Marina hesitated, then nodded. She would be as honest as she could and find a way to finesse the questions that were better left unanswered. “Yes, we’ll work on that.”
“
And,
promise you’ll take me to Florence. Soon.”
Marina looked at her daughter’s determined face and thought of her own mother’s broken promise. Perhaps if her mother had taken her to Florence, she wouldn’t have had to go on her own and she wouldn’t have met Sarah and Thomas and ... she wouldn’t have Zoe.
“Yes, I promise I’ll take you.”
“Soon!”
“We’ll talk about what soon means.” Marina put her finger gently on Zoe’s lips, silencing her protest. “But not tonight.”
Marina now studied the engraving, her eyes tracing the path she’d taken in her quest to follow the trail of ashes. How could she possibly honor her promise to answer Zoe’s questions about her father when there were things no daughter should ever know? She would just have to come as close as she could to the truth and leave some things out. It was all such a tangled mess. As a surgeon might view a mass of intertwined veins and arteries where one false move might cause the life to bleed out of it, she envisioned the life she created. Could she undo her mistakes without damaging the whole? Could she be ruthless with herself but delicate with Zoe? She didn’t imagine Zoe would want to know about the night of her conception—adolescent denial of a parent’s sexuality would see to that—but at some point she might wonder. Marina prayed it would be when she was old enough to understand that a couple of drinks could loosen your inhibitions, or to understand casual sex, or that sometimes sex was a mistake. Then she might see how these things could happen. If she was lucky, Zoe would never want to know. A knock on the studio door rescued Marina from her quandary.
“Knock, knock.” Peter stood in the doorway, paper bag in his hands. “I’ve got lunch.”
Peter had called Marina a couple of days after her return to ask how her trip had gone, but she’d been in the daze of reentry and didn’t recall much about their conversation except that it had been brief. Now she remembered she had accepted his lunch offer. She looked at her watch to buy a moment’s composure, then moved toward him. “Hey, you, is it that time already?” She allowed him to draw her into a hug.
He tightened his grip, rocking her back and forth. “Hey, you, relax. You’re home.”
She
was
home, and it was delicious to be held and let everything else fall away, if only for a minute. She returned his squeeze. “It’s great to see you,” she said. It was great to see him, it had always been great to see him, but until Lydia’s revelation about his feelings for her, she’d taken his place in her life for granted. He was Lydia’s brother, father figure to her children, kind uncle to Zoe, gravy-making partner, generous, thoughtful, always there when he was needed. He was, she realized, one of the touchstones in her life. Zoe, their home, the studio, Lydia and June and the kids, they were all part and parcel of her existence, and Peter, too; without them, she might simply drift away. Marina extricated herself from his embrace and turned her flushed face away. She cleared a space on her desk, then collected glasses and paper napkins from a shelf while Peter unwrapped the sandwiches.
“Extra pickles for you, madame. No mayo for me.” He indicated the sandwiches with a flourish.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Marina’s attempt at nonchalance sounded hollow. How did he manage to be so relaxed and at ease? He couldn’t possibly know that Lydia had shared his confidence with her, could he? She picked up the framed engraving. “Look what I found for Zoe.” She realized too late that she would now have to explain the significance of her choice.
Peter studied it carefully. “Very nice. A talented hand.” He tapped the glass. “I’ve been to that cemetery.”
“You have?” Marina had forgotten that Peter had been to Florence more than once.
“Sure. It’s beautiful. Why did you choose that for Zoe?”
She had no idea how much of her story Peter knew. She trusted that Lydia hadn’t told him things she shouldn’t, but over the years, she herself must have made casual references to her past. But which? She was shamed by the realization that after all the years of watching Peter live his life and share his loves and heartbreaks, she really had no idea what she’d shared with him, or how much of it was true.
But it was no secret that Zoe had a father. “You know Zoe’s father lived in Florence?”
Peter nodded.
“And that he died a long time ago?”
Again Peter nodded. “Before she was born,” he said as he took a bite of his sandwich.
