These Girls (23 page)

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said urgently. “I can’t focus on work. I eat lunch, and then two hours later I’ve forgotten what I’ve eaten—if I’ve even had lunch. A co-worker asked me to come by her office yesterday and I said I’d be there right after I put my coat in my office, and then I totally forgot. I was sitting at my desk, staring into space, when she finally came looking for me.”

“I think about you all the time, too,” Abby said. She didn’t tell Bob she’d wandered into his closet yesterday to inhale his smell. She’d studied the photos of him around the house, treasuring the few from his childhood. She’d even stared at the ones from his wedding day, wondering if he’d been truly happy then.

“I broke up with my boyfriend yesterday,” Abby said, watching Bob’s face to gauge his reaction. Pete had been bewildered and angry, but Abby couldn’t keep going out with him when she felt this way about Bob. She wanted to ask Bob about Joanna; she was desperate to know if he still loved her. But she didn’t want to say her name. Partly because she felt guilt—she was kissing another woman’s husband! How could she do that?—and partly because she couldn’t bear to have Joanna intrude on this moment. It was for her and Bob alone.

“I should get back,” he said.

“Bob, you’ve only been gone half an hour. It’s too soon. She’ll get suspicious.”

“You’re right,” he said. He looked at her with anguished eyes. “I’ve never—I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I know,” she said. “Me, either.”

“I’m scared out of my mind,” he said. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next.”

Abby was reaching for his hand when someone sharply rapped the window beside her. Her heart exploded in her chest, and she quickly straightened her shirt. Had Joanna followed them?

But then she saw a bulky shape through the window, and a blue uniform and a hat came into focus. It was a park police officer.

“Everything okay here?” he asked as she unrolled the window.

“Yes, Officer. Everything’s fine. We’re just talking,” Abby answered, because Bob seemed incapable of speech. He was staring straight ahead, frozen. If she’d been the officer she would
have searched the car—Bob was acting so suspiciously—but he merely nodded, a quick, satisfied motion, and went back to his own vehicle.

“You okay?” she said, rolling the window back up.

He nodded. “We can’t ever do this again, Abby.”

But even as he said the words, she knew they would.

Seventeen

CATE COULDN’T BELIEVE HOW
badly she’d messed up. Her brain had been consumed by so many competing complications—the Reece Moss non-interview, her growing attraction to Trey, Sam’s ridiculous excuses for not turning in the polygamy piece on time—that she’d completely forgotten she’d invited her mom to come up on the same day that Abby would be over.

She was so looking forward to the time alone with Renee and Abby, to opening a bottle or two of Chardonnay and settling in for a cozy night. She imagined telling them about Sam and his mind games, and Nigel’s lecherous visit to her desk. They’d conjure ways for Cate to get back at him—her hand innocently bumping against a fresh cup of coffee next to his hip, an ink-filled pen rolling underneath his pants as he leaned back against her desk . . .

Then Cate pictured her mother intruding on the scene. She’d offer to make everyone hot cocoa, and she’d inject comments in all the right places and ask questions—she wouldn’t be inappropriate—but the weekend’s dynamic would be irrevocably
altered. Cate, Renee, and Abby were just beginning to stretch toward one another, linked together by the gossamer-thin threads of a spiderweb, and her mother would unknowingly walk right through their fragile bonds.

So Cate had picked up the phone, dialed the familiar number, and asked, “Do you mind if we change plans?”

Now she slung her laptop case and overnight bag onto her shoulder as the Amtrak conductor called out, “Philadelphia 30th Street Station, next stop!” Cate exited the train and quickly spotted her mom standing there, searching the swarm of travelers. Of course her mother had come to pick her up, even though Cate had offered to hop in a taxi.

“A cab?” her mother had said, as incredulous as if Cate had suggested climbing aboard an ornery mule for the ride home. “No daughter of mine is taking a cab home!”

Cate waved, but her mom didn’t see her; she just stood there, briefly disappearing and then reappearing as the crowd surged around her, like a swimmer bobbing in a rough ocean current. Her mom had done something different with her hair—she’d lopped off a few inches to a shoulder-length cut—and she was wearing a pair of dark blue slacks with a white cable-knit sweater. The sweater was bulky and unflattering, and she seemed to have more creases around her eyes than just a few months ago. She looked like exactly the sort of woman she was—one who shopped the sale racks and enjoyed baking cookies from scratch, who still hung Christmas stockings by the fireplace for her grown children even when they didn’t make it home for the holiday. Cate suddenly felt ashamed for always being so impatient with her mother.

“Mom!” she called out.

“Sweetheart!” Her mother’s face lit up. Cate hurried toward her and gave her a long hug, smelling the Pond’s cold cream that her mother faithfully used even though Cate sent her boxes
of the expensive skin care products the beauty editor routinely left on the magazine’s free shelf.

“You look wonderful, honey,” her mother said, stepping back and assessing Cate. “But have you gotten thinner?”

“Just a few pounds.”

“I’ll put them back on you before you leave tomorrow. I made chocolate-chip-marshmallow bars.”

Of course she had; she knew Cate adored them. Her mom would cook her favorite lemon roast chicken for dinner, too, and she’d probably cleaned and dusted her old room and put a pitcher of water and a drinking glass on her nightstand. Cate blinked away unexpected tears as she squeezed her mom’s arm. “Thanks for baking those,” she said. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

Fifteen minutes after leaving the train station, they pulled up in front of Cate’s childhood home. It was a center-hall brick colonial—the very last one on a dead-end street—with a rose garden in the back, next to the ancient wooden play structure that looked as if it might tumble if given a good push. The neighborhood was turning over, with young families taking over the homes of downsizing empty nesters, and tricycles and basketball hoops littered the driveways they’d passed.

Cate automatically kicked off her shoes and left them by the front door, then dropped her bags on the staircase landing. She ran her hand over the banister, thinking back to the times when she and Christopher had slid down the gleaming wood, landing on the pile of sofa cushions they’d laid on the floor. She saw herself as a little girl, her long hair streaming out behind her, squealing as she ran through the backyard sprinkler. She’d had a pink bike with a banana seat and sparkly silver ribbons dangling from the handlebars, a room stocked with games like Twister and Operation, and regular Saturday afternoon trips to the local movie theater with her whole family. Because she’d
had a happy childhood, she’d never thought much about her parents’ marriage—until the day her father called to tell her he was leaving.

She sat down on the bottom step, her chin in her hands, thinking back to that moment. She was living in New York by then, and was walking home from work. She’d answered her cell phone with a smile, happy to see a familiar number because the city was still a lonely place for her. Her dad had asked if it was a good time to talk.

“Sure. I’m just on my way to my apartment,” she’d said.

He’d hesitated. “Why don’t you call me when you get there?” he’d finally suggested.

Something inside that simple sentence had made her stomach clench. She’d gripped the phone with a hand that suddenly felt ice-cold and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What is it? Oh, my God, is Mom okay?”

“She’s fine,” he’d said. “Look, honey, I really think you should call me back—”

“Dad, tell me,” she’d said. She’d thought she’d spoken in a normal tone of voice, but she must’ve shouted, because two passersby turned to stare at her—or maybe they were just transfixed by the image of her face flipping from joyful to terrified in the space of an instant.

Her father had cleared his throat. “You know your mother and I both love you and Christopher very much,” he’d begun. He’d kept talking for a few more minutes before he got to the point—that he was leaving, moving across town; that he’d already left, in fact. But Cate’s legs had stopped moving at that first sentence. She’d just stood there, as all the colors and noises of New York—honks and flashing neon lights and shouts—faded away around her, until she was left standing alone on the cold, gray island.

Cate had harbored a secret hope that their separation would
be temporary. But when her mother called her one night six months later, sobbing so hard she had trouble breathing, Cate couldn’t believe it: Her father already had a girlfriend. Or—the horrible thought leapt into her mind—maybe he’d had one all along.

She’d punched in her father’s new number so hard that one of her nails broke. She’d almost hoped the girlfriend would answer the phone; she wanted to rain obscenities down upon her, to scream at her for ripping apart a family. Her father was throwing away a long marriage because of a midlife crisis. He was a smart man, a
good
man. She’d never thought he’d turn into such a pathetic cliché.

