The Best of Us (21 page)

“Okay. So let’s think about that,” he’d said, and she’d grown warm inside at his use of the word
let’s
.

They’d come up with good ideas, like keeping a running list of things she did for the kids: foods they liked, how candlelit bubble baths soothed them when they were upset, books they loved to listen to . . .

“It’s not that I expect anything to . . . to happen to you,” he’d said. “It won’t. But if this helps . . .”

“It really does,” she’d said, and she’d inched a bit closer to him. They were a team now.

“So we’ll write this down,” Dwight had said, nodding. “And I can keep a copy in my desk, too, if you want.”

She’d almost wept at his words.

It had been dark outside, but the pool lights had cast a golden glow around them. She’d heard Ryan laughing a bit too heartily at one of Gio’s dirty jokes, and she’d felt a flash of scorn: Why did Ryan act like someone he wasn’t around Gio? Why hadn’t
he
come out here to check on her?

His joking around while she sat planning for her own death felt like a staggering betrayal. She would’ve been so lonely, if it hadn’t been for Dwight.

The sound of the raucous laughter had also conjured a memory in her: She’d been in her senior year of college, walking down the quad at UVa, heading to her room after her last class of the day. It had been one of those afternoons that seemed to straddle summer and fall: warm when the sun beamed down on you, chilly when it ducked behind a cloud. Dwight had been fifty or so yards ahead of her, and Allie had been about to yell out a greeting when he tripped on something—a rock or uneven patch of sidewalk or maybe just his own feet. He’d sprawled out, papers and books flying everywhere, and a gaggle of bitchy girls had stood by and laughed instead of helping him.

Allie had hurried over, picked up a notebook, and handed it to Dwight, who’d looked like he was about to cry.

“Thanks,” he’d said. He was still crouched down, jamming papers into a three-ring binder that had split open. One of his palms was bleeding slightly.

“Want to come over and study for a while?” she’d asked, bending down next to him. She didn’t know Dwight well—they’d lived next to each other for only a few weeks—but she
knew that he didn’t have a lot of friends. His room was always quiet.

“Sh-sh-sure,” he’d said. And then he’d stood up and she’d noticed the back cuff of one of his pants legs had gotten stuck in the elastic band of one of his socks, making him look especially dorky and vulnerable. She’d had to swallow a lump in her throat.

They’d studied together for a few hours, in a companionable silence, and she’d made them both hot cocoa before he left her room. His face had lit up like a little boy’s when she’d added mini-marshmallows to their mugs.

“This was nice,” he’d said.

“Let’s do it again sometime soon,” she’d responded.

“I’d, ah, like that,” he’d said, looking down. But she could see him smiling. He had a wonderful smile.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, she’d realized he was just inches away on the other side of the wall, and she’d sent out a little prayer for him, that life would begin to treat him more kindly.

Once Dwight felt completely safe around Allie, he rarely stuttered or hesitated when they talked. She liked the way he listened carefully to everything she said, and spoke only when he had something to say in return, not to fill the silence.

Now, fifteen years after they’d first met, Allie appreciated those qualities in him even more. As a social worker, she listened to people’s problems for a living. Just
being
with someone was so relaxing and rare.

But that night by the pool, after Dwight had helped Allie figure out ways to feel in control, their conversation had turned—gone deeper than it ever had before. By then Ryan had poked his head outside and announced he was going to bed, and Allie had promised to come in soon. But she hadn’t. Something about the late hour, and the dark, and the deep
timbre of Dwight’s voice, made it impossible for her to leave her chair. To leave him.

“Do you want kids, Dwight?” she’d asked at one point.

“Yeah,” he’d said. “Definitely.”

“You’ll be a great dad,” she’d said.

“We’ve been trying for . . . well, a while. Pretty much since we got married.”

“So almost two years?” Allie said. “Have you guys talked to a specialist? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

“I’ll mention it to Pauline,” he’d said.

Allie had swallowed a surprised
You haven’t yet?

How could Dwight fail to discuss something so important with his wife? she wondered, then immediately felt a rush of recognition. She’d done the exact same thing to Ryan. Instead of confiding in her husband, she’d taken her deepest worries to another man.