How was it that the most damaging of all her lies could be proffered so artlessly? Her chest tightened and her heart raced. It had never occurred to the people close to her, the people who loved her, that she might be anything but honest with them, that she could betray their trust. She’d been so concerned about Sarah’s feelings that she hadn’t given any thought to how Peter might feel. Or her parents for that matter, she suddenly thought. She’d sold them the one-nightstand story a long time ago, and they accepted the fact that Zoe’s father didn’t want to be involved. And there was June, and behind her a long line of people for whom Marina had altered the truth, sometimes vaguely, sometimes specifically. The magnitude of the task ahead, the making right of so many wrongs, was more than she could think about with Peter standing in front of her. Would he understand? She looked at him as he took another bite of his sandwich. Yes, he probably would, but this was not the moment. It was all too much, too soon.
She took a deep breath. “His ashes were scattered in this cemetery, and I thought Zoe might ... like to have this.” In light of all she left out, this meager piece of the truth seemed a shabby offering. Peter looked at her intently. Could he see the word “liar” emblazoned across her forehead? She swallowed hard. “Do you think that’s too weird?”
“No, not at all. It’s very thoughtful. And from the way Zoe has been talking about Florence, I think she’d love anything that had to do with that city.”
Marina willed herself to relax. “She’s been bugging me about taking her there.”
Peter crumpled his sandwich wrapper. “You should. She’d love it.”
“I’d like to, but ... it’s complicated.”
Peter seemed about to say something, but stopped, took her by the arm, and led her to the desk, where he pushed her gently into the chair. He moved the sandwich in front of her. “Eat.”
Marina complied as Peter filled the glasses with water and set one in front of her. He took the other and stood at the window looking out. All Marina could hear in the sticky silence that filled the studio was the static buzz of her mind. She looked at Peter’s back and wished she could break free, reach out and touch his shoulder, tell him everything.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” Peter said.
The bread stuck in her throat. Wasn’t that what she should be saying? She tried to swallow but couldn’t.
Peter pulled out the chair across from her, sat down, and put his hand over hers. “I haven’t been honest because I didn’t know the truth, not until you were away.” Marina took shallow breaths through her nose. She couldn’t move, couldn’t swallow. She stared at Peter.
Peter kept his hand on hers. “I have no doubt my sister has filled you in.” He smiled. “If she didn’t call you in Florence, she’s certainly talked to you since you got back.” He held up his hand. “No, don’t say anything, just nod if I’m right.”
Marina swallowed hard, managing at last to clear her throat, but she did not speak. She wanted to deny that she knew anything. She wasn’t ready to hear his words, but her head nodded.
“I did not confide in Lydia with the idea that she would tell you. In fact, I hadn’t intended to confide in her at all, but you know how she is.”
Marina managed a wry smile. “She beat it out of you.”
“Exactly. But it didn’t take a heavy stick. I think my behavior was pretty self-explanatory.”
Marina sat back in her chair, once again willing herself to relax. “‘Mooning and moping about,’ I believe was the description.”
Peter removed his hand from hers and scraped it through his hair. “Oh God, she told you gory details.”
“Peter, it’s fine. I was so preoccupied with everything I was dealing with at the time, I barely remember a word she said.” She made what she hoped was an apologetic smile. She couldn’t tell if Peter looked relieved or disappointed.
“I don’t know any of the details, Marina, but it seems you were dealing with more than just the conference over there, and I get the impression that whatever it is, is upsetting you.”
Marina folded the remains of her sandwich into the wrapper and looked toward the window as if an answer might rise up from a snowbank. Did she want to hear about Peter’s feelings or talk about her complicated life? After a long moment, she looked at Peter and said, “It’s complicated. I hate to keep saying that. And it
is
upsetting. I have a lot to figure out.”
“Can I help? Be a sounding board or something?”
Marina shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to sort some things out with Zoe before I can talk with anyone else. It’s all a bit much.”
“The last thing I want to do is add to your burden... .”
“Oh, Peter, no ... you aren’t, really, it’s okay. I just want to make things right with Zoe and get through the holidays.”
“Is she okay? I saw her while you were gone and she seemed fine, excited about this new photography club, always out and about with Sasha.”