But her father had picked up on the first ring, saying “hello” in a calm, solemn tone, as though he was expecting her call. Maybe he was; he’d probably broken the news to her mother about his new girlfriend, then sat back and waited for her to tell Cate before the communication triangle was completed by Cate’s call.

“I can’t believe you,” Cate had said. Her hand had curled so tightly around the phone that her fingers went numb. “Just tell me one thing: Did you leave Mom for her?”

“Cate,” he’d said, and his normally deep voice was so weary. “I didn’t even meet Darlene until a few months after I’d moved out. And you must know it wasn’t working between your mother and me long before then.”

Darlene? Cate had pictured a busty, giggling blonde—her mother’s opposite. Her father was a fool. She’d give him a month before he came back, suitcase in hand and head hung in shame. No, a week.

“The truth is, after you kids left the house . . . I began to realize you were all that was holding us together.”

Cate had wanted to argue—she’d been poised to argue. But as she’d turned his words over in her mind, searching for a way
to tear into them, to claw and stomp on them until they were shredded and powerless, she’d realized she couldn’t. They were filled with the strength of truth. Her parents never went out on dates, never took romantic vacations together. At night they watched television in separate armchairs, instead of cuddling on the couch. Even in family photos, her parents were always on opposite ends, flanking their children.

When Cate had opened her mouth again, the question that emerged surprised her: “But what about Mom?”

Her anger hadn’t broken her father, but this question did. His voice had wavered, and he’d had to blow his nose before answering. “I hope she finds happiness, Cate. I truly do. I still love your mother . . . just not in that way anymore.”

Remembering it now, back in her childhood home, made Cate’s eyes burn all over again.

Darlene had lasted much longer than a month. Her father was still dating her. Cate had met her a few months later, when her father brought her to New York for a weekend of shopping and Broadway shows. Darlene was bottle-blond and busty, but not the slightest bit giggly. She had a dry wit, and worked as a patent lawyer. Cate had liked her, even though it made her feel queasy to see her dad with another woman, to watch him hold open doors for her and put his hand on the small of her back as he walked a half step behind her. It was almost as if he’d become a different man, one who wore cologne and had a shorter haircut and asked to see the wine list instead of ordering a bottle of Budweiser. Her dad must’ve known how uncomfortable it made Cate feel, because when she came back to Philly for the holidays, he always made time to see her alone. Sometimes Darlene dropped him off at a restaurant and popped in to say hello, but she seemed to be making an effort to stay in the background. It made Cate like her more, if a bit grudgingly.

She wouldn’t see her father on this trip home, though; he and Darlene were taking a long weekend in Barbados.

Cate quickly wiped the corners of her eyes with her index fingers at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Honey?” Her mother came in from the kitchen. “What are you doing out here?”

Cate shook her head and stood up from the step. “Just remembering. Thinking of how Christopher and I used to slide down this banister.”

Her mother laughed and put a hand lightly on Cate’s shoulder. “You almost gave me a heart attack the first time you did it.” She stood there, looking at the banister. “A lot of good memories are in this house, aren’t they?”

And suddenly Cate realized that was why her mother wouldn’t move. She was scared she’d lose those memories along with everything else.

Cate hadn’t wanted to bring up her father—she and her mother had pretty much wrung the subject dry over the past few years—but it was her mother who did so, as they were finishing up dinner. How like her mother, to wait so Cate’s meal wouldn’t be ruined. Maybe if her mother had stood up for herself, had demanded to be swept away to a hotel for a romantic night, had made her own needs known instead of worrying about everyone else’s . . . But no, Cate couldn’t blame her mother for the divorce. Her father was every bit as much at fault. Or maybe, and this was the saddest thought of all, maybe no one was.

“Dad called earlier this week,” her mother began. She reached for her wineglass and took a healthy sip. “He wanted to tell me he’s getting engaged. He was going to ask her in Barbados. He probably has, by now.”

Cate drew in her breath sharply.

“He was going to call you next, but I convinced him to let me tell you in person since you were about to come down here.”