Flight (37 page)

She takes a sip of her drink. Eddie has abandoned her, letting her be drawn into the exclamations and congratulations of others, but before he left, he took her glass and topped it off from his bottle. The whiskey, after she has gone so long without drinking, has taken effect instantly. She’s enjoying the feeling of looseness, the ease with which she laughs and says hello to people, the slightly dizzy sensation when she moves quickly.

“Leanne, look at you, all grown up and getting married!”

For a moment she falters. She could fall into a trap here and consider the remark’s significance. Here she is, all grown up. Grown up and getting married. Next will come kids, then middle age, then old age and the long slow slide into nothing. That’s how it goes. Somehow they’re all delighted to see she has joined them on the path. The one true way.

She flicks the thought aside and holds her glass a little tighter.

“Uncle Rem!” she says. He holds out his arms, and she lets Eddie’s stepfather hug her. He’s her aunt Janice’s second husband. Eddie’s real father disappeared when Eddie was only four. After that, Eddie heard from him only at Christmas and on his birthday. On each of those occasions, his father would send Eddie a gift, something unremarkable like a basketball, wrapped in drugstore paper. Poor Eddie. It’s good he had Rem, who was more of a father than his real one. The thought fills her with affection for Rem. What a wonderful man he is.

“This is my uncle Rem,” she tells Kit, taking her uncle’s arm a little vigorously. Rem nods at Kit, then sheepishly takes the hand Kit has offered and shakes it awkwardly.

“Uncle Rem saved me from living my
entire
life in the hayloft,” Leanne tells Kit. She waves an arm expansively. “The first time I went up, I was too scared to step on the ladder to climb back down. He came up and carried me down like a sack of potatoes.”

“More like a goat, really,” Rem says. “Front legs over here, back ones here.”

“That’s right, a goat!” Leanne giggles. “A goat who was bad.”

“I’ll remember that,” Kit says, “in case I ever need to get her down from somewhere.” He and Rem draw their mouths into smiles, looking at each other, not her.

Leanne takes a sip from her glass. The dark liquid is disappearing quickly, leaving ice cubes stranded like boats. She glances around the room, looking for Eddie.

“The kids were always up to something,” Rem says, still focusing his attention on Kit. “The girls—they were okay, but Eddie was always in trouble.”

“I’m sure Leanne could cause some trouble of her own,” Kit says, falling in with the light tone. “She certainly does now.”

He glances at Leanne. She presses her lips into the look of mock-upset required by his banter, but the desire to find Eddie and replenish her drink is sucking her attention from the conversation. She sees him across the room, and in a moment of pure divine intervention, he looks up and meets her eye. She raises her eyebrows and her glass slightly, a gentle request. He nods, then turns to the people beside him, making his excuses to leave. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. She’s always loved him.

Help is on the way. Leanne turns back to Rem and Kit. One of them must have asked her something, because both of them are looking at her, waiting for a reply.

“Sorry,” she says. “I was distracted for a second.” She gives them an apologetic smile, and the happy knowledge that Eddie is on his way imbues it with real warmth. She takes a deep breath.
Focus,
she orders herself, and it helps. Her head clears.

“I said,” Rem repeats, “remember when you kids found that deer in the creek?”

“Deer in the creek?” In her peripheral vision, Eddie is moving toward her but has gotten tangled in a cluster of family friends.

“Yeah, the deer you found in the frozen creek.”

“Oh, the frozen deer!” Leanne turns eagerly to Kit. “It was amazing! We found a deer in the middle of winter, frozen into the creek.”

Kit looks puzzled. “You mean sticking out of the ice?”

Leanne shakes her head. “No, no, it was in the creek—right in it. In a deep part. And it was frozen right into the ice, underneath the surface.”

“The creek froze over a dead deer?”

Leanne shakes her head again. Is Kit slow on the uptake, or is he testing her clarity? “No, it wasn’t dead when it fell in. That was the weird part. It was standing up. It was like a fake deer, but it was real, just standing there, frozen. Frozen, you know, in the ice.
Down
in the creek.” She stops. She’s using too many words.

“I see,” Kit says. “That is weird.”

“You see some strange stuff around here,” Rem says. “My brother once found a toad with two heads.”

“Pollution, that probably was,” Leanne says, her voice cheerful again. “Pesticide runoff, or something from the paper mills. But the deer—no one could explain that!”

“Maybe it fell in and drowned and froze at the same time,” Kit offers. “Maybe the two things happened in tandem.”

“That’s what Margaret said,” Leanne tells him. “When we found it. And Eddie said maybe it fell in and drowned and the currents pushed it into an upright position. But that’s not what happened.” They wait for her to explain, but she’s lost. Explaining is too difficult. She remembers looking down at the deer, standing there like a
huge, waterlogged stuffed animal. From the way it stood, it was obvious that the deer had dropped into the water right there. It had walked out and fallen through the ice and frozen instantly. It wasn’t even a real dead thing. It was a frozen thing. When spring came, the ice would melt and that deer might clamber right out of the creek, scramble up the opposite bank and take up life where it left off. Water would be flowing and trees would be blooming and everything would be starting anew.

“Come here and you can see better,” she remembers Eddie telling her. He was standing on the creek bank, holding on to a tree with one hand so he could lean out over the ice. His BB gun was crooked in his other arm. He leaned his gun against the tree and took Leanne’s hand with his free one. She held on while she leaned out over the creek to see the deer better, letting all her weight hang from his hand. After a moment, Eddie pulled her slightly toward him, then opened his hand for a second so she started to fall, before quickly grabbing her again. She screamed.

“Chicken,” he said.

