette lost her fire after confronting Nathan. When he sealed
himself away, he’d taken her anger with him. Perhaps her love also—without fire, she feared they’d die.

“Juliette?” Gwynne stuck her head through the doorway, her expression creased with concern. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Juliette threw her head into her hands. It was too early to face a client popping in for an emergency eyebrow consultation or pleading for her to choose a lipstick guaranteed to produce a three-carat engagement ring, or a company rep who hadn’t done her homework and didn’t know that juliette&gwynne sold only its own products.

“Can you make them go away?” Juliette put her fingers to her temples. “Please. I’m not up to anyone right now.”

“Don’t think I can make this one disappear.” Gwynne placed her hands on the edge of Juliette’s desk and bent until her face loomed so close that Juliette was forced to look up.

“Who is it?” Juliette became anxious, hoping this wasn’t the day she’d always dreaded, the day an angry client appeared covered in rashes, disfigured by a juliette&gwynne product. Juliette trusted their ingredients, their merchandise, but who knew what toxin a woman might mix in and then blame them.

“It’s not a client.” Gwynne covered Juliette’s hand. “It’s Tia.”

 • • • 

Juliette tried to control her shaking as she walked to the front of the shop. Madge, their sixty-three-year-old receptionist, whom they’d chosen as an advertisement for the beauty of age, pushed papers as she stared at the unfolding drama.

Sparks were in the air.

Juliette faced Tia as though preparing for a duel. They’d never been this close. Juliette gripped her own upper arms so tightly it hurt. Tia looked so young, younger than twenty-nine. She was twelve years younger than Juliette. Prying that information from Nathan had been like pulling rusty nails from petrified wood.

“What does it matter?” he’d asked.

“It matters,” Juliette had answered.

It seemed like a generation of difference.

Tia’s clothes looked cheap. Her thin black T-shirt was cut too low, almost showing the top of her bra. Her jeans were worn past fashion.

And she looked good despite her awful outfit. All I-don’t-care pixie-pretty. Her enormous brown eyes, the color of damp soil, were ten fathoms deep. Those were the eyes in which Nathan had been lost.

Such a tiny waist. A baby had grown in there?

Tia stared back at Juliette. Judging from the intense stares of the handful of clients who’d drifted into the waiting area, their tension must have been apparent. Madge continued to pretend not to look, even as she memorized every move to report back to the rest of the staff. She might not know exactly what was going on, but enough tension crackled to alert Madge to put on her gossip-columnist hat.

Finally, Gwynne stepped in. “Juliette. Maybe you should take your . . . your appointment to your office.” She gave Juliette’s elbow a gently purposeful squeeze. “I’ll bring in coffee.”

Gwynne was letting Juliette know she’d check in. Did Gwynne think they’d end up on the floor pulling hair and slapping?

Juliette nodded. “Why don’t you follow me?” She turned her back as she bit off the words.