Marina had seen that look so often over the years, a simultaneous tightening and softening of the face that conveyed concern, compassion, and she liked it that Peter seemed to feel as protective toward Zoe as his own niece and nephew. “She’ll be fine, she’s having some ... growing pains. It’s ...”
“Complicated.” Peter smiled. “Look, what I have to say can wait, but you have to promise me we will talk long and hard in the new year.”
Marina’s reflexive response was to demur, but in that moment, she knew without a doubt that, eventually, she would tell him everything—and she would be safe.
“Good,” Peter said, standing up. “And when I say the new year, I mean January one.”
CHAPTER 19
M
arina’s breath came in short gasps as she struggled to keep up with Lydia. There had been a brief thaw, followed by freezing temperatures that had turned the path by the railroad tracks into a slick chute of ice.
Marina slipped and fell to one knee. “Ow! Shit! Slow down, you beast. I thought this was a walk, not a race to the summit.”
Lydia shaded her eyes from the sun and called to her friend. “Are you okay? Come on, there’s a wall here. We can sit for a minute.”
In spite of her throbbing knee, Marina was happy to be out, getting some exercise and having some quality time with Lydia. They’d talked every day the week of her return, mostly by phone or over quick cups of coffee on the way to or from picking up kids and running errands. They’d discussed her confrontation with Sarah from every possible angle until Marina couldn’t think about it anymore—she was ready to move on. Then Peter had come to see her, and it was almost another week before Marina felt ready to face Lydia, who would probably want to know every detail. In fact, she was surprised that Lydia hadn’t been on the phone to her directly.
Marina hoisted herself onto the crumbling stone wall that marked the perimeter of what had once been a grand estate. Through the trees, she could just make out the bulky shape of a mansion overlooking the Hudson River.
“It’s great to be out and to have some uninterrupted time with you,” said Lydia. “Are you okay? I didn’t realize it would be so slippery out here.”
Marina rubbed her knee. “I’m fine, maybe a little bruised. At least my knee hurts more than my heart right now.”
Lydia put her arm around Marina’s shoulder and chuckled. “Nothing like a little pain therapy. But seriously, are you feeling any better? You were so exhausted last week. How are you doing?”
Marina inhaled the crisp air and turned her face to the sun. “I’m fine, much better. The jet lag’s gone. God, it seemed to drag on forever. And it really helped to talk the Sarah thing to death, thank you. I feel like I can lay that to rest and concentrate on giving Zoe what she needs, try to answer her questions.”
“How’s Zoe? Is she driving you crazy with questions?”
Marina looked at Lydia. “The funny thing is, she isn’t. We’re in our usual routine, coming and going, eating together, talking. . . about nothing.” Marina shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe she needs more time just having you back. I think she was pretty shaken up by everything, especially her own anger. Running away like that, then you being away ... Don’t get me wrong, I think you did the right thing to go when you did, but I think having you gone underscored how important you are to her. Maybe it made her think twice about how she treated you.”
“But she’s right to be mad at me, really mad, and running away makes sense ... in that crazy, out-of-control, teenage way. I don’t think it was a smart thing to do, and it scared the hell out of me, but it helped me
get
the intensity of what she was feeling. But what’s she doing with those feelings? I don’t want her to stuff her feelings because she’s afraid of losing me.”
Lydia hopped off the wall. “Come on, I’m getting cold. Let’s try walking between the rails, maybe it won’t be as slippery.” The two women walked side by side, leaving fresh tracks in their wake. “I agree, it is appropriate for Zoe to be mad, but I don’t think you can make her unafraid of losing you. The reality is, you are the only parent she has.”
Marina sighed. “I know. I guess I can only encourage her to have her feelings and reassure her that I’m not going anywhere.”
They walked on in silence, the snow crunching underfoot, until Lydia bumped Marina with her hip. “June told me not to ask, but I have to. How was your lunch with my brother?”
“What did June say?” Marina was surprised. While June was a loving and compassionate person, she had a strict sense of boundaries to which she adhered with a tenacity that sometimes made it seem as if she wasn’t interested or didn’t care.