But she leaned out over the creek again. She remembers thinking she could see the fur on the deer lifting slightly in a current beneath the ice. She could see its ears. She thought of horses’ ears, firm on the outside, soft fuzz on the inside. A horse would stand perfectly still like that, ears alert, eyes wide, ready to burst into breathtaking motion. When it happened, it happened so fast you didn’t even see it start.

I wish I was it,
she thought.
I wish I was the frozen deer.

“Hey, Leanne!” Eddie has arrived. “Hi, Rem.” He has always called his stepfather Rem. Rem, Remy. Rémy Martin.

“Give me your glass,” he tells Leanne. “I’ll get you some more Coke.”

Margaret is on her fourth glass of champagne, and her cheerful attitude is degrading quickly. People keep coming up to her to say hello, or to enthuse about tomorrow’s festivities, and every time she has to give her standard answers to the question “Where’s David?”

“He’s crushed he couldn’t make it. His department is a mess right now, and he just couldn’t leave.”

“He’s completely swamped with work. We’re both so sorry he couldn’t be here.”

“Even he can’t believe how busy he’s been.”

She’s said it so many times, she almost believes it herself. It’s as if there’s an alternate reality, one in which Margaret never went to a Shostakovich concert with Vasant, Vasant never invited her up to his place for a cup of tea, David never got angry and threatened her, no one ever called the police, and lawyers were never required. The funny thing is, that alternate reality is the only version of Margaret’s life anyone in Michigan has ever known. It’s Carol’s version, the version in which Margaret’s husband is a loyal and charming intellectual, Margaret is a dedicated and energetic wife, and their son is the crowning joy of their lives. Trevor. She looks around the room for him. There he is, on the deck, being handed some sort of snack by her uncle George. Undoubtedly, he’ll go to sleep overfed tonight, hopped up on too much sugar. Eddie’s twins are nowhere in sight. They must have abandoned the younger boy. Margaret wonders if she should find them and tell them to be nice to Trevor. That might be rude.

Doug is standing by the fireplace. Her cheerfulness abrades further as she catches sight of him. He chatted pleasantly with her when she broke in upon him, Eddie and Roll, but he seemed to be treading carefully, choosing his words and keeping the conversation general. After only a short time, he excused himself and went to congratulate Leanne. Now he’s talking with the man who came in with him, a nice-looking guy in a striped shirt who obviously isn’t from Ryville. They appear to know each other well. It’s easy to forget, in Evanston, what small-town life is like. Here, strangers stick out like sore thumbs, because everyone knows everyone else. And everything about them, too.

Margaret always hated that. Even now she hates the idea of people talking about her, as they inevitably will, discussing the failure of her marriage. In a university community, that’s bad, but in a small town, it’s even worse.

Too big for her britches.
That’s a phrase people use in a place like Ryville—people who have always considered Carol and her daughters snobs, with their private schools and summer camps, their clothes from Chicago and their lessons in music and ballet. It’s usually said of a girl—a girl who wants something more than a husband and kids and enough money to go the mall on weekends to buy a polyester blouse at Kohl’s.

“Margaret, I can’t believe how Trevor’s grown!” One of her mother’s friends grabs her arm. “So David couldn’t make it, huh?” She’s a short, stout woman, with wide eyes surrounded by spiky mascaraed lashes that make her look permanently surprised. Margaret can’t remember her name.

“No, he couldn’t come.” It’s one of those names starting in L and ending in a—Laura, Lisa, Lana. But more unusual.

“Well, I’m sure he’s real disappointed.” Lena. Layla. Luna.

“He is.” Margaret has run out of things to say about David. She’s tired of discussing it—or of not discussing it, rather.

“Lila!” Carol appears magically at her side. Margaret has never been so happy to see her. “Did you get a glass of champagne and something to nibble on? So how is Martin?” Carol takes Lila’s arm as the other woman launches into a long story, something about surgery and physical therapy and hospital bills. Margaret tries not to let her interested expression fade. When Trevor wanders back into the house, looking around, she sees her chance. Quickly, she excuses herself.

“How you doing, peanut?” she asks him. “I see you’ve had lots of snacks.”

“Where did those others go?”

“Who?” Margaret’s heart aches.

“Those other boys.”

“I don’t know. Shall we check and see if they’re in the basement?” Trevor nods. Margaret takes his hand. Eddie’s twins are seven, she tells herself. They’re old enough to behave civilly. They can’t go around ignoring another kid just because he’s a couple years younger. At least they’d better not while she’s around.

She takes Trevor down the stairs, preparing her speech in her head. But when they arrive at the play area, Eddie’s boys are engrossed in setting up a ramp to send cars over. Trevor heads right for them, and they make room for him without a squawk. Her lecture isn’t required.

She goes up the stairs slowly, reluctant to return to the party. She can’t stand the thought of talking to one more person. Her face feels tight from smiling, and welling up in her chest is a funny urge to cry. She has to take a break and pull herself together. But where can she go? She heads for the hall bathroom.

The door is closed. Margaret stands in the hallway. She can hear someone moving around inside, but she listens in vain for the running water that would herald an imminent emergence. She could go to one of the upstairs bathrooms, which will almost surely be empty, but that means negotiating the foyer—impossible to do without stopping to talk to at least three people. She leans her head against the hallway wall and stands there, taking deep breaths, glancing occasionally toward the living room. After only a minute or two, she hears footsteps moving in her direction. Someone else is also looking for the bathroom. Without thinking, she retreats to the end of the hallway. As fleetly and quietly as possible, she opens the door to the garage and slips outside, easing it shut behind her. With any luck, she hasn’t been seen.

There’s a nervous rustling in the gloom. Margaret turns on the light. The doves regard her from their cage. The larger one is huddled near the floor. The smaller one gets to its feet defensively when Margaret comes near.

“How are you?” she asks them softly.

The door from the house opens, and light spills in. Margaret starts upright, guilty.

“Margaret?” