Girl in the Rearview Mirror Page 9

  The doorbell rang, and I dropped the pitcher of cream on the counter. It clanged but didn’t crack.

  Marina frowned. “You aren’t yourself today, Finn. What’s the matter?”

  I scrambled for an excuse. “I get like this when I’m getting my period. It’ll pass.” A humiliating lie, the most effective kind.

  Her lips thinned in irritation, but she believed me. “You should take an iron supplement. Can you get the door? I’ve got to run.”

  I trailed behind her to the driveway. The laundry truck idled by the mailbox.

  While I hauled the cloth sack of dirty linens down to the deliveryman, Marina backed out her Range Rover, nearly running us over.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, passing off the bag. I headed back up the drive.

  “Miss?” He held out the bag of clean things.

  I took it, apologizing again.

  He wiped his gleaming forehead with the back of his hand. He wore a shiny soccer jersey, murder in this heat, but he was grinning. “You’ve got something on your mind. Smile! You’re a beautiful girl and it’s a be-you-tiful day.”

  The week Philip was gone didn’t resemble the usual march of weekdays. While Amabel and I kept to our routines—Monday, camp; Tuesday, playdate; Wednesday, riding—the days were long, the hours thick as gravy. I found myself leaving Amabel on false pretenses, to answer the phone or make a snack, and I wandered the house, checking the locks, looking out the windows. The sun glared brightly, and the blue sky was flat as plastic, unchanging as the set of a play.

  Though Marina was gone for twelve, thirteen hours a day, I still found traces of her everywhere, as though she wasn’t sleeping, either. Unfinished cups of tea, biscotti nibbled and abandoned. She left jewelry lying around at random—a turquoise ring on the mantel, gold earrings on the windowsill above the sink, a diamond tennis bracelet in the pocket of her robe. Eva wouldn’t touch them, so I gathered them and returned them to her dressing table.

  Late at night Marina would rush in the door and tap me on the shoulder where I drowsed on the couch. “Good night, thank you, I’m off to bed, stay in the guest room if you want.” Her neck was strung with tension, her eyes bloodshot. I hoped my thoughts were as opaque to her as hers were to me. I didn’t stay over, though I usually took any chance I got to sleep there. I drove through the black night to Bryant’s, too tired to speak. I felt such relief when we made love. This was under control, at least.

  Bryant was also tense, in a busy straightforward way. I asked him about the town hall, about the polls, but he told me everything was fine. He fell asleep instantly and snored quietly in his throat. At dawn, I woke feeling as if I’d just shut my eyes.

  I didn’t hear from Philip. I called once, and when he didn’t answer, I was almost relieved. I fielded dozens of texts from Iris, replying as minimally as possible, keenly aware that anything I said could get me in trouble, but afraid of what she might do if I ignored her entirely. The ellipses when she was typing seemed to flicker for an eternity. I was afraid she’d threaten to make her story public. But she’d only write how she missed him, or, worse, how grateful she was for my help.

  Wednesday afternoon, Iris texted me a picture of another ultrasound. On my little screen I couldn’t make out a defining shape in the white specks, and when I compared it to the other ultrasound (stashed in my purse like an unlucky charm), I couldn’t tell whether anything had developed.

  Otherwise, the day was perversely peaceful. Marina called, cheerful, to say Philip would be back tomorrow, and she’d be home by nine.

  I settled Amabel in for her nap, sitting on the side of her bed to tell our usual story.

  “Once upon a time,” I said, “a girl lived in a big old house on the edge of a forest.”

  “A princess,” Ammy interjected, as she always did.

  “Her bedroom was at the top of the house. It was winter. It snowed more than it had for a hundred years—piles of snow, taller than you!”

  I asked if she’d seen snow, and she shook her head.

  “It’s heavy, and very wet. Imagine you’re in the swimming pool, up to your knees. But the water is thick and heavy and cold. Freezing! And when you walk, it’s hard to move your feet through it. You step on top, and sink in.”

  Amabel fidgeted, resistant to the artificial dark of her closed blinds.