When she and Dwight had finally risen from their chairs by the pool, the house was completely silent and the sky had turned a shade or two lighter. She’d reached out her arms and they’d hugged for a long time. It had felt even more intimate than their kiss on the beach.

Now Allie continued walking around the pool, thinking about how she could get Dwight alone, to tell him she needed him by her side when she finally called the genetic counselor. Maybe he could take off work for a day when they got back home, and he could come over and hold her while she dialed the number. She could do it, if Dwight was there with her.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that kiss?

Allie picked up her jogging shoes and was about to go into the house when she heard a car coming down the road, spitting up gravel as it turned in to the driveway. She watched as a gleaming black sedan stopped and Pauline stepped out. The
driver hurried to open the trunk and handed Pauline her overnight case, which she took without a word.

Pauline looked . . . different, Allie thought. Her blond hair was up in a ponytail, with some pieces trailing out to the side in a way that looked sloppy instead of artful. She wore jeans and a simple cotton shirt.

Allie watched Pauline pay the driver. But instead of going into the house, Pauline walked toward the pool as Allie shrank behind a pillar. Allie felt as if she should look away—as if she was witnessing something private—but she couldn’t.

She kept watching as Pauline sank into the chair Allie had just vacated, and stared into space. A moment later, something strange happened: Rain began pouring down, even though the sky was still mostly clear. It rained hard for about two minutes, then it stopped abruptly and the sun burst into view again. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Allie could see Pauline’s wet hair and damp clothes, Allie might have worried she’d imagined it all—the abrupt turn in the weather, the sudden absence of light, and the thin blond woman making no effort to shield herself against the downpour.

*   *   *

“So, we had a little excitement last night,” Savannah said, leaning back in her chair at the dining room table toward the end of lunch. “There was shrimp in the clambake.”

Pauline looked at Savannah, but her expression didn’t change.

“Remember, I’m allergic to shrimp?” Savannah prompted. “We talked about it on the plane?”

“Oh, yes,” Pauline said.

Clearly Savannah had expected a different reaction—a shocked exclamation, maybe, followed by an effusive apology. But Pauline just kept looking at her. It seemed to throw Savannah, who sat up straighter.

“Luckily Tina found my EpiPen before my throat completely closed up,” she said, a note of pique running through her voice.

“The old chef must’ve forgotten to tell the new chef about your allergy.” Pauline lifted a shoulder, as if dismissing the incident. “But you’re obviously okay now.”

“Well, yes, but only because Tina’s a nurse and she knew what to do!” Savannah said.

There was another pause, the perfect space for Pauline to apologize. But she simply took an unhurried sip of her coffee. Tina studied her from across the table, wondering if Pauline was trying to get under Savannah’s skin. But it seemed as if Pauline was truly out of it—almost as if she’d heard Savannah’s words without understanding their meaning. Tina hid a little smile; Savannah loved being the center of attention, and it was kind of funny to see her denied that role, especially since she actually deserved it in this case.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, Pauline?” Tina asked after a moment. “A little pasta salad, maybe?”

Pauline turned to look at Tina. “I’m fine,” she said.

Maybe that was how she stayed so skinny, Tina thought as she spooned another helping of the salad onto her plate. Nothing had passed Pauline’s lips during this meal but three or four cups of coffee. You’d expect her to be jittery, but the caffeine seemed to be having the opposite effect on her. Her movements were a beat slower than normal, as if she were underwater.

Tina sighed and closed her lips around tender farfalle, mixed with grilled asparagus, feta, and toasted pine nuts. She didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty because she knew it was real fuel for her body, not like the empty calories she usually consumed. The problem was, she was so busy at home that she tended to gobble anything that could be held in one hand—usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or, shamefully, a
sleeve of cookies on some days. Sometimes she even ate off a paper towel when she couldn’t bear the thought of creating more dirty dishes.

