The Sisters Montclair (26 page)

While they laughed and told stories about their fraternity days, Alice watched Bill. In the soft glow of the lamp light, his face was angular, darkly shadowed along his jaw and lower cheeks. He was not handsome but he was attractive, as middle-aged men so often are; self-assured, alert, vigorous. He had a small man’s taut physique, and his sense of humor gave his face a lively appeal. More and more in the past few years, Alice had been surprised, catching a glimpse of her husband across a crowded room or dance floor, to feel a certain stir. An awareness of him, not so much as a husband, but as a stranger, someone she might be seeing for the first time. She wondered if other women saw him as she did. She knew they did.

There had been that unpleasantness a few years back with a young woman in the secretarial pool of the insurance company where he worked. Nothing had ever been openly discussed or acknowledged, no accusations, no dramatic confessions of guilt. Both Alice and Bill had had too much pride for that. But there had been a change in him that she had noted; an extra attention to his dress, a jaunty bounce to his step, long unexplained evenings at the office. Most disturbingly, he had given up his Saturday golf game. Twice she had called the club on days when he left the house dressed in his golf clothes, only to be told that he wasn’t scheduled for a tee time. And when she asked him later, “How was your golf game?” he replied cheerfully, “Fine. Oh, fine.”

She had been warned by Sally Vincent, the wife of one of Bill’s partners. The wives protected one another from the depredations of the secretarial pool, circling the wagons around their homes and children and husbands, presenting a sharp-eyed, united front. Divorce was rare, but it was not unheard of, in those days. Alice, warned, was paralyzed with humiliation. She did nothing. In the end it was Sally Vincent who saw to it that the young woman was fired.

Bill moped around for a bit, drank too much, was short-tempered with Alice and the children. But in the end, he seemed to come out of it thankful and relieved, as if he realized how close to financial and social ruin he had come.

Bill and Froggy, arm in arm, were singing The Good Old Song. Alice looked at her husband, his face animated and youthful, and thought suddenly of the way he looked in bed; determined, attentive in a hearty and businesslike way. The young secretary had had her uses after all. Bill was better in the bedroom after her than he was before.

Even now, she could feel her face warming. Alice looked down at her empty glass, rattling the ice cubes. Remarkable, that after all these years she had begun to welcome his attentions.

“Come on, Al! Join in!” he said motioning for her with the hand that held his highball.

“I can’t,” she said. “You know I can’t sing.”

Was this what happened after years of routine and sacrifice and raising children? Did you begin, once more, to slip back into the dreamy world of adolescent fantasies?

“Stop that excruciating racket and mix us some more drinks,” Mona said to her husband. “Al and I are parched.”

Bill crossed the room and took Alice’s empty glass.

She wondered if she would have been happier if she’d accepted from the very beginning that part of her that could have been content with a man like Bill Whittington, and simply let the rest go.

It was long after midnight when they finally stumbled up the stairs to bed.

“Night, night you lovebirds,” Froggy said. Mona pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door.

They went on down the hall to the guest room, which had twin beds and an adjoining bath. Bill brushed his teeth and dressed in his favorite pajamas. Alice washed her face and stripped down to her slip and threw herself across one of the beds.

“Do you join me in my little bed, or do I join you in yours?” Bill said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ll hear us.”

“Right,” Bill said, throwing back the covers and rising. “Yours it is then.”

“Get back in your bed,” she said.

“Aw, come on Sacajewa. Be a sport.”

“I’m tired.” Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol or of Bill rubbing his bristled chin against her neck, but Alice began to giggle.

“That’s my girl,” Bill said, and rolling on top of her, lightly bit her earlobe.

Graduation day dawned foggy and overcast. They met Roddy and Sam at an inn near the campus for an early breakfast. Roddy was in a sullen mood, glancing from time to time out the windows at the overcast skies.

“Wouldn’t you know it would rain today,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alice said. “If it rains, it rains. This is your graduation day and you should be enjoying it, not worrying about the weather.”

“I can tell you right now, if they move the Final Exercises from the Lawn to Memorial Gym, I’m not attending.”

Bill looked at him. “Oh, you’ll attend all right.”

“No, I won’t.”

A vein rose in Bill’s temple. He smiled, showing his teeth. “Your mother and I didn’t drive five hundred miles for the fun of it. We’re here to see you graduate.”

“Well, if the ceremonies are held on the Lawn then your drive wasn’t in vain,” Roddy said arrogantly. “If not, forget it.”

“Now you listen here,” Bill said, and Alice laid a warning hand on his arm.

“Not here, please,” she said in a low, smooth voice.

Bill stopped and leaned back in his chair, looking around the crowded restaurant.

“Hey, pops, I like those cufflinks,” Sam said, picking up one of Bill’s wrists and pulling it closer.

Bill, pleased, allowed himself to be distracted from assaulting Roddy. He was a polished dresser and always took compliments on his appearance seriously. He cleared his throat and said evenly, “They were my grandfather’s. He had the same initials as me.”

Roddy scowled and leaned back insolently in his chair, his legs stretched in front of him. Alice sighed and sipped her coffee, listening half-heartedly to Bill and Sam talking about Bill’s grandfather. Roddy was the most like Bill in temperament, and as a child he had been encouraged by Bill in his behavior. The Little Prince, Bill had called him, chuckling. But now that Roddy was grown he and Bill butted heads over everything; Roddy’s career choice (he had decided to become a teacher rather than join the family insurance company), his choice in women (Roddy had been briefly engaged last year to an unsuitable Italian girl from New Jersey), his refusal to settle down in college and finish in four years. All these things Bill seemed to take as a personal attack.

Which perhaps they were.

Sam had his father fully engaged now in telling stories about his grandfather. The waitress came by and discreetly refilled their coffee cups.

