Between Husbands and Friends (37 page)

“Okay,” Max says. Reaching out, he takes both my hands in his. “Okay, Lucy. We can do this.”

I stare at him. “You said we.”

“Yes.”

“You mean you don’t want a divorce? You’re staying with us?”

Max takes a deep breath. “Yes. I’m staying with you. If that’s what you want.”

“
Max.
You know it’s what I want.” I’m whispering, as if any change in the atmosphere might scare him away.

Max rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been thinking and thinking about Jeremy, trying to sort out what would be best for him. He’s the one who matters most, he’s the one we have to
protect. Right now, he’s just a little boy, and he believes that I’m his father, and I don’t think it would be right to take that away from him. He’s going to have enough to deal with, with his illness. He doesn’t need the confusion of all the rest of this.” Max looks at me levelly. “Does this make sense to you?”

“Yes.”

“But someday we’ll have to tell him about … Chip.”

“Yes.”

“If Jeremy wants to change things later, he always will have that opportunity. We won’t keep anything from him.”

“All right.”

“We have to talk with Margaret about all this now, though. We can’t ignore her.”

“I know. Oh, Max—”

On the bed, Jeremy stirs and wakes. “Daddy?”

“Hey, sport, look at you!” As Max stands by the hospital bed, I can see in every line of his body how he wants to pick Jeremy up. Instead he gently smooths Jeremy’s hair.

“Your bow tie is crooked, Dad,” Jeremy declares. “I have pneumonia. Look at my arm. They put a needle in my vein. It hurt.”

“Wow.” Max’s voice trembles. He clears his throat. “Does it hurt now?”

“Just a little. And a lady came in and pounded on my chest and back!”

“Did that hurt?”

“No. She was funny. It made me cough.” Jeremy leans back against his pillow, suddenly tired.

“I brought
Caleb’s Friend
in. Want me to read to you?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Max undoes his tie, opens his collar, rolls up his sleeves, his movements efficient, masculine, yet domestic, each movement making this room more
ours
, more comfortable in our lives.

“Max,” I say, “Phil Bergshon called. He wanted to urge you to come to town meeting tonight.”

Without hesitation, Max replies, “I can’t.”

“Well, you
could
,” I begin, reasonably. “I’ll be here.”

Max stares at me. “I think this is where I should be tonight. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” We gaze at each other. There’s so much I want to say.

“Daddy?” Jeremy chirps. “Where’s the book?”

Max smiles at me. I smile back.

“Right here, son,” Max replies, and settles on the bed, pulling Jeremy firmly against him. He begins to read.

The telephone rings. I answer it; it’s Martin Reid, the town counsel, wanting to speak to Max.

Annoyed, Max takes the phone. “Right. Yes, pneumonia. No, I won’t be able to make it tonight. Roland Cobb will speak in my place. I understand, Martin. Martin, look. I’m not going to change my mind.”

After that the phone rings continually. Almost as soon as Max disconnects from one person, another calls.

“This is ridiculous,” Max says. “Don’t they understand they’re calling a hospital room?”

“I could tell them you’re not available,” I suggest.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Max lifts the phone off the cradle and stuffs it under a pillow.

When the nurse arrives with Jeremy’s dinner, Max takes his cell phone out into the hall while I sit with Jeremy, cajoling him into trying a bite of the mashed potatoes, another spoonful of Jell-O. He eats listlessly, and falls back asleep when he’s through.

Max is still on his cell phone, talking in terse determined tones. I phone the Cobbs’ house and ask to speak to my daughter.

“Hi, darling. How are you?”

Margaret’s voice is shaky; she cannot say it fast enough. “Is Jeremy going to die?”

“No, no, sweetie. He’s not that sick. He’s got pneumonia, and they can get antibiotics into his system more quickly when he’s in the hospital. They have an IV in his arm. He’s asleep right now. He’ll need a lot of rest. You can come visit him tomorrow if you want.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s here with us. He’s on his cell phone right now.”

“Is he going to miss town meeting?”

“Yes. Max wants to be with Jeremy tonight.” For a moment we’re both quiet, assimilating this startling fact. “How was school?”

“Okay.” Her voice is lighter.

“Are you going to spend the night at the Cobbs’?”

“Yeah. They’ve given me their guest room. It’s awesome. I’ve got my own bathroom, plus my own TV. Andrea says I can watch all I want.”

I respond like a normal, dutiful mother. “That’s great, but don’t stay up all night and forget to do your homework.”

“Yeah, Mom, like I’m going to turn into an airhead.”

“Can the Cobbs take you home tomorrow to get clean clothes?”

