The Smart One (16 page)

She’d murmured, “Mmm-hmm” every once in a while, closed her eyes for just a second, and then woke up twenty minutes later when the door downstairs slammed shut. Bobby was still next to her, babbling on, and she didn’t even think he noticed that she’d been sleeping. Claire had shot straight up and wiped the drool off her face, her heart pounding as she tried to look awake before Mrs. Foley came in the room.

She’d been horrified after that, felt like the world’s most irresponsible babysitter. And now she was babysitting again, spending her days with three little boys, who seemed just as bored with her as she was with them, glancing at her every once in a while to see if she was still there. Tucker screamed every time Lainie left, and then spent the rest of the time wandering his pudgy baby body around the house, picking up anything that wasn’t nailed down—shoes, the remote control, cell phones, coasters—and rearranging all of it. Every once in a while he’d stop to stare at Claire, trying to figure out if she was responsible for the absence of his mother.

Jack didn’t seem to be taking to the situation any better. He was a judgmental child and always had been. When he was a baby, he’d look around the room at everyone, his mouth turned down, his dark eyes taking everything in. Lainie had taken Jack everywhere with her, to bars or friends’ houses, where they would put him to sleep in a bed, with jackets stuffed on either side of him so he wouldn’t roll off. He’d
stare at them while they drank wine, his little baby lips pursing and un-pursing as he listened to them talk. Now, when Claire arrived, he gave her the same look, as though he couldn’t quite figure out what she was doing at his house. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t know what she was doing there either.

Each morning when Claire arrived, the boys were half-naked—sometimes in just a diaper, sometimes wearing a shirt, or one sock, or a pair of pants. Lainie was always rushing around no matter what time it was, pausing to put an item of clothing on one of the boys, or stopping to smell their butts to see if they needed a new diaper. Claire would stand in the corner and watch as Lainie raced around and finally ran out the door. It made her tired just to watch.

The third morning she was there, Claire poured Jack some cereal and leaned against the counter to watch him eat. Jack took a bite and then looked up at her. “This milk tastes spicy,” he said.

“It tastes spicy?” Claire asked and Jack nodded. Claire picked up the carton and sniffed it, and a thick, sour smell hit her nose right away. She gagged twice and ran over to the sink, sure she was going to throw up.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“Nothing,” Claire said. “Don’t eat that, okay? The milk is bad.” She took the bowl from him and poured it down the sink, holding her breath as she washed the little O-shaped pieces of cereal down the disposal. She went to the refrigerator and looked at the options. “Do you want some toast?”

“Are you having a baby?” Jack asked.

“What? No.”

Jack shrugged. “That’s what my mom does when she’s having a baby,” he said.

“Right,” Claire said. “It was just that the milk made me feel sick.”

“Milk is good for you,” Jack said.

“You’re right, it is.”

“Do you have any babies?”

“Nope. No babies.”

“Who is your mom?”

“My mom is Weezy. You know her, she lives down the street. And you know my dad, Will, and my sister, Martha. And you’ve even met my brother, Max.”

“Weezy is your mom?” Jack asked. He looked like he didn’t believe her for a second.

“Yep.”

“Do you live with her?”

“I do now. I was living somewhere else, but I moved back.”

“I’m never leaving my mom,” Jack said.

“Okay,” Claire said.

“I don’t think Weezy is your mom,” Jack said. “Because we see her when we go to the playground sometimes.”

“Okay,” Claire said. “Whatever you say.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Claire was exhausted by these conversations. Exhausted from sitting around and watching Jack and Tucker play. The one thing she did like about babysitting was holding Matthew. He was at a great age—small enough that he was nothing but a bundle of baby, but big enough that she wasn’t afraid she was going to break him.

She liked holding him while the other two boys napped, feeling his solid little weight in her arms. He was totally relaxed, his mouth slightly open, and every once in a while his chin would quiver, and he’d sigh. Claire was jealous of him while he slept, and hoped that if she held that warm little body, some of his calmness would rub off on her.