“At one time he was the richest man in Chattanooga but he died nearly penniless,” Bill said. “He had too many irons in the fire, my father always said. And he died before any of them could pan out.”

Sam looked at Alice and smiled. He was dressed in blue seersucker pants and a white oxford cloth shirt with a yellow sweater tied around his shoulders. He was beautiful, almost feminine in the perfection of his features. His hair, worn longer than was fashionable, swept his forehead, ending just above his eyebrows.

“And your great-grandfather was the one who came down with the Union army and never went back to Ohio,” Sam added encouragingly to his father, and Bill launched into a story they had all heard many times before. Sam, the eternal peacemaker, smiled serenely at his mother.

There was something fragile about him. He was the most charming of her children, the most popular, and yet Alice had always felt a nagging uneasiness for him. His cheerful exterior hid a sensitive nature. She never worried about Roddy and Sawyer; they both had a selfish streak in their natures, an ability to come out on top no matter what. But Sam seemed soft, vulnerable.

When he was a child she had had a recurring nightmare about him. He had drowned in the river and she had been called to come down to the morgue and identify his body. He was lying on a slab, stiff and pale, and in her grief, she couldn’t look at the rest of him, only his feet which were narrow and shapely as a girl’s. It was always the same dream. He was a small child, she was unable to look at anything except his slender feet; her anguish was always fresh and unendurable.

Unable to believe the dream wasn’t a premonition, she had shuddered each time he went swimming, had refused to let him go on vacations with friends to the beach. It was only as he reached adulthood that the nightmare began to fade.

The waitress brought their breakfast and they ate quickly. The sun began to break through the clouds, falling in cheerful bands across the table and the dark, polished floor. Roddy’s mood began to lighten.

He looked at his watch, gulping his coffee. “I’ll have to hurry,” he said. “We’re supposed to be on the Lawn by ten o’clock.”

“Well, before you go, I want you to have this.” Bill took an envelope out of his pocket and laid it on the table beside Roddy’s plate.

Roddy wiped his hands on his napkin and then opened the envelope, carefully reading the card inside before he unfolded the check and bank statement.

“The trust fund, of course, was set up by your grandfather Jordan before he died. You can access it now, but I advise you to leave the money alone and let it grow. The check is from your mother and me.”

Roddy stood and came over to his father’s chair and Bill stood, too. They shook hands formally.

“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous of you.”

“We’re proud of you, son,” Bill said. “Very proud.”

Roddy leaned over and kissed Alice’s cheek. “Thank you, mother.”

“We’re so proud of you, honey, and I know your grandparents would be, too, if they were here.”

“Good show, old man,” Sam said in his best British accent, and Roddy bopped him on the head with his fist as he slid back into his chair. Sam said, “So how are you going to spend the loot?”

“I’m going to use part of it to buy a bicycle.”

“What?” Alice said.

“An Italian racing bike.”

Bill sat down. He stared at his son, a puzzled expression on his face. “Why?” he said mildly.

“You know why,” Roddy said, glancing at his father as he tucked the envelope into his pocket.

As children, Bill had refused to allow the boys to have bicycles. They had lived on a long hill and another boy, a neighbor, had been killed riding his bike down the hill and into the path of an oncoming car.

Outside the window a family group stood in the parking lot taking photographs.

Bill tapped the table with his fingers, his lips pursed, considering his oldest son with a cool, speculative look. “Aren’t you a little old for a bicycle?” he said finally.

The color rose in Roddy’s face. “It’s an Italian racing bike. I’m going to use it to get in shape and then I’m going to enter a few races.”

“I see,” Bill said.

Alice could feel her husband’s agitation building; she could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he was sitting. Roddy had always had an explosive temper and this day, of all days, he seemed primed and ready to go off. A scene in a restaurant would ruin the day, would forever mar what she had hoped would be a happy family occasion. She glanced from her husband to her son, giving them both a pleading, warning look, but neither one noticed her.

Roddy finished his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He punched his brother on the arm. “I’ve got to get to the Lawn, squirt. You coming?” He ignored his father, adopting a sly, careless manner.

Sam pushed himself back from the table, stretching his long legs. “I suppose so.”

Bill continued to stare at Roddy, a pleasant smile curving his mouth. “Are you asking me to apologize for something?” he said to Roddy. “Because you’ll get no apology from me. I did what I had to do to keep you safe.”

“Hush,” Alice said.

“Sure, pops, we know you did,” Sam said, rising. “No one’s blaming you.”

Roddy stood more slowly, leaning against the table. “You can’t keep people safe by being fearful and overprotective.”

Bill stared at him, smiling grimly. “Well,” he said. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Alice picked up her gloves and began to put them on carefully. “Do you boys need us to drive you back?” she said.

“No,” Roddy said, turning to her. “Stay and finish your coffee. The squirt and I can walk.” Roddy gave his brother a playful shove. He looked at his father. “Thanks again,” he said. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Bill said.

“I’ll see you out there.”

“Yes, darling. We’ll see you there,” Alice said. She watched her two tall sons walk across the crowded room. At the door, Sam turned and came back. He leaned and clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, pops,” he said. “He’s just nervous is all.”

“Is he?”

“Sure. Big day and all that.” He kissed Alice on the cheek and then turned and hurried after his brother.

Through the big plate glass window, Alice could see the two of them in the parking lot. They stood facing each other, talking earnestly, and then Roddy turned and Sam followed him, walking across the lot toward the campus. She watched them go, the sun glinting along their blonde heads. Her boys. Her beautiful boys.

“Do you think they have any idea how difficult it is to raise a child to maturity?” Bill said.

“Of course they don’t,” Alice said. “They won’t know until they have children of their own.”

“No, I suppose not.” Bill lit a cigarette and motioned for the waitress to clear the table.