Chance Harbor (19 page)

They went through a glossy black door with a brass pineapple knocker. Inside, the house reminded her of the Gardner Museum, where she’d been a bunch of times with Catherine and once with her school: there were more paintings than walls, and the rooms were just as dark and cluttered with tapestries and rugs. None of the furniture looked meant to sit on.

“My mom was kind of an art collector,” Nola explained. She pointed to one wall where the paintings were an inch apart and all had thick gold frames. “They’re real and supposedly worth more than the house. I should probably sell them, especially if Russell doesn’t get a job. But that would be like selling my mom’s soul or something.”

This talk was making Willow want to jump out of her skin. She wanted to hate Nola, but it was hard to hate somebody who was talking about her mother’s soul. She narrowed her eyes at Nola’s belly, trying to hate what was in there, but nothing showed. Nola was wearing a big sweater over leggings like everybody else.

“Go ahead and look around,” Nola said, dropping her keys on one of the living room tables. “I have to pee.
Again
.”

Willow went upstairs first—three bedrooms, one with a canopy bed, all of them decorated like rooms in a castle; and two bathrooms with black-and-white tiled floors, one with a bathtub big enough for an elephant—then came back downstairs. She followed the same hallway Nola had taken from the living room into a library alcove made to feel secret and cozy with pink silk drapes. No lie: she loved it.

From there, she entered a dining room with a massive table and then a narrow green kitchen, where a woman in a maid’s uniform was doing something to a chicken, her hand right up its butt. The woman was dark-skinned and pretty. “Hello, miss,” she said. “Miss Nola is outside.” She gestured with her chin to a door off the kitchen.

“Come on, Mike,” Willow said, and whistled for the dog to follow.

The door led into a pantry with shelves crammed mostly with Trader Joe’s stuff. Through that was another door leading to a courtyard with a stone bench and a taller, but equally droopy tree. The leaves had fallen off the tree in a shower of gold confetti all over the bench and stone patio. There was another, bigger pond here, too, as if whoever had landscaped in front of the house was just practicing to put the same, larger versions of everything back here. Nola was filling a bird feeder; afterward she stood on her toes to hang it from the iron post at the far corner of the courtyard.

As she reached up, Willow was able to see the swell of Nola’s stomach inside her black leggings. She looked away. “So is my dad living here now?”

“Yeah. He kind of had to, since he didn’t have anyplace else to go after your mom threw him out.”

“My mom only kicked him out because of you.”

Suddenly, Nola covered her face with her hands and squatted down by the birdseed bag, sobbing like a rejected singer on
American Idol
.

What, did Nola actually feel
bad
now? Hell no. That was not okay. Nola should have felt bad before she spread her skank legs for somebody else’s
husband
.

Willow wanted to leave, to show Nola that she couldn’t manipulate the shit out of her like she did everybody else. On the other hand, it was sunny and warm in the courtyard, and what would she do back inside the house? Chat with the maid? Who actually had a maid, anyway?

She perched on the bench, crossed her legs, and watched some kind of little gold bird at the feeder. Amazing it wasn’t afraid of people.

Eventually Nola wiped her face on the hem of her sweater and stood up. She put the bird feed away in the pantry and came back outside, where she sat too close to Willow and bent down to pat the stupid dog, who didn’t know the difference between good people and lying, betraying sluts, and wagged his tail. “Sorry,” Nola said.

“For what?”

Nola looked at Willow, her face a train wreck of smeared makeup. “For everything. You must hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Willow lied. “I just think you’re a stupid idiot.”

“You’re right.” Nola reached up, broke a little stick off the tree branch hanging above them and tossed it. The dog attacked the stick like it was a rattlesnake, growling and shaking it. “But you can’t always help who you fall in love with. You’ll learn that someday.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“I mean it, Willow. Sometimes things just happen.”

“Only if you let them.”

“It’s not that easy to say no to love.” Nola’s lower lip trembled. “Not when it’s a guy as nice as your dad.”

“Oh, no. We are so not doing this.” Willow stood up and glared down at Nola. She wanted to head butt her. “Don’t you fucking
dare
say you love my dad. You’ve known him for what, like, a year? A year of history class, plus a few special extra-help sessions or whatever? Never mind,” she said when Nola opened her mouth to answer. “Don’t tell me how you got with Russell. You’re pregnant because he couldn’t keep it in his pants and you were both too stupid to use birth control.”

“You’re right,” Nola whispered.

Willow nodded and took a step away from the bench. “I am. And now you’re
saying
you’re in love so everybody will fucking forgive you or feel sorry for you. I don’t want to hear how
in love
you are, Nola. Don’t you fucking realize what you
did
? Jesus. You’re worse than a stupid idiot. You’re like this evil spell cast on my whole family. You make me sick just
looking
at you!”

“I make myself sick,” Nola said, and pulled her sweater down over her knees, then tucked her hands inside the sleeves. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She was making Willow want to puke her guts out with those fake apologies. Willow took the leash out of her pocket and hooked it to Mike’s collar. “I am so out of here. Tell Dad I came like I was supposed to, like our agreement
says
, okay? But I have some serious homework. I’ll get home on my own.”

Nola practically jumped up off the bench. “Wait! You can’t just go! How will you even get home? At least let me drive you.”

“No. I’ll take a subway like a normal person—not a fucking Range Rover,” Willow said. “You can cover your ass. Tell Dad that Catherine wanted me to come home early or whatever.”

“You can’t expect me to lie.” Nola looked around the courtyard, her eyes wild.

“Why not? Seems to me like you must be pretty good at it by now.” Willow tugged the puppy back toward the kitchen. “You’ve been doing it long enough.”

C
atherine hadn’t intended to date anyone. She had intended to fly solo, to be celibate the rest of her life. Yet here she was, having dinner with Seth Cunningham, breaking not only her own private vow, but the office rule not to date the parent of a patient.

Even worse, she had an ulterior motive. He was a divorce lawyer and seemed ethical rather than smarmy. Wary, still, of Russell, of what he might try to do (or not do) with Willow despite their custody agreement, she’d thought it would be a good idea to talk to Seth, so when he called her office to ask her out, she’d accepted his invitation.

How to bring that up was the tricky part, Catherine realized, as she and Seth made conversation over Indian food at her favorite place in Harvard Square. Seth was free because Brady was at his grandmother’s house; he didn’t mind when Catherine said she needed to be home by eight o’clock for Willow, because he had to pick up Brady by seven.

“I’m trying to get Brady on some kind of regular schedule,” Seth explained. “I don’t think his mom was into routines. Kids need that, right?”

He looked so anxious that Catherine understood now that Seth had called her for the same reason she’d agreed to see him: advice.

“Children definitely need a reliable routine,” she assured him, “especially if there’s been some upheaval in the past.” She explained to Seth about Willow, telling him a little about her sister’s chaotic history.

“Willow’s still anxious if Russell and I leave her alone at night,” Catherine told him, aware as she said this that she would have to learn to drop the phrase “Russell and I” from her vocabulary. “She had some terrible things happen to her as a child.”

“Like what?” Seth asked. “Or shouldn’t I ask? Is that the same thing as saying I’ll show you my dysfunctional family if you show me yours?”

Catherine laughed. “I suppose, but it’s kind of a relief to talk about it. Let’s see. Once, Zoe’s apartment caught fire because she fell asleep on the couch with a cigarette in her hand. Willow had to call 911. She was seven years old. Another time, somebody broke into the apartment while Willow was there by herself. She was nine.”

“Where was your sister?”

“Working in a hotel as a bartender. Amazing tips. I think she made more than I did as a nurse back then. Luckily, the guy who broke into the apartment was apparently only after drugs and money. He left Willow alone. It was probably a friend of Zoe’s,” she added.

“Willow’s dad isn’t in the picture?”

“No. He never was,” Catherine said. “It’s so sad, really. Zoe ran with a tough crowd in high school—people who terrified me, and I was three years older—but she seemed to settle down a little once she got to college. We all thought Zoe was going to make it, but then she imploded. My mom was the only one who kept saying Zoe was just going through stuff and would grow up.”

“An optimist.”

Catherine stirred the curry around on her plate. “I guess. Dad was more realistic about Zoe. He emigrated with his parents from Canada when he was a boy. They had nothing. I mean, really nothing: a two-room apartment in South Boston. Dad helped support his family with everything from paper routes to landscaping jobs while he was in high school. He never understood Zoe’s aversion to hard work. Me, either.”

“Sounds like a tense household.”

