Beyond Midnight (25 page)

"
Well
,
I have the book, anyway,
"
she said, shyly now.
"
Would you like me to mail it?
"
She hoped desperately that he would not.

He didn
'
t fail her.
"
Please, no, don
'
t go through the bother. I could pick it up at the preschool, if someone
'
s going to be there tomorrow at, say, eight?
"

"
Eight?
"

"
Too late,
"
he agreed.
"
Hmm. I gather from something you said that you don
'
t live far from me. Would you mind if I picked it up at your house? At eight? You could throw it out the window or leave it in your mailbox, or
—
"

"
Don
'
t be silly. Ring the bell. I
'
ll—we
'
ll—be home.
"

"
Great. I appreciate that, Helen. And again—for tonight—thank you.
"

"
It was my pleasure.
"

She gave him her address and they hung up; and Helen understood, really for the first time, why she
'
d seized the Windex. Company
was
coming. It
was
Nathaniel Byrne. She
was
excited. Becky was right on all three counts.

And Helen, so deluded, so in the dark about her own motives, was suddenly afraid.

****

The following day was one of mixed blessings. The good news was Helen knew exactly where the kids were. The bad news was they were home and bored.

She was feeling absurdly self-conscious about seeing Nat Byrne, and both Russell and Becky had sensed it instantly. They were like hungry cats circling the lady with the can opener.

"
What
'
s with the lipstick, Ma?
"
Russ asked when Helen came back down after supper. He was slouched on the family room sofa, watching a horror flick on cable.
"
You goin
'
out?
"

Too obvious a shade,
thought Helen with regret. But it was too late now.

"
Yeah,
"
said Becky with a penetrating look. She tossed a copy of
YM
onto the massive seaman
'
s trunk that served as a coffee table.
"
What
'
s up?
"

"
Can
'
t a person try to look nice around here?
"
Helen asked, turning the question around.
"
Speaking of which, it wouldn
'
t hurt you to tuck in the shirt, Russ. And is there
nothing
better on TV?
"

"
Nope,
"
said her son placidly.
"
This is the best I could find.
"
Nonetheless, he began lazily surfing up and down the remote.

"
Is your homework done?
"

"
Didn
'
t get any.
"

"
He did, too, Mom; I saw him working on it after school,
"
Becky said with a
nyah-nyah
look at her brother.
"
Only he
'
s too ashamed to admit it.
"

"
What
do
you
know, dip?
"

"
I know you turned down an invitation to be on the chess team, little bro.
"

"
Chess sucks. I
'
d rather play Doom.
"

"
What invitation—?
"

The doorbell rang and Helen let out a little gasp, which brought an abrupt end to the haggling.
"
I
'
ll get it,
"
she said quickly.

Automatically she straightened her hair—aware too late that she
'
d done it in front of the kids—and left the room. She considered closing the door on them; it would be so, so much easier than having to go through introductions.

She let out a jittery sigh and went to answer the bell. Here she was, a so-called expert on child rearing, and the best she had to show for it was a boy who looked like something the cat dragged in, and a girl who considered black a pastel color.

Her kids were utterly typical; she knew that. And yet she
'
d give up half her soul to have them look—just for ten measly minutes—like the Brady Bunch. With a mental note to quiz Russ about the chess team invitation, Helen threw open the front door to the man who
'
d turned her life inside out and upside down in the course of one chicken vinaigrette.

"
Hi,
"
she said in a voice that was far too happy.
"
You
'
re right on time. Come on in.
"

"
Thanks,
"
he said, stepping over the threshold.
"
It was touch and go whether I
'
d get out of there on time. And then that commute! It
'
s beginning to wear thin. Tonight it felt like weeks.
"

It was a perfectly innocent remark, but Helen was in no mood for innocence.
"
You need to get a job in
Salem
,
"
she said lightly.

"
No, I need to get a house in
Boston
.
"

Suddenly she was like a kite in a tailspin.
"
Well, that
'
s a more obvious option,
"
she murmured, trying to sound impartial and hating every syllable of it.

