The Other Life (14 page)

It occurred to Quinn that the cosmetic issues of her baby’s condition—which had so horrified her when she first saw pictures on the Internet—weren’t even on the radar at this point. Not that she didn’t care if her daughter’s face was malformed or required extensive reconstructive surgery. It was just that right now the concern about brain damage occupied all the room she had for anxiety. There was time to wring her hands about the rest.

Quinn sat back, exhausted. She glanced at the clock. Isaac would be home in an hour. Did that leave her enough time for a short trip to the other side? Could she escape the pressures of this life just for a few minutes? She tried to convince herself that the respite would do her good, make her a better mother for Isaac. But if she wasn’t on the corner when Isaac’s bus pulled up he would be devastated. And last time she’d had trouble getting back—this time it could take even longer. No, she simply couldn’t take the chance when the timing was this tight.

Still, Quinn couldn’t help wondering what Eugene was doing right now on the other side. Then another thought occurred to her: What was Eugene doing right now in
this
life? She knew he had turned down the cable television job, and that he lost his radio show about a year later, when his ratings began to slip. Where had he wound up? She assumed he was back on the air in another market, but had not followed his career. It was too depressing.

Now she needed to know. Quinn typed his name into a search engine and discovered that Eugene was still an on-air personality, doing a morning-drive-time show in upstate New York. It was a pretty small market, and she imagined that he considered himself a miserable failure. The tug of guilt she felt mixed with anger. Surely he could have taken the cable television job after she left him. It was as if he wanted to fail to prove how devastated she had left him.

Quinn found a current image of Eugene at his studio, wearing headphones as he interviewed some local figure.
This isn’t my fault,
she wanted to say to the picture.
I can’t fix everything. I can’t!

The phone rang, and Quinn was glad to hear her brother’s voice. He sounded ebullient.

“Cordell got the job!” he said.

“The job?” Quinn had traveled so deep into her own troubles it was jarring to realize joy could be so close at hand.

“The soap opera,” he explained. “Taped right here in New York. He’ll be playing the tennis pro every housewife wants to boink. Or something like that. It’s his huge break.”

Her brother was happy. Quinn’s heart softened. “What great news!”

“Now we can really make a life together, Quinn. Maybe we’ll finally get married. Cordell and I talked about that the last time we went to the Berkshires. We can have a real wedding in Massachusetts now. Did you know that? Same-sex marriages are legal—we don’t even need proof of residency.”

She listened carefully to his voice. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between a manic episode and just run-of-the-mill joy. But this sounded genuine, and Hayden deserved to be happy. Maybe this career break would really be the thing to center Cordell. Maybe this was her brother’s happily-ever-after.

“A wedding in the Berkshires would be magnificent, Hayden.”

“There’s a five-star resort just a few miles from Aunt Bunny’s place, and I understand they’re gay friendly. I’m going to call and see if they have a date for us in the summer, when everything’s in bloom. Wouldn’t that be beautiful?”

Summer. To Hayden, it was just a bright spot in the future. To Quinn, it was ominously opaque. What would her life be like? Would she be happily burdened with diaper bags and nursing bras and spit-up cloths? Or would her daily routine include trips to the hospital, praying for her baby to survive surgery? Or worse, would Naomi be no more than a sharp pain of a memory . . . the baby who didn’t live.

“Yes,” she said to her brother, “that would be beautiful.”

 

 

THAT NIGHT QUINN had trouble sleeping. The idea of Hayden’s possible wedding made the future too real to avoid. Over and over, Quinn played out every possible outcome for Naomi, as if she could actually figure out what might happen just by thinking about it enough. In the morning, when her alarm went off, she hit the snooze button and tried to get a few more minutes’ rest.

“Did you have a bad night?” Lewis asked.

“Terrible.”

“Come here.”

Quinn rolled over into her husband’s arms and he stroked her back. She relaxed into him and breathed in his scent.

“Why don’t you stay in bed,” he said. “I’ll give Isaac breakfast.”

“I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

He pulled her closer and she burrowed into his neck. His morning erection pressed against her pelvis, and her body responded with an unconscious squeeze toward him. He reached over and picked up the clock to look at it.

“If we’re quick . . .” she said.

He smiled and kissed her on the mouth.

Quinn needed to make love to Lewis. She needed to lose herself in the heat of his touch, and to see her own body through the desire in his eyes. She pulled off her nightgown and he rolled on top of her. His thumb found her nipple, his other hand traveled between her legs. Her hips rose toward his fingers, which lightly touched her clitoris. Her body was greedy with want. Don’t stop, she thought. God, please.

Isaac’s small fist knocked on their door. “Mommy?”

“Shit,” she whispered to Lewis.

“Mommy?” Isaac said again.

“I’ll be right there!”

“Rain check,” Lewis said, kissing her on the top of the head.

“Shit,” she repeated.

LATER, AS QUINN Stood on the corner watching Isaac’s bus drive away, Georgette appeared at her side and asked if she could come in for a cup of coffee. It had been a few days since they’d chatted.

“Of course,” Quinn said. “I just made a fresh pot.”

“Excellent. I need to keep my mind off Esteban this morning. His webcam is broken.”

Esteban, Quinn knew, was the Miami landscape architect with whom Georgette was having a cyber affair.

“Webcam?” Quinn said, as she led Georgette into her house. “I thought you just typed dirty messages to each other.”

“Please. That’s kindergarten stuff.”