She used to love to cook, though. She’d enjoyed layering meat and cheese in perfect proportions into a lasagna, baking it until it was golden and just the slightest bit crusty on top. She’d liked to simmer a stew and let the aroma fill the entire house, sneaking a taste now and then to determine if it needed another dash of pepper or thyme. But everything had changed when her second child had arrived, squalling and delicate of stomach and equipped with the world’s pickiest taste buds. Angela hated everything but the blandest dishes—mac and cheese, rice, pizza with no toppings, toast and bananas. Present the kid with a burrito and she’d recoil as if it were a tarantula.

Paolo, Tina’s oldest, liked pretty much everything—but he was the only kid in America who refused to eat rice. As an added bonus, he was allergic to dairy. And so it became easier for Tina to find the lowest common denominator, to cook the simplest foods that would please everyone. She usually made something like a roasted chicken and a bowl of mac and cheese for dinner, and tossed it on the table alongside fruit and bread and maybe a tray of baby carrots and cut-up cucumbers, if she were feeling especially guilty about her family’s dysfunctional relationship with the food pyramid.

And of course she always went straight for the mac and cheese. It was easy and soothing and filling, something she could shovel in between leaping up to fill water glasses and admonishing the kids to use their napkins instead of their shirts. Sometimes she was gripped with a passion to change things—to wait until Gio came home to eat a proper meal with him, something involving candles and a nice salad with grilled fish. But invariably, by the time she finished baths and homework supervision and bedtime stories, she was too wiped out to do
anything but cover a plate of leftovers in Saran Wrap and leave it on the counter for him. It made her feel like a failure in both wife and mother categories.

Tina felt unexpected tears prick her eyes. Going on a vacation was supposed to relax you, not make you realize how stressful your life had become.

“So what’s the plan for today, Pauline?” Savannah was saying.

Tina glanced up when their hostess didn’t answer immediately.

“We can watch a movie, or . . . read on the beach,” Pauline finally said. She sounded as if she couldn’t have cared less.

“That sounds good,” Allie said. “I think an afternoon of reading is just what I need.”

“Great,” Tina said. She was feeling a little low, and a few hours of lighthearted fiction did sound nice. She took a closer look at Pauline. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and despite all the time in the sun, her skin looked even paler than usual. Could she be coming down with something?

“Would you excuse me?” Pauline asked.

She stood up without waiting for an answer and walked in the direction of her bedroom. Everyone at the table watched her go.

“Well, that was odd,” Savannah said. “She doesn’t have anything lined up for the afternoon? Not that I’m complaining; she just had so much planned for the beginning of the trip.”

“She’s probably tired,” Allie said. “All that flying . . .”

“I’ll bring her a cup of tea,” Dwight said, standing. “She loves tea.”

“I feel like a little bodysurfing,” Gio said as Dwight left. “The waves are getting really good.”

“I’m in,” Ryan said. “Allie? How about you?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to hang out by the pool. I might come down to the beach later.”

“Me, too,” Tina said. “The weather’s kind of weird anyway. It keeps raining for a few minutes, then stopping.”

“It’s weather bands from the approaching storm,” Gio said. “But there’s still plenty of sun. I saw a bunch of boogie boards by the tiki bar, so let’s hit it. Tell Dwight to meet us down at the water if he wants.”

Everyone got up and split in different directions, with Tina heading into her room and shutting the door behind her. She was glad Gio was going down to the beach with the guys. She was suddenly craving solitude and felt desperate to try to stockpile it while she had the chance. She’d choose a book from the shelf downstairs and curl up and read, then drift off into a nap. Her belly was full of good, rich food, and her bed was so comfortable—she’d been right when she imagined the sheets and comforters would be snowy white.

She sighed in relief as she unsnapped her shorts, which had been a bit tight even before lunch. She slipped off her clothes, then put on the soft terry bathrobe that was hanging on the back of their bathroom door. Maybe she’d take a long soak in the Jacuzzi before napping, she thought.

But first she reached for her cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Hi, Louise,” she said when Allie’s mom answered. “I thought I’d check in . . .”

“Oh, Tina! Funny you called just now.”

Tina caught her breath. “Is everything okay?”