“Gee, what a good idea! We hadn’t thought of that.” With each second my abrasive, testy, secure adolescent returns to me and to herself. “Andrea already drove me over. I’ve packed up a bag.”

In the background someone speaks. Margaret says, “Mom, we’ve got to go. I mean the Cobbs are going to town meeting and I’m going with them.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow then, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom. Kiss Jeremy for me. And Dad.”

By seven the phone calls have stopped. Town meeting has begun. Jeremy watches television and dozes, often wakened by his cough.

“Let’s make a plan,” Max suggests quietly. “We can’t both spend the night with him. We’ve got two weeks ahead of us and Margaret to think about, not to mention work.”

“I’ll stay here tonight.”

“You were here all day. Don’t you want a break?”

I hug myself. “I just feel like
I
need to be with him tonight. His first night in the hospital. While he’s so sick.”

“All right, then. Why don’t you go home now and get some things, toothbrush, nightgown—”

“Gallon of Scotch,” I joke. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. If he wakes, tell him I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

This day has been so filled with terrors and wonders and strangeness that I feel as if entire months have passed. People could have landed on Mars for all I know. There could be a new president. I ride the elevator to the main floor, follow signs back to the entrance, and it’s as if I’m leaving the heart of a labyrinth, walking out from an enclosed, claustrophobic maze into the real world, an open space full of lights and noise and good ordinary life. But I know the hospital will become more and more real to me.

The lobby is not as full as it was during the day. A bearded man sprawls in a corner chair, reading a book, looking as if he’s waiting for a plane. An Indian family huddles together, chairs pulled into a circle, talking intensely, the women’s saris sparkling with gold and silver threads. A plump older woman in vivid yellow sweatpants exits Au Bon Pain, wearily lugging a heavy shopping bag across the floor. Magazines to read while she sits by someone’s bed? Knitting?

I get my car keys from the valet and, pushing through the revolving doors, I step out into the night. The air is cool, and it’s raining. I stand for a minute, dumbfounded, surprised by the fresh scent of the wet evening, brought right into the moment by the small drops of rain pelting my head, my feet on the hard cement pavement. I hurry across the sidewalk toward the parking garage.

A handsome man, tall and lean in a Burberry raincoat, strides toward me.

It’s Chip.

His face is grave. “Lucy.” He reaches for my hands.

I step back. “What are you doing here?” When I look up at him, rain splatters my face.

“Roland told me that Jeremy’s sick.”

“Yes, but aren’t you supposed to be at town meeting?” Rain streams down all around us, sinking into our clothes, sizzling when it hits the pavement.

With a brusque movement of his hand, he brushes that away. “Someone else can deal with it. How is Jeremy?”

“He has pneumonia, but he’s stable. It’s that the cystic fibrosis complicates everything.”

“I brought him a present.” He’s got a box in an F.A.O. Schwarz bag. “We should get out of the rain before it gets wet.”

I put my hand on Chip’s arm, forestalling any forward motion. “Only family members are allowed to see him tonight.”

Chip looks down at my hand, puzzled, then looks directly at me and holds my gaze. “I believe I qualify.”

I gasp, dumbfounded. When I find my voice, I stutter, “Well, uh, Max is with Jeremy now. And Jeremy’s really very sick.”

“Max is with Jeremy.”

“Yes.”

“He’s staying with you?”

“Yes.” Rain runs down my face, feeling like tears.

“And that’s what you want?”

“What I want—” My throat closes. I want too much, I think wildly, I want the impossible. “Yes. It’s what I want.”

“Let’s get out of the rain.”

Chip takes my arm and leads me across the street and into the glassed foyer of the parking garage. It’s warmer in here, quiet and orderly, with lights shining calmly on the stairways and doors.

Chip gently pushes my wet hair away from my face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just so worried about Jeremy.”

“How can I help?”

“I don’t know. Just let me go, I guess, so I can hurry home and get my things and get back to him.”

“All right. I can do that.” Chip stands a moment, looking terribly sad. “I do need to tell you one thing, Lucy.”

“What?”

Chip clears his throat. I feel something very much like danger in the air. Outside in the street cars pass, their lights flashing and winking, their tires sighing on the wet pavement. The street light turns yellow, red, green. Rain streaks the windows, making the shadows fall over us in arabesques.

“According to Massachusetts law, the natural father of a child has paramount rights to the child. It’s very difficult for the nonnatural father to establish his claim on a child.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that
by law
Jeremy is
my
child. By law the fact that Max is living with you in
what is called a parental relationship does not give him the rights of custody.” He speaks quietly, but with authority, standing there in his polished wing-tip shoes, his elegant raincoat, his blue eyes dark with emotion.