SOMETIMES AFTER LAINIE WOULD GET HOME,
Claire would just end up staying at the house for a little while. It was so much easier to be there than to be at her own house. She’d watch as Lainie and Brian came back from work and still never stopped moving, making the boys dinner and getting them ready for bed. Claire at least liked the feeling of being able to sit and watch, knowing she wasn’t responsible for any of it.

It also amazed her how easily Lainie had become a mother. When she was first pregnant with Jack, Claire couldn’t believe it. But then
Lainie had the baby, and she walked around with Jack popped out on her hip, like he’d always been there. Then she had the next two, and she was a mother of three. There was no adjustment period, she just did it. How had it been so easy for her? Claire had barely gotten to the first step of creating that life and it had all fallen apart.

“We’re going to have a party,” Lainie said one night. She was walking around the room, gathering all of the toys and shoes and socks that had been thrown around during the day. She picked it all up in her arms and then dumped it in the bin in the corner of the room.

Lainie loved having parties and used any excuse to do so. Claire suspected that she loved having everyone come to her, but no one minded because Lainie always threw a good party.

“Yeah, doesn’t that seem like a good idea?” Brian asked Claire. “Lainie just put a banana peel into the toy box and she wants to have a hundred people over here this weekend.”

“I didn’t put a—oh, wait. Yes, I did,” Lainie said as she pulled a banana peel out from the toys. “Why didn’t you tell me? Anyway, it’s not going to be a hundred people.” She turned to roll her eyes and shake her head at Brian. “Just a party for fall, one last time to barbecue before it’s too cold. Plus, Claire’s back, so we should celebrate that. We have to have a party.”

“Sounds like fun,” Claire said. It was her last day babysitting for the boys. The nanny had returned earlier in the week and was coming back to work. (“Thank God,” Brian had said. “I had this feeling she was never coming back to the country.”) Claire would be starting work soon anyway. Amanda had called to tell her that if she didn’t go into labor this week, they’d be inducing her on Monday.

“Do you want to come take a class tomorrow?” Lainie asked. She was always trying to get Claire to the studio, trying to convert her to the world of Pilates. But Claire was hesitant—the machines frightened her. Still, she agreed since she had nothing else to do.

AT THE PILATES STUDIO, LAINIE WAS
treated like a celebrity. She introduced all the women to Claire as though they were her close friends. “This is Barbara and this is Joanie. I’m so glad you are getting a chance
to meet!” She acted like these middle-aged women with fallen stomachs and wiggly arms were the same age she was, just a bunch of gal pals getting ready to work out together.

Lainie had started taking Pilates right after Jack was born, and the teacher was so impressed with her that she suggested she do the teacher training. “But you’ve been going to the classes for like two months,” Claire remembered saying to her.

“I know, it’s crazy,” was Lainie’s response.

And it was crazy, how Lainie stumbled onto this career. She’d never done well in school, which Claire thought was mostly because she never wanted to sit down long enough to study or do homework. She rushed through everything, scribbling down answers to tests, knowing that they were probably wrong. It was like she was just trying to get on to the next thing. She was never bothered by her grades; she’d just look at her B’s and C’s and nod, like
Yep, that’s about what I expected
.

But at the studio, Lainie excelled. She quickly became one of the most popular teachers there. Her classes were always full, and they kept adding more to her schedule. One day, a student of hers approached her and asked if she’d ever thought about starting her own studio. “I’d back you,” the woman said. “I’ll be an investor. I know you’d be wildly successful.”

And she had been. Lainie always called that woman her Fairy Godmother, which seemed perfect to Claire, because at least then Lainie was acknowledging that she was living in a fairy tale. Two years later, a large portion of the studio’s mortgage had been paid off, Lainie had hired three other teachers, and the place was thriving.

Claire was always amazed when she went to the studio. Amazed at the way these women flocked there, not for Pilates, but for Lainie. They seemed to think that if they remained devoted, they would one day turn into her. There were loads of women in their thirties who had just had children and believed that Lainie could save them, could get them back to the body they used to have. They’d look at her and think,
Well, she’s had three children, and look at her. All I need to do is some Pilates!
They were Lainie’s disciples, her faithful following. They believed.