“Dear God, I hope not.” The coffee was still hot, so she poured a cup for her friend and one for herself. Dr. Bernard had told Quinn there was nothing wrong with having coffee, as long as she didn’t have more than two a day. She stuck to that, grateful she was still able to get her fix.

Quinn noticed Georgette was holding her cell phone. “Are you expecting him to call?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on having phone sex in your kitchen. He can go twenty-four hours without me.”

“I didn’t realize it was a daily activity.”

“It’s part of my routine,” Georgette said. “Roger leaves for the office and I get nasty online with Esteban. And then I get to work writing steamy sex scenes for my readers.”

“Such a structured life,” Quinn said.

“I love it when you’re ironic.” Georgette took a sip of her coffee. “Tell me what’s new with you. I rang your bell the other day but you didn’t answer.”

“Yesterday?” Quinn said. “I was at the doctor.”

“Day before. Your car was here.”

Wednesday. It was the day she had crossed over to visit with her mother.

Quinn rubbed her eyes, picturing her neighbor ringing her doorbell and getting no answer. It was just as Quinn had suspected. She existed concurrently in both lives only if she didn’t slip through the portal. Once she crossed over, she was removing herself from this life.

“I must have been in the shower,” she said to Georgette.

“I thought maybe you had your own cyber thing going on with someone,” Georgette said.

Quinn laughed. “No offense, Georgette, but I would never cheat on my husband.”

“Cheating? Who said anything about cheating?”

“You don’t think cybersex is cheating?”

“As long as there’s no touching involved, it’s innocent.”

“There’s no touching?”

“Let me clarify,” Georgette said. “There’s no touching
each other.
Self-touching, on the other hand, is pretty much the whole point. And don’t get me started on sex toys.”

Quinn nearly spit out her coffee. “Too much information!” she said.

Georgette laughed. “What did you think? That we just typed dirty words to each other? When I said we got nasty together, I thought you understood.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to think about it.”

“That’s the difference between you and me,” said Georgette. “I think about it all the time.”

“Do you and Roger still—”

“Of course. Probably more than you and Lewis.”

“How would you know how often Lewis and I do it?” Quinn said. She didn’t want to talk specifics, but she also didn’t want Georgette to get the wrong idea. Unlike a lot of other married couples, she and Lewis still had sizzle. She felt a certain pride in that.

“Just guessing. Parents usually have less energy.”

“Energy isn’t the problem.”

“Opportunity, then?”

Quinn nodded. “Not always easy with a six-year-old in the house.”

“You two need some time alone. That’s one nice thing about being an empty-nester. Roger and I have no one to disturb us.”

“And you don’t feel guilty about your cyber friend?”

“Why should I? My porno sessions with Esteban get me all fired up for the real thing. It makes my sex with Roger that much better.”

“But there’s another man in your life,” Quinn said, rising. She opened the pantry and looked inside. “It’s a huge secret to keep.”

Georgette shrugged. “Everyone has secrets. Even you, I’ll bet.”

Quinn turned to face her friend, who stared at her, unblinking. Her face was so open, so nonjudgmental that Quinn was almost tempted to invite her to the basement and show her the portal to the other life. It would be so liberating. But she wouldn’t. She simply couldn’t tell anyone she had two lives she could switch between. Even gentle Hayden was alarmed by it. If anyone else found out, they might try to stop her.

“I’m pretty much an open book,” Quinn said, pouring some wheat crackers onto a plate.

 

 

LATER THAT DAY, when Quinn went into the basement to do laundry, she promised herself she wouldn’t slip through. She was tempted to, but the conversation with Georgette had her thinking about the duplicity involved. It was indeed like cheating. She was a married woman, and yet there was another man in her life. Hell, there was another
life
in her life. She wasn’t just cheating on Lewis. She was cheating on Isaac. She was cheating on Naomi. She was cheating on the suburbs, her Volvo, and her membership in the PTA.

Quinn opened the washing machine, spun the temperature dial to hot, and turned it on. As water rushed in, she poured in detergent and Clorox. Then she watched as the water level rose and the bleach diluted.

Quinn thought she heard something above the rush of the water, and closed the lid to get a better listen. Nothing.

She opened the washer again and began dropping in gym socks, undershirts, towels, and other whites. At last she closed the machine and paused to listen again. There was something, wasn’t there? She sensed that the sound was coming from the fissure.

Quinn pulled down the ancient ironing board and stared at the crack. She realized then that she hadn’t actually heard a sound but felt something powerful going on with Eugene on the other side. He was emotional. No, hysterical. Something had frightened him and he was begging for her help.

Quinn waited for the feeling to pass. Surely the alternate Quinn was there with him, helping. Eugene would calm down any minute.

But he didn’t. And while Quinn wanted to ignore the pleas from the other side and go upstairs to straighten the house and make her daily phone calls, she felt riveted to the spot. Eugene needed her. Not only that, but something terribly exciting was happening. It called to her.

“ARE YOU EVER COMING OUT OF THERE?”

Quinn sat up in the bathtub of her Manhattan apartment and heard Eugene pounding on the door. She had decided there was no harm in investigating what was happening in her Eugene life. She wasn’t really having an affair, after all. She would just learn what the trouble was and see if she could help. Then she’d go right back.

“I’m taking a bath,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Please, don’t rush on my account. I’m only having the most major crisis in my career.”

Quinn got out of the tub, wrapped herself in a terry-cloth robe, and opened the door.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Eugene was in the middle of their bedroom, pacing. His hair was messy, his eyes were wild.

“That was Andrew on the phone,” he said, referring to his agent. “I’m being seriously considered for the late-night slot on network television. Network, Quinn!”