The Family Fortune (12 page)

Max invited us to his sister's house—my house—for hot cider and skating on the Frog Pond at the Boston Common.

“Has your sister done her tree already?” Lindsay asked. The girls were home from Wheaton and we were having drinks at the Maples'.

“She doesn't have one,” Max said.

“No tree?”

“They're Jewish,” I said. Max smiled at me. My stomach did a little flip when he looked at me like that. I was dismayed to find that the more I saw Max, the more I wanted to see him. Even when he was right there, I walked around with a vague longing for him.

Max had changed. There was more of the actor about him. But as long as I could remember what it was like to have him twist toward me in bed, I couldn't pull myself away. I don't think it was hope, exactly, that kept me there; it was more like obsessive fascination—maybe it was hope.

This, if anything, explains why I didn't leave. I had thought, very briefly, about going to Palm Beach, but quickly dismissed it. I even started looking for apartments in Boston, but Winnie said she couldn't do without me. Even though I knew that no one was indispensable, Winnie's marriage was on shaky ground and I felt that the presence of someone else kept it from sliding downhill.

“I know they're Jewish,” Heather said. She was sitting on the arm of Max's chair. Those girls couldn't get enough of his physical proximity. They were always snuggling up to him like stuffed animals. “But why don't they have a tree? Don't you even have a Hanukkah bush?” she asked.

Max patted her leg in the accepting way of a man who has become successful and is now ready to round out his world by marrying a silly girl. He couldn't see past their inexhaustible delight in him, past the family embrace. I think some romantic love works that way: you fall not only for the person, but also for a vision of yourself in their world.

 

The day came for the skating party and I wasn't thrilled about being a guest in my own home. Still, there was enough curiosity in me to make me join the group. We all piled into Charlie's car and headed toward the city.

When we walked into the front hallway of the house, I got ready for a jolt to my solar plexus, but it didn't come. The hall was unchanged except for Max's sister, Emma, who came forward to greet us. After we took off our coats and banged any excess snow from our boots, Emma put her arm around me and leaned in.

“Jane, I want you to feel just as at home here as you would if we weren't here.”

That was impossible, but to say so would have been neither gracious
nor polite. I tried for an authentic smile and thanked her. Emma had draped our staid sofas with exotic throws and pillows. The look was American Pedigree Meets Casablanca.

Though I had only been out of the house for a little less than a month, it looked more faded than I remembered. Maybe I was seeing it through fresh eyes. It had always had the shabbiness of old money. Did the worn damasks, chintzes, and satins look different to me now because their shabbiness would soon spring, not from old money, but from no money at all?

My college friend Isabelle had been shattered when her parents had sold the family home. It was as if they were selling off a childhood that could never be recaptured. She was thirty-two when it happened, but she still felt as if something was irrevocably lost. I had expected to feel that way, and was surprised to find that my prevailing feeling was relief.

Emma looked at me warily. How much had Max told her about us?

Max's sister, having married Joseph Goldman, was now Emma Goldman.

“What could I do?” she said. “I loved the guy. His name is Goldman, so I took it. I suppose I didn't have to, but I'm traditional about some things.”

“I don't get it,” Heather said. “What's wrong with the name Emma Goldman?”

“There's nothing wrong with it,” Emma said, looking at Max.

“She was a famous anarchist,” I said.

“A what?” Lindsay asked.

“An anarchist,” I said. “It's someone who believes that government and law should be abolished.”

“Good thing we have Jane to translate for us. We'd never be able to cope,” Lindsay said.

“Anyway, it would never work,” Heather said.

“What wouldn't?” Emma asked.

“You can't get rid of government.” Heather said this with great authority. “It's the silliest idea I ever heard.”

Joe Goldman joined us. His entrance interrupted the conversation, a
very good thing under the circumstances. I didn't know what a producer was supposed to look like, but it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that Joe Goldman was typical of the species. His walk was brisk, his smile welcoming. If there was something anywhere to be produced, he looked fully capable of producing it. We followed him into the living room, where he had contrived the perfect winter scene: a glowing fire, cookies warm from the oven, caramel apples. The cider, both hard and soft, was served in glass mugs and garnished with sticks of cinnamon.

“No food?” Max teased.

Emma smacked him on the shoulder with her palm. “Is this not the perfect winter tableau?” She curtsied and spread out her hands, palms up.

“Did you steal it from the set of
Little Women
?” he asked.

“Steal? Don't be silly. We don't steal, we borrow,” she said.

Emma wore her happiness lightly but carefully, like a lace shawl. Even if she hadn't been Max's sister, she was the type of woman I would have wanted to befriend.

Joe and Emma stayed behind by the fire while the rest of us trooped to the Boston Common. Heather's friend Buddy showed up, so there were three couples—and me. I was used to being the odd one out, but it felt worse when Max was there. The Wheaton girls were wearing short pleated skating skirts. I wore black jeans, a little too tight for skating. I'm a good skater and know what to wear to be comfortable, but I was aiming for a little more style than usual, and my aim wasn't good.

Lindsay walked beside me on the way to the Common.

“You used to know Max, didn't you?” Lindsay asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I think he's wonderful. It's amazing that he hasn't tried to sleep with me yet. He's such a gentleman.”

“You haven't even been out alone together, have you?” I asked.

“Well, no, but that could be easily arranged.” She slipped on a piece of ice and grabbed me to keep from falling. She pulled me off-balance, but I managed to stay upright.

“How is your writing going?” I asked.

“I haven't really done anything during the vacation. We've been so busy. I wanted to ask you. You are so good at figuring things out. You seem to know more than we do, about almost everything. What do you think of me and Max?”

“I'm not sure what you're asking,” I said.

“Do you think he's as crazy about me as I am about him?” She looked up at me with a face so young and free from blemish I couldn't imagine a world in which any man wouldn't be crazy about her.

“I don't know,” I said.

“He kissed me, you know,” she said. “Last night as he was leaving. And it wasn't just any kiss. It was a real kiss, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, I did.

We sat on benches around the edge of the pond to put on our skates. I had thrown mine into the trunk of my car when I left Louisburg Square. Not everyone would think that skates would be necessary to their winter, but I usually skated at least once a week.

I watched the three couples, the men kneeling to help the women on with their skates. As I leaned over my own, I pictured Jack Reilly at my feet. Jack Reilly would wear his leather jacket, even though it was too cold to wear only leather. His cigarette would hang from his lips and the smoke would drift past my face as he bent over my skates. He'd make Max look conventional. I had to find Jack Reilly, if only to give me something special to announce to the Wellesley College girls after Christmas.

I finished lacing my skates, flew out onto the ice, and executed a single axel. I twirled, reversed, did crossovers and backward crossovers. I soared in my own little world.

“Look at Jane,” Heather said as she struck out with a tentative step. “She's a terrific skater.”

Lindsay, who was a little more sure on her feet, skated over to me. “I hope when I'm your age, I'll know half the things you know.” She spoke loudly and tilted her head toward Max.

“Me too,” Max said.

“You're as old as Jane, aren't you?” Lindsay asked.

“No one is as old as Jane,” Max said. With that, he took off and skated to the other side of the pond. Lindsay followed him, and when she caught up to him, she slipped her arm through his.

I took a step, then another. I didn't know what he meant. No one was as old as me? My mother always said I was born old. Maybe that's what he meant.

I started to spin and I spun and twirled in smaller and smaller circles until I got dizzy and crashed on the ice, splayed like an idiot rag doll. The wind was knocked out of me and I couldn't get up right away. When I looked up, it was Max who was staring down at me.

“I'm okay,” I said. I must have been blushing right through my clothes. Max took my gloved hand and helped me to my feet. Everyone else who had been skating on the pond, or even sitting on the sidelines, had stopped to look.

“Okay, show's over,” Max called out. Max kept my hand in his as if he had forgotten he held it. He wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was gazing toward the Public Garden, which was frozen over now.

Max glanced down at our enjoined hands and let go. He turned toward me.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked.

We were standing so close together I could feel the coolness of his sigh on my cheek. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought we were just one breath away from a kiss.

But then Lindsay barreled toward us and, not being too sure on her feet, smacked into Max and he had to hold her to keep her from falling.

“Is Jane all right?” she asked in a loud voice. Everyone was still staring at me, and though I hated to be the center of attention under any circumstance, it was worse when it originated in an embarrassing fall.

Max examined me as if he was trying to read something in my face that had not yet been written. “If you're okay, then.” He skated off with Lindsay and slipped his arm around her waist. She beamed up at him.

I stood alone in the center of the pond and watched everyone skating around me.

Max came to the Maples' on Christmas Eve to give gifts. He gave both Lindsay and Heather Burberry scarves. While a cashmere Burberry scarf is certainly a lovely gift, it's hardly personal. I had expected that he'd give Lindsay a piece of jewelry—maybe not
the
piece of jewelry, but maybe something sparkly to hang around her neck.

Max did have something else up his sleeve, the pièce de résistance. He invited the Maple family to go skiing up north. Everyone was going except for Marion and Charles Sr., who were staying home to take care of the children.

And he hadn't forgotten me. My present was on the bottom of his pile. He didn't look me in the eye when he handed it over.

“Open it, Jane,” Lindsay said. She was stroking her scarf absently.

I ripped open the wrapping as I'd seen the Maple girls do. No more careful scraping at the tape with a nibbled fingernail.

Inside the box was a leather journal. The paper was smooth and creamy.

“It's from Italy,” Max said. “Do you still keep a journal?”

I lowered my eyes. I placed my palm on the cover of the book.

“I do,” I said.

“Oh, that's beautiful, Jane,” Lindsay said. “Max, you have such fabulous taste. You really do.” She reached out to take the journal so she could look at it more closely, but I didn't give it to her. Instead, I pretended I didn't see that she wanted it.

And what did I get for Max? I bought him a pair of shoes. I couldn't think of anything else, but I thought shoes from Brooks Brothers would hark back to that first pair, the pair that brought us together. It was meant as a soft joke, or so I thought. Maybe I meant more by it.

“You bought him shoes?” Lindsay said when he opened the box. Yes, obviously I had bought him shoes. “How did you even know his size?”

I looked at Max to see what his reaction would be. Shoes were more personal than scarves. He looked at me and smiled.

“You didn't have to do it,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

“They're beautiful shoes,” he said.

“I'm glad you like them.”

He reached over, took my hand, and squeezed it. When he received Heather's gift—gloves—and Lindsay's—a Tiffany money clip—he kissed them both, Heather on the cheek, and Lindsay softly on the lips.

“I don't understand the shoes,” Lindsay said. She seemed disgruntled.

“It is a bit of an odd choice,” Marion said, “though they are very nice shoes.”

“Very nice,” Winnie said.

 

There comes a time in the course of longing when being with the person becomes more painful than being without them. I didn't have a plan, didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to go somewhere. I didn't love the idea of packing up my things and heading into the unknown, so I made a plan: I'd go look for Jack Reilly. I was on a quest, and you always have a direction when you are on a quest.

Up in my room I tried to pack, but Winnie kept taking things from my suitcase and hanging them back up in the closet.

“Jane, you have to come with us. Everyone's counting on you.” I hardly thought that everyone was counting on me. In fact, I was pretty sure that at least one person—Lindsay—would be thrilled to get rid of me. I wasn't obtuse enough not to notice her eyeing me when she thought I wasn't looking. She seemed to think me some kind of rival, though she was so obviously wrong.

I might still want Max, based on some fantasy of first love, but I had to be realistic. The best thing I could do was go away. I was a bit worried about leaving Winnie, but she had managed her marriage without me all these years.

“Stop that, will you,” I said, and grabbed a blouse Winnie had just unfolded. I tried to pull it away from her. “Even if I do come, I still have to pack.”

“I suppose,” she said, and let go of the shirt. She sat on the bed. “So you might come?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You are so stubborn sometimes,” Winnie said. I hardly thought so. Too often I was willing to sway to the will of anyone who came within a square mile of me. “But you love to ski.”

I looked out the window onto the field and the woods beyond. A light snow covered everything. Winnie was right. I loved to ski. People were so friendly on a mountain. And on a mountain there was nothing wrong with being a “single.” It usually meant you could cut the lift lines. So a mountain was one place where you benefited from being alone.

“What will you do?” Winnie asked.

“I'll think of something.” I didn't tell her about Jack Reilly—it would have been too much to explain—nor did I tell her I'd already made a reservation at the Inn at Long Last in Vermont, not far from Jack Reilly's last known address.

Winnie stood up.

“I'm sending Max up to ask you himself.” If she thought that I wasn't going with them just because I hadn't received an express invitation, she was—half right.

“Don't,” I said. “Please, I'm not dressed.” I was wearing a flannel granny gown. I had put it on when I came back from a long and chilling walk.

“He'll be right up.” She moved toward the door. “Put on a robe.”

“No, Winnie,” I almost shouted. I had the helpless feeling of a child unable to avoid punishment. Winnie called to Max from the upstairs landing.

My robe was worse than my nightgown. It was pink terry cloth with the nap worn at the elbows. I looked around, panicked. How would it look if I slipped into the closet and shut the door behind me? The indignity of being found cowering behind Winnie's out-of-season coats just about outweighed the potential benefit of hiding. Did I have time to change?

“Jane?” Max was already in the hall.

“Yes?” I yelped like an adolescent boy. I tried to sound as put together as I could, to gather my dignity, to act as if it were perfectly all right for him to see me dressed like a pink polar bear.

Max poked his head into the room as if he were wary about what he might find inside my lair. I wanted to growl at him, but I managed to contain myself.

“Can I come in?” Max asked.

If you must, I thought.

“Of course,” I said.

He slipped in and stood by the door. I remained near my suitcase and pushed a pair of frayed underpants to the bottom.

“Everyone wants you to come to Vermont with us,” he said.

“Does that everyone include you?” I asked. He stepped farther into the room and sat on an armchair in the corner. He picked up a book from the ottoman, examined it, then put it back down. He leaned his arms on his knees and stared down at the carpet.

“People move on,” he said. He didn't look up.

“Of course they do.” I kept my voice light and continued to poke at the things in my suitcase.

“Have you?” he asked, and raised his head. I looked at him for just a moment. There was a thud against my ribs, so loud and heavy it felt like a small animal had collapsed inside my chest.

“Of course I have. It's been fifteen years. What did you think?” I lied.

“Then we can be friends.” He stood up and came over to where I was standing. He stuck out his hand. My hand, when I extended it toward his, was dry and chapped. I was embarrassed by my own hand.

Friends. How could it possibly hurt so much after so many years? Why had I never gone after him? Why was I so afraid? Why hadn't he come after me?

“I'll meet you up there,” I said, and turned back to my packing.

“Fine,” he said. “But just know there's plenty of room at the ski house.” He seemed disoriented now. He'd done his duty, played the gracious host, and now he was ready to move on.

I watched him leave the room, then walked over to the door, closed it, and went back to sit on the bed.

“Letting go is very difficult for me.” I said this out loud, but in a soft voice. Who would hear me? Who would come, sit beside me, and say, “Yes, but, Jane, it's time.”