“Sometimes.” Catherine pushed her plate away. “By the time she was in college, though, Zoe had a great boyfriend she’d met her senior year of high school and she was bringing home decent grades. She was even getting along with her roommate. I was a senior at the university when she was a freshman, and it was actually fun to see her on campus.”

She paused, remembering Zoe as she was that last Halloween in Amherst. Zoe was living in one of the high-rise dormitories. They’d gone hiking despite the cold weather and returned to campus with windburned faces, laughing at the state of their hair.

Zoe had adopted a uniform of jeans and hiking boots. She wore them everywhere, even out to dinner, and never drank or smoked. She’d gained a little weight and even stopped doing molly, her favorite club drug.

“So what happened?” Seth asked.

“Mike broke up with her at the end of her freshman year, and all hell broke loose again.”

Catherine stumbled into silence, remembering the sobbing phone calls in the middle of the night, Zoe’s wild rants about throwing herself off a building or under a bus. She’d been afraid her sister might go through with it and called her parents. “Mom went to Amherst immediately and brought Zoe home, though our father was against it. After that, Zoe dropped out of school. She was pregnant.”

“Was Mike the father?”

“We never found out. Zoe refused to tell anyone who the father was, and Mike denied it when my father confronted him. What’s weird is that, a few years later, Zoe and Mike moved in together for a while, when Willow was little. But still there was no mention of paternity. Mike certainly never paid my sister any child support. Then he moved out when Zoe started doing drugs again. After that, she kind of bounced around between apartments and men.”

“Zoe sounds as troubled as my ex,” Seth said sympathetically. “My ex is—or was, anyway—an alcoholic. I kept talking her into checking herself into rehab programs, but nothing took. Eventually I walked out. I thought I’d get awarded custody of Brady, but the courts work in mysterious ways.”

“Well. You have him now, anyway, and that’s good,” Catherine said. “For Willow and Brady, structure helps them learn to form loving attachments. It’s a relief for them to feel like the adults are in charge.”

They finished eating and moved on to talk about work, Seth’s passion for distance running, and Catherine’s summers in Chance Harbor. Finally, when the waiter had taken away their plates and brought them cups of Masala chai, Seth asked about Russell.

“So what’s happening with your ex?” he said. “You seemed pretty upset the last time we saw each other.”

Catherine laughed. “That’s a very diplomatic way of saying that I was a puddle on the sidewalk. Thank you. Things are progressing quickly with our divorce. Maybe too quickly?”

“What do you mean?”

“We drew up a separation agreement with a mediator the week Russell moved out. He wants to expedite our divorce so he can marry this girl he got pregnant.” When Seth looked startled, she said, “Yes, I did mean a ‘girl.’ She’s only eighteen. One of his students.”

“My God,” Seth said. “There should be a special circle in hell for men like that. I’m surprised he wasn’t arrested.”

“Apparently, there’s no law that prohibits teachers from dating students, only the policy of the individual school. Naturally, Russell was dismissed the minute the headmaster caught wind of things.”

“That sounds very hard. I’m so sorry.”

Catherine threaded her fingers together on her lap, wishing the napkin were paper so she could shred it. “It’s difficult, yes. And it came as a complete shock. I thought we were happy.” Her eyes burned. Impatiently, she pressed her fingers to them, hard. “Russell and I are trying to be civil. We’ve agreed to split our property down the middle. I’ll buy him out of the house when I can. Meanwhile, he has agreed to let me live there with Willow. He’s living somewhere with his girlfriend. Presumably in a place she pays for, since God knows we don’t make enough to support two households.”

“Okay,” Seth said slowly. “Sounds fair so far. And I assume you’re having the mediated agreement looked at by independent attorneys?”

Catherine nodded. “The only thing that worries me is the custody arrangement.”

“Why? Does it look like Russell will fail to honor it?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I have physical custody, and we have shared legal custody of Willow as her guardians. Wednesday is supposed to be his night to have dinner with Willow. He also gets her every other weekend.”

“A traditional arrangement, then.” Seth sighed. “One that offends me as a father, I have to say, since it doesn’t give dads enough access to our kids.”

Catherine bristled. “Look, I’m not playing hardball or anything. I’ve told Russell that he can see Willow as much as he likes. But Willow has made it clear that she doesn’t want to live with Russell, or even visit him regularly. I think this is partly because she considers Cambridge her home, but also because she’s angry at him. Is she old enough to decide how often she wants to see him, or to refuse to see him completely?”

“No. There’s no age at which a minor child can decide her own place of residence,” Seth said. “Not in Massachusetts. And if there’s a dispute over custody, a judge would have to decide the outcome.”

“Even if Russell is only Willow’s guardian, and not her biological father?”

“He has been her legal guardian for the past five years, though,” Seth said, leaning back in his chair with a frown. “I think a judge would take that into account. Where are these questions coming from? Don’t you trust Russell with her?”

“He’s fine with her. But I’m anticipating problems down the road, like Willow not wanting to go there, and Russell with a baby, so he’s not connected to her in the future. She needs a father.”

Seth reached over and touched her hand. “You’re worrying before there’s anything to worry about,” he said. “The opposite could happen, right? Maybe Russell and Willow will get closer as he spends more one-on-one time with her. Or maybe Willow will adore the baby and want to move in with Russell.”

“That’s a horrifying thought!”

Seth laughed. “I know. But that’s the thing about family relationships: you can’t predict how any of them will turn out. The only person you can control is you.”

“That’s not so comforting, either.”

“No, but it is liberating. Since there’s nothing you can do about how other people act, you might as well relax and enjoy the good times,” Seth said. “Only worry if there’s something real to worry about.”

As they left the restaurant and walked along Mass Ave, Catherine felt more hopeful. Maybe things would be all right.

They said good-bye at Seth’s door. He wanted to walk her home, but Catherine refused, insisting that she walked this route often. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’d insist, but I do have to pick up Brady,” Seth said. “I should have planned this better. I’m woefully inadequate at parental multitasking.” He bent down and pressed his lips to Catherine’s hand. “Farewell. I hope we see each other soon.”

“Wow,” she said, laughing. “I haven’t had anyone kiss my hand since my high school senior play.”

He straightened, giving her an amused look. “Shakespeare?”

“Hardly. It was some farce where I was a damsel in distress. I was actually tied to train tracks at some point. My boyfriend played the hero, and his mustache literally fell off in the middle of the scene where he was releasing me from the tracks. I screamed because it looked like an insect flying down at my face.”

Seth laughed. “That’s live theater for you,” he said. “We’ll have to go see a play sometime.”

“Maybe,” she said.

Catherine enjoyed the walk home. She’d limited herself to just one glass of wine at dinner and felt fully awake, invigorated. The night was warm for early October and the sidewalks were buzzing with people. Even the bike lane was busy.

It wasn’t until she reached Porter Square that she realized one of the figures walking ahead of her was Willow. Catherine wouldn’t have recognized her—Willow had pulled her sweatshirt hood up over her head and wore a backpack like every other student in Cambridge—except her dog was trotting along on its leash beside her.

Where the hell was Russell? He’d said he would pick up the dog from their house, then get Willow from school and bring her home after dinner.

It occurred to Catherine again that she didn’t know where Russell and Nola lived; she hadn’t wanted to ask, and Russell hadn’t volunteered that information. She frowned and hurried to decrease the distance between herself and Willow.

She grew angrier as she walked. How could Russell have let Willow walk home alone at night? She was only fifteen! There were all kinds of drug dealers and homeless people around Porter Square at night, like that raggedy beggar woman with dreadlocks following right behind Willow.

To be fair, Catherine might have let Willow walk home this late with so many people around, too. But the point was that Catherine had given Russell strict instructions about dropping Willow off at the house no earlier than eight o’clock, because that’s when she had promised to return.

She intended to honor their custody agreement to the letter. Russell, on the other hand, had already turned Willow loose in the city at night.

Gritting her teeth, she increased her pace until she passed the beggar woman. Now she saw that the woman must be blind; she was using a white cane. Catherine muttered an apology as the woman, clearly startled, stepped to one side and hunched protectively over her tattered cloth shoulder bag as Catherine hurried by.

They’d reached their own block. Willow slowed as she neared the house, lifting her head to peer in the windows, probably checking to see if Catherine was home. The lights were on a timer and always came on at six o’clock. The car was in the driveway, but of course that didn’t mean the house was occupied. Catherine typically walked or took the subway to work. No, the only clue Willow had to go on was the fact that Catherine had promised to be home by eight o’clock. And Catherine kept her promises.