Claire wanted to pull these women aside and whisper to them, leaning in close to say, “Look, I know you think you can have a stomach like that if you take these classes, that if you do enough Pilates, your arms will look just like hers. But they won’t be. She always looked like that, even before she ever started this, when she never exercised and ate fast food all the time. It’s not real.”

It was like when you were younger and believed that it was just a matter of time before you would become a gymnastics gold medalist, or a Broadway star. But then you got to a certain age, and you realized that the gymnasts at the Olympics were all younger than you, and that you couldn’t sing either; and just like that your visions of being a balance beam superstar or playing Annie onstage were gone.

Claire’s friend Allison, who was extremely flat-chested, once confessed that she’d believed for years that her breasts would grow. “In high school, I just thought I was a late bloomer,” she said. “In college, I just figured it would happen later for me. And now, I’m twenty-nine and I think it’s time to admit that this is it. I’m never going to have boobs.”

People couldn’t help but hope for what they wanted to become—even if it meant deluding themselves. And so Claire felt bad as she watched the parade of women that marched into Lainie’s Wednesday afternoon mat class, their bodies wrapped in expensive, cute spandex outfits, their hair pulled back in ponytails. Claire set herself up in the back corner, and as the class went on, as they all struggled through the exercises, she felt nothing but pity for these sweating women, who lay on their backs and sent their arms flying around, believing that they would be different soon.

THAT SATURDAY, CLAIRE WALKED OVER
to Lainie’s to help her get ready for the party. Jack was on the sidewalk, drawing what looked like a monster with chalk, and when he saw her he stood up and said, “My mom’s not going to work today.”

“I know,” Claire said. “I’m here for the party.”

“The party didn’t start yet.”

“I know. I’m here to help. Plus, remember Silvia’s back. I’m not even babysitting you anymore.”

Jack looked at her, like he was trying to figure out if she was lying, if she was really there to babysit him again and just trying to trick him. Finally he nodded at her and went back to his drawing, and Claire walked into the house.

Lainie had invited a random group of people to the barbecue. There were some old friends from high school, her older sisters and their husbands and kids, her younger sisters and their boyfriends, some people that Brian worked with, some women that worked at the studio. Claire was enjoying this randomness, and was talking to a woman named Susan about New York, when the front door opened and Fran Angelo walked in wearing a Phillies T-shirt with a hole in the collar, and an old, faded Eagles hat, like he was an ad for Philly sports fans.

Fran was a friend of Brian’s in high school, but she hadn’t seen him in years. Probably not since she moved to New York. Was it possible that it was that long? She was trying to figure it out, thinking that he actually didn’t look all that different—a little older, sure, and maybe worn down, but no, not that different—when he took his hat off, pushed his hair back and then replaced it, and Claire realized that she was staring and looked away.

He had been a handsome teenager—the kind of boy everyone was in love with. His full name was Frances John Callaghan, and it said a lot that he was never, not once, teased for having a girl’s name. All through high school, Fran had dip in his mouth and a bored look on his face. He was tall, well over six feet, and had dark brown hair that was just long enough to tuck behind his ears.

Susan was still talking, but Claire had lost track of their conversation, and nodded energetically to make up for it. She was no longer staring right at Fran, but was tracking his movements from the corner of her eye, and watched him walk through the front hall and out the door to the backyard. Claire excused herself from Susan, and went upstairs to use the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and let out a breath that she’d been holding. She shook her head, telling herself that she was being really pathetic acting like this, getting all nervous just seeing a boy she used to like about a million years ago.

Claire and Fran had made out just once, during a party at their
friend Brad’s house. She never really knew why Fran decided to pursue her that night. Maybe he knew that she had a crush on him, maybe she was the only girl there that hadn’t fooled around with him yet, or maybe he just didn’t feel like trying very hard. Whatever the reason, as soon as she got to the party that night, he’d called her name and waved her over to the couch where he was sitting, then pulled her down onto his lap. He put his arm around her waist, and used his other hand to hold the can he was spitting his dip into. Claire tried to suck in her stomach, tried to make herself lighter so that she wasn’t putting all of her weight on him, which just resulted in her body’s being completely stiff.