The Cruel Ever After (10 page)

“Eat up,” said Jane. “Yum yum.”

“It doesn’t taste right,” grumbled Hattie. She picked at the crust, eyeing Jane with a lugubrious stare.

“What’s wrong with it?” hollered Cordelia from the other room.

Just after eleven, Cordelia had phoned Jane and pleaded with her to come to her downtown loft, saying she’d been called unexpectedly to the theater and didn’t have a babysitter for Hattie. Hattie’s nannie, Cecily Finch, had announced just a month after Hattie’s return that she and her latest boyfriend, Clyde, were leaving for Europe. After all this time, Cordelia still hadn’t hired a new nanny. She was understandably picky. By relying on Mel, Jane, a couple of theater friends, and preschool three days a week, she’d been able to make it work.

“It tastes bad.” Hattie’s lower lip cranked out a good inch.

“What tastes bad, Peaches?” asked Cordelia, sailing into the room as she applied her lipstick.

“The stuff in the center.”

Out of the side of her mouth, Cordelia whispered to Jane, “What did you put in it?”

“The usual. Tuna. Mayo. Celery.”

“Ah, I see the problem.”

“And that would be?”

“Capers and cornichons. They are a tuna salad essential in this loft.” Running her hand through the little girl’s golden tresses, she asked, “What kind of capers should we put in today?”

“What
kind
?” repeated Jane. “A five-year-old can tell the difference between one caper and another?”

“Hattie is a connoisseur.”

“I am,” agreed Hattie.

Jane forced a wan smile.

“So remix it,” said Cordelia. She disappeared up a short stairway into her loft-within-a-loft bedroom.

“I want the capers with the salt. The me-ter–rian kind.”

“Mediterranean.”

“Yah.”

Jane remixed the batch while eating the first sandwich. She prepared the second and then set the plate down in front of the unsmiling little girl.

“I’m not hungry,” announced Hattie.

“Eat.” There was a reason why Jane didn’t have kids.

“No, thank you.” Hattie had impeccable manners. Cordelia insisted on it. Climbing down from her chair, she bounced out of the room.

Jane followed her into the living room, plate in hand.

Right after Hattie’s return, Cordelia had divested herself of all the Swedish modern furniture she’d bought at IKEA in favor of Oriental decor. The forty-by-eighty-foot loft was currently awash in early Ming—or whatever. Painted Chinese cabinets and accent chests, Chinese ceramic pots, blue and white china lamps, “Imperial Court” living room furniture, black lacquer chairs with dragon motifs, silk pillows, oodles of meditating buddhas and hand-painted wall hangings. The walls, those that weren’t brick or glass, had been repainted fire-engine red, gold, or black. It was definitely not feng shui. In Cordelia’s opinion, feng shui was
so
over.

Cordelia appeared a few moments later in gray dress slacks and a blue silk mandarin jacket with a stand-up collar, frog buttons, and a big black happiness icon embroidered on the back.

“Chess reappeared at my door last night,” said Jane, fingering the ring he’d given her. “He asked to stay in the third-floor rental—just for a few days. He’s in town on business.”

“Maybe we can do dinner before he leaves.”

“Something weird happened, though,” said Jane, wondering if she should eat Hattie’s second sandwich. It was a shame to let it go to waste. Was this how parents of small children put on weight? “While I was getting dressed this morning, I saw him walk out to the curb and get in a cab. I would never have recognized him if I hadn’t heard him come down the outside stairs. He had on so many clothes that he looked fifty pounds heavier, and he was wearing a gray wig and a cap and carrying a cane.”

Cordelia stopped her forward progress into the room, turned around, and cocked her head. “If it’s some new kind of drag, I’d know about it. So there’s got to be another reason.”

“He’s still in the closet.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. Did I make a mistake letting him stay?” She picked up one of the sandwich halves, nibbled at the tip.

“Nah,” said Cordelia. “There’s no harm in a little dress-up. Did Hattie eat anything?”

“Nothing,” said Jane, dropping the sandwich back on the plate. Waste or no waste, she didn’t need two tuna sandwiches in her stomach.

“No dessert,” cried Cordelia as she boogied over to a solid wall of small factory windows.

Hattie glanced up at Jane with an impish we’ll-see-about-that look in her eyes.

Cordelia cranked open one of the small panes and called, “Mel, my dove. Talk to me.”

Mel’s head popped through a window in the loft across the street. “Yes, my sweet?”

“I’m leaving now. Jane is taking Hattie for the afternoon. We’ll all rendezvous at Jane’s house tonight at six. Party to start at seven. Guys ties, girls pearls.”

“I’ll be there,” called Mel. “Love you.”

“Ditto.”

Jane couldn’t believe they were still communicating by shouting out the window. It must appeal to some weird desire to explore the various possibilities of urban connection.

Twirling around, Cordelia said, “Now. Hattie, I have your backpack all ready to go. You have every stuffed animal you might possibly miss while you’re away. Every piece of pink or black clothing you might require should you soil something you’re already wearing. Several books. Your harmonica. Janey will take you to the Lyme House. Should you become hungry for anything remotely resembling food, a vegetable, a protein, or—”

“A fruit,” said Hattie, finishing the oft-quoted sentence as she lay on the floor paging absently through a picture book.

“That’s right. Only then can you avail yourself of the mouthwatering delights a five-star restaurant has to offer.”

“It’s not quite five-star,” said Jane, flicking a tiny piece of cornichon off the front of her jeans jacket.

“Close enough.” She adjusted the chopsticks holding up her mound of auburn curls as she proceeded to the door. “I will swing by the mother ship later today on my way to your place, Janey, and pick up our duds for the evening.”

“The mother ship” was Cordelia’s current name for her loft.

“Look,” cried Hattie. She whipped her head around, pointed a finger in the air, then pointed it down at the floor. “A bug!”

Jane found it hilarious that Cordelia, a woman who loathed every form, every incarnation of creepy crawly critter, had a child inordinately fascinated by them. Cordelia had worked hard to make sure Hattie was grounded in all the arts—film, theater, music, dance, children’s literature, fine arts, even some crafts; Hattie particularly liked Shrinky Dinks—but nothing compared to her interest in bugs, much to Cordelia’s utter and continuing bewilderment.

“It’s just a phase,” said Cordelia.

“You hope,” said Jane.

“Trust me. She’s a Thorn. Thorns and bugs don’t mix.”

Jane held out her hand to the little girl. “Are we ready?”

Hattie scrambled to her feet and ran to her, hugging her legs. Jane smoothed the hair away from her face. She adored the kid, even if she did frustrate the hell out of her sometimes.

“Onward and upward,” said Cordelia, thrusting the backpack at Jane. Like the good drum majorette she’d never been, she led the marching band of three out the door.

*   *   *

When it became clear that Jane would be expected to take part in babysitting Hattie, she sent away for something she hoped would engage the little girl, captivating her attention so that Jane could get on with some of her work. In her wildest dreams, she never imagined that Hattie would become spellbound almost to the point of inertia.

As soon as they arrived at the Lyme House, Hattie skipped down the basement hall to Jane’s office. She waited impatiently, twisting her blond curls around her fingers, doing her special excited dance, sighing loudly, until Jane pushed back the door and turned on the light. Then, scooting as fast as her little legs would carry her, Hattie dragged a chair over to a small table Jane had set up in the corner.

The object of Hattie’s adoration was an ant farm. Not just any ant farm. This one was a giant gel habitat. The translucent blue gel contained, according to the box the farm came in, all the nutrition and water the ants needed. Developed from a NASA experiment to study animal life in space, the gel ant farm had received a Teachers’ Choice Award in 2006. It received the Hattie Thorn-Lester Award two months ago—a much more prestigious prize, in Hattie’s humble opinion.

Jane had sent away for the ants. Her first inclination was to simply go outside and find a few, but the guidebook warned against it. Apparently, if the ants didn’t come from the same colony, and especially if the ants differed in size, fighting would ensue. An all-out ant war, while it might be interesting to watch, wasn’t what Jane had in mind. When the ants arrived in the mail—large, black, mean-looking critters—she and Hattie poked little holes into the gel. In rapt silence, they watched the ants burrow shafts. It was impossible to shelter the little girl from existential matters in the ant colony, so Jane didn’t try. Amazingly, worker ants carried their deceased brethren to the top for easy cleanup. Hattie insisted that she be allowed to bury each ant in the flowerpot Jane had set next to the table for just such a purpose. It was always a very solemn moment when Hattie discovered a lifeless body. She insisted on a graveside service. Jane said a few words; Hattie patted the dead ant and then gently brushed some dirt over it.

The ant farm was better than a video game, better than a picture book or a playground, or even a hot fudge sundae. Hattie would sit for hours, transfixed, talking to them, encouraging them, singing to them, but mostly bossing them. Sometimes she would lose patience when they didn’t listen to her. Jane tried to help Hattie understand that the ants didn’t speak or understand language, but Hattie insisted Jane was wrong. They
were
talking. They just had very tiny voices. As Cordelia would undoubtedly say, for good or ill,
Even ants should obey a true Thorn.

Jane worked until just after three, making progress on a project that had been on her desk for several weeks. In the current economy, the restaurant was doing a much bigger business in appetizers. Instead of ordering a full meal, people would choose an appetizer, a glass of wine, and, if they were feeling flush, maybe a dessert. Thus, the appetizer menu was in the process of being revised and expanded. Jane had worked up a special trial menu. For a fixed price, a couple would get three appetizers to share, a bottle of wine, a basket of fresh bread, and one dessert. They’d tested it out last weekend, and it was a hit. Now that she’d made a decision about driving up to the lodge, she had to sign off on the new menu before she left. The new offerings had to be costed out, keeping a specific price point in mind. It was tedious work. Leaning back, she stretched her arms over her head and looked over at Hattie, “Hey, sweetie. I think it’s time to head back to my house.”

Hattie was no longer sitting but standing on the chair. “This ant is dopey. He thinks he can get out. I pushed him back in the goo.”

“That’s good.”

“Yah. I took care of it.”

“Want to go feed the ducks?” This was Jane’s only hope for prying Hattie away from the farm.

Her eyes lit up. “Yes!”

On their way out, they stopped in the kitchen for a sack of stale bread. Hattie hugged it to her chest as they made their way down the steps to the lake walk. The best feeding spot was a sandy patch a few hundred yards from the restaurant. As usual, Hattie dawdled, watching the ground for potential bug activity.

When they finally reached the log where Jane liked to sit, Hattie cried, “Look, baby duckies!”

Jane opened the sack and handed her a croissant. “Remember, small pieces.”

“I know.”

Hattie always approached the ducks with infinite care, talking softly to them, telling them she loved them. She would holler at kids who rushed at them, forcing them to fly away. Thankfully, they were alone on the beach today.

As Jane made herself comfortable, she assembled a mental list of everything she needed to do before the party tonight. Cordelia still hadn’t received an RSVP from Peter. Maybe he thought, because he was family, that he didn’t need to call.

Hattie rushed up to her. “More bread.”

“Are you having fun?”

“I
love
duckies.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, but we can’t stay much longer.”

“Five more minutes?”

Hattie had no idea how long five minutes was. “Yes, five more minutes.”

She crept back to the shoreline, holding out a piece of baguette to a goose.

“Be careful,” called Jane. Geese, in her opinion, were nasty critters. “Just toss the bread on the ground.” Hattie didn’t have much natural fear of animals. Oddly enough, the animals, birds, whatever, seemed to sense her benevolence and responded in kind. The goose stretched out her neck and nibbled the piece of bread away from Hattie’s fingers.

“That kid’s got a way with animals,” came a man’s voice. When Jane turned to see who had spoken, she immediately recognized the face but couldn’t place it. Then it hit her.

“You’re the preacher.”

She hadn’t recognized him at first because he wasn’t wearing his cowl. He had on normal clothes—a light blue polo shirt untucked over a pair of white painter pants. While he had seemed stocky, even a bit fat, in his monk’s attire, she could see now that it was all muscle.

He opened a sack of Wonder Bread and took out a slice. “She’s a beautiful kid.”

“Thanks,” said Jane, adjusting her sunglasses.

“Different hair color, but she looks just like you.”

Hattie didn’t look a thing like her, not that Jane was about to discuss Hattie with a stranger.

The man stepped up to the edge of the water. He tore his bread into quarters and tossed them, making a clicking sound with his tongue. He kept a good distance from Hattie but glanced at her a couple of times and smiled.

“There’s that asshole minister,” called a boy’s voice.

Two teenagers, one in a red tank top and baggy jeans, the other in a baggy black T-shirt and even baggier jeans, had stopped on the walking path.