  “The princess was stuck inside for days, watching at her window. Soon her dog’s house was buried under snow. The path to the woods vanished. Even the birds shivered.

  “Then a polar bear walked through the yard, heading for the trees. So she got dressed in her boots with the fur inside, and her coat, and her mittens. And she went outside into the snow.”

  I went on, improvising. The princess followed the bear, but he disappeared, and she met instead a wicked witch who wanted to keep the snow falling forever.

  Our story always began with the girl in her high bedroom, and the woods below. After I’d been telling it awhile, when Ammy was three, I showed her the photograph of the Swiss house. It was bent from being carried in my wallet.

  “This is the castle from our story. And that’s me,” I told her, tapping the teenager under the maple. Amabel obediently studied the picture.

  I showed her another, this one of the flagstone patio out back, a thick cluster of rosebushes, and a treehouse perched in a low, spreading mulberry. I’d carefully trimmed away one side of the snapshot.

  “That’s the princess’s hideout,” Ammy said, rolling the word over her tongue like candy. The hideout featured in many stories.

  “That’s right.” I tried not to be hurt that she wasn’t particularly interested in my reveal—I’d lived here; the princess was me. But for her, the big Swiss house wasn’t a castle, and the girl in her shabby outfit no princess. Ammy was starting from a different perspective than I had, the Martins’ glass house, which would have been a castle to Natalie, and still was, even to Finn.

  Today, after we finished our story, I shut Ammy’s door and went into the Martins’ bedroom and idly sifted through the drawers, and the hamper, and Philip’s pockets, hunting for signs of Iris. Nothing was out of place.

  12

  The next morning, the day before the Black and White Gala, Philip was in the kitchen when I got to work. I stopped in the doorway, a Starbucks Venti steaming in my hand.

  He stood at the counter reading the newspaper. Toast crumbs showered on the business section as he took a contemplative bite. He looked refreshed. He wore a pale aqua shirt buttoned halfway, revealing the tan landscape of his chest. His hair was wet and combed back, and he was cleanly shaven, cheeks pink from the razor.

  He glanced at me, shaking out the paper. “Planning to paint my portrait?”

  The coffee was burning my hand through the cardboard. I clumsily stepped forward to drop the cup on the counter.

  “Ouch,” he said. “You all right? Here, sit down. You want some toast?”

  Coffee trickled down my palm. I brought it to my mouth. “Did you have a nice trip? Where’d you go, again?”

  “Nowhere half as nice as home. You can’t get anything but USA Today at these hotels.” He popped two slices of sourdough into the Dualit toaster.

  I perched on a barstool. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You sound very serious.” He rinsed his mug. “Do you want a raise? No, I’ve got it—you’re getting married?”

  “No.”

  “Good. It’s too early in the morning for either topic. I’ve got to run. We’ll chat after the party. How’s that boyfriend of yours, by the way? Gotten too serious for you yet?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it. I was disoriented; was he acting strange, or was he always like this? Iris’s story had dropped a filter over my eyes, making everything appear queasily different.

  Philip laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Have him take you to Mexico some weekend. That’s the kind of thing you need to do when you’re starting out with someone.”

  “Do you ever wish you could start out ag
ain?” I asked recklessly.

  Philip waved my question away. “Oh, Bryant’s not so bad. I’m teasing you.”

  “I meant you.”

  The bread jolted out of the toaster.

  “Is that a proposition, Finn? Don’t tease a man.” Philip reached to flip the slices over. “Hot!” He put his fingertips to his lips and checked his watch. “I’d better get moving. See you tonight.” He slipped his briefcase over his shoulder, then leaned in close, his face inches from mine, and grabbed a manila folder from the counter behind me. I smelled the balsam of his aftershave. “Ciao,” he said, dropping the word into my ear, soft as a kiss.

  I called Iris from the living room.

  The phone obviously woke her. “Finn,” she rasped. “What’s up? Did you talk to him?”

  “I couldn’t. He’s been out of town.”

  “Out of town? You didn’t tell me.” She sounded genuinely annoyed, like she hadn’t known.

  “I thought he might be with you.”

  “I told you, I haven’t talked to him. If I’d seen him, why would I keep texting you?”

  “I don’t know.” I was out of energy. Out the window, a haze of brown dust obscured the valley.

  “Listen, I can’t wait forever. I was thinking I’ll tell his wife.”

  “Believe me, Marina is the last person you want to talk to.”

  “The only person I want to talk to won’t talk to me.” Her whine burrowed into my brain.

  “I’ll talk to him, I promise. Tomorrow.”

  “He’ll be home tomorrow?”

  “If not Marina will kill him,” I said, unthinking, then cursed to myself.

  “Why?” Iris said, suddenly fully awake. “What’s tomorrow?”

  “Nothing,” I backtracked. “Some party they have to go to. It’s no big deal.”

  “I don’t have forever, you know. The doctor said it’s developing really fast.”

  “Do they develop at different rates?”

  “Jeez, you don’t have to snap at me. It’s not like I did this to myself.”

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to mean it. “Hey, have you ever been to the Sunset Motel?”

  “Maybe? There were so many places, it’s hard to remember.”

  “This is about an hour south of the city.”

  “Really?” Her voice was sharp. “How’d you know about it?”

  “I heard him mention it.”

  She hummed. “I doubt it. We wouldn’t spend that much time driving.” Her breathy laugh was like acid in my bloodstream.

  I unclenched my jaw. “I’ve got another call,” I lied.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She hung up on me.

  The next morning, the day of the gala, Philip had gone by the time I arrived. Marina was rushing around the kitchen, smelling of lavender oil. “I’ve got to run some errands, and then get my hair and nails done. I’ll be back around three. If anyone from the catering company calls, tell them they should already know what to do. Don’t let any guests cancel. If Philip calls to say he’ll be late, call me right away.” She put a hand to her forehead. “What else? I think that’s it.”

  “Party! Party!” Amabel chanted. “I want to put on my dress!”

  “I hope you’re this excited tonight,” Marina said in a warning tone.

  Amabel and I were only making an appearance in order to get a family photo. Then I’d take her home and stay overnight. After Marina left, Amabel ceremoniously unrolled a Disney Princess sleeping bag on her floor and told me grandly that I could have her bed.

  The day puttered along, the threat of Iris’s call like a wasp hovering nearby. Amabel, having heard about the party for so long, was giddily energetic. Wound up, she was in danger of melting down, which would certainly be blamed on me. I hustled her from activity to activity, stories to games to the swimming pool.

  The water glittered. Sitting on the side, Amabel rested her feet on a kickboard and pumped it in and out of the water. Waves rose around her, first small, and larger, until the entire pool roiled. “It’s a stormy sea!” she yelled.

  I swam over and grabbed her. We paddled on a leisurely circuit. She liked to play in the water, but was fussy about swimming, hated to have water splash her face.

  “You know, the Little Mermaid loves to swim,” I said.

  She stretched her arms back and thrust her chest forward. “I’m Ariel!”

  “Finn!” Marina’s voice sliced through the afternoon. She’d appeared on the deck, arms crossed, unsmiling.

  “Mommy, I’m a mermaid!” Amabel called.

  Marina ignored her. “Finn, I need to see you right away. It’s time for Amabel to take her nap.” She headed back up to the house. The pool gate slammed. Amabel shrieked in protest.

  Leaving the mess of toys and towels, I got Amabel upstairs, into her pajamas, hair combed. These tasks always took an inordinate amount of time. For once I was glad for the delay.

  After I shut her bedroom door, I stalled in the hallway. I could hear Marina saying my name in her clear, cold voice. It didn’t have to mean Iris had talked to her. Something had gone wrong with the party; she was annoyed to find the clutter by the pool; her manicurist had chipped a nail.

  When I went downstairs Marina was in the living room, standing at the window.

  “I’m sorry about the mess out there,” I said. “I’ll clean it up.”

  She didn’t answer. A vertical groove etched between her brows.