"
Problem is, the house was built for my great-great- grandfather. I can
'
t imagine selling it.
"

They were at the door to the family room.
"
Come meet my brood,
"
Helen said skittishly,
"
and then I
'
ll fetch that book for you.
"

Helen led him inside. Her son was where she
'
d left him, attached to the remote control.
"
Russ, I
'
d like you to meet Nathaniel Byrne. His daughter, Katie, will be attending The Open Door this summer.
"
She threw in the part about Katie to give Nat some kind of legitimacy in being there.

Nat said,
"
Hi, Russ, how
'
s it goin
'
?
"

Russ barely threw him a glance and a
"
Hi
"
before reimmersing himself in his movie. The sounds of blood-curdling screams would
'
ve drowned out more substantial chitchat, in any case.

"
And this is Becky the Elder,
"
Helen said, resolving to ship the TV to Goodwill as soon as Nat left.

Becky came forward with a bright smile and wide eyes.
"
Hi. I
'
m glad to meet you,
"
she said in a way that made her mother proud.

And then, of course, Becky blew it.
"
Wow.
You look just like the cover,
"
she blurted.

"
Excuse me?
"
he said.

"
I mean
...
wow. You really do.
"

"
I subscribe to
Mutual Fund Magazine,
"
Helen explained. It wasn
'
t a bad save. This way it looked like she understood financial planning.

"
An overblown story,
"
Nat said, embarrassed by either it or Becky or both.
"
Don
'
t believe all you read.
"

He looked ill at ease.
Helen
said,
"
Well
,
I don
't want to hold you up."

Hurrying him out of there was not what she wanted to do. All day long she
'
d been savoring the thought of the assignation—she thought of it as an assignation and not a parcel pickup—and now here she was, practically running him out of the house on a rail. And why? Because she was afraid to have him under the same roof with her kids for more than three minutes.

They
'
re spoiled,
she realized.
They think they have sole possession of me. And I play right into those expectations.

Well, damnit, it was time for all three of them to do a little growing up.

She led Nat into her sitting room and got the book for him. He began flipping through it hungrily, like a man who thinks there
'
s a simple formula for winning at blackjack. Helen didn
'
t mind. She enjoyed watching him unobserved; enjoyed studying the way he furrowed his brow and chewed his lip in concentration. She wanted to say to him,
"
You
'
re raising a three-year-old, silly, not Lazarus from the dead.
"

But the plain fact was, it was hard. The stakes were high. And the challenge only got harder. Ask any parent of teenagers.

"
Would you like a cup of coffee while you do that?
"
she suddenly asked him.

"
Hmm?
"
He looked up at her with an open, guileless gaze that made putty of her bones.
"
Yes
.  T
hanks,
"
he said, smiling.
"
If you have the time.
"

"
I
'
ll be right back,
"
she said softly, suppressing an idiotic urge to grin.

She hurried to the kitchen and cleaned out the filter basket, then ground some beans to make coffee good enough to seduce him into seconds. Becky walked in at the height of the noise and said over it,
"
He is so—
"

Instantly Helen stopped grinding.

''
—cute!
"

"
Shhh,
"
Helen hissed in horror.
"
For God
'
s sakes, put a sock in it, would you?
"

"
Ooo, I
'
m sorry,
"
Becky said, matching her mother
'
s whisper.
"
He seems younger than forty. I could go out with someone like him. I really could,
"
she said in a silky sigh.

"
I think Michael is plenty old for you,
"
Helen said, shuddering at her daughter
'
s fantasy for more reasons than one.

"
Oh,
Michael.
"
Becky compressed her lips in a pretty pout.
"
Michael
'
s a
boy.
"

"
And you
'
re a girl. You match. Besides, the earth revolved around him as recently as yesterday,
"
said Helen,
f
l
ipping the brew switch on the coffeemaker.

"
And today I found out he asked
Chelsea
to homecoming. Do you think he
'
d buy a raffle ticket?
"
Becky asked.
"
Mr. Byrne, I mean?
"