  “Is it the coyote?” I scanned the backyard, searching for the movement that gave him away. Nothing. A plane trailing a Geico banner made its sluggish way across the sky.

  Marina’s eyes flicked at me. Red marks dug into her nose where her sunglasses had been. Her nails were unpainted, I realized. She looked close to tears.

  “What’s the matter?” Cautiously, I touched her wrist.

  She snapped away. “What time is it?” She spun to check. “After three! Sit down.”

  I perched on the couch. The air-conditioning turned on with a gentle sigh. Cold air rose from the carpet and encircled my ankles.

  “Is Amabel asleep?” Marina held her elbows in her thin fingers. Her collarbone curled forward.

  “She should be.”

  “How long did you swim?” Her voice was flat. She kept staring out the window, as if in a trance.

  “Is there anything I can do to help with the party?” I asked.

  She flinched, as if rudely woken, and dropped her arms to her sides. “I’m not going to the party.” Her voice was low and utterly calm. “I’m going out of town.” Pulling her shoulders back, she went to the bar cart and righted a glass. She touched the row of liquor bottles one by one, lifted the vodka, and poured out a few fingers.

  I found my voice. “You mean the party’s canceled?”

  “Something has come up.” She tipped the drink back and studied the glass as if surprised by its sharpness. She touched the corner of her lip. “Amabel will need clothes for a week. Pack extra underwear. And a toothbrush. You know what to bring.”

  I twisted my wrist in my hand. “You’re going away? What happened? Marina, you seem—”

  She slammed her glass on the bar. Her eyes were cold and expressionless, like the coyote’s. “Really, Finn. Your job is to do what I ask.” She poured another drink. The bottle’s neck rattled against the glass. She set it down and flexed her fingers.

  “Let me.” I went to the bar. I could smell the eucalyptus in Marina’s hair spray as I opened a tonic to top off the vodka.

  She cradled the drink in her palm. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I heard from an old friend. I need— They’ve had some troubles. I’ve helped them in the past.”

  “Did you cancel the party? Does Philip know?”

  She shook her head. “Pack Amabel’s things and then wake her. You don’t need to explain anything.”

  “I’m happy to watch her if it’s inconvenient to take her,” I said stupidly. Of course there was no friend in trouble. She was leaving Philip, an
d taking Amabel with her.

  “My daughter is not an inconvenience to me.” She overpowered my curious gaze with a disdainful, reprimanding stare. But the anger I’d expected, the accusation, wasn’t there. So Iris hadn’t mentioned my part.

  I dropped my eyes first. Marina still wore her stack of diamond rings. Engagement, wedding, anniversary.

  She handed me her empty glass. “I’d love to be leaving in half an hour.”

  Amabel sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, murmuring to Patrick.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I knelt to hug her. She smelled of chlorine. “Your mom has a surprise. She’s taking you on a special vacation.”

  “And then the party?”

  I began opening drawers, pulling out leggings and shorts and tiny tank tops. “The party was canceled. It’s not going to happen anymore. I know it’s disappointing.” I brushed her hair from her forehead. “Can you go to the bathroom and wash your hands?”

  She left, stomping her feet.

  Marina would never miss her own party. She wouldn’t retreat from Philip Martin and let Iris have him. Yet that’s exactly what she was doing. I laid out a sundress and sandals, added sneakers to the bag. I concentrated on neatly folding the clothes. Packed Patrick and a singing guitar that would drive Marina crazy. Books, paper, crayons. Marina would have her phone, so Amabel could play games.

  I could tell her I knew about Iris. Offer to help. But knowing of my involvement would make her quiver. If she found out I’d known for days, she’d fire me on the spot.

  Where would Marina go? What would I do, if I were her?

  I wouldn’t have lost Philip in the first place. I’d never have been so cool to him.

  I added a windbreaker in case Marina took Ammy to their house in San Diego. The backyard opened onto a strip of windy beach, where I’d first seen the ocean. From there, Marina could conduct an entire divorce. Shop, surf, eat sushi, find a boyfriend. She’d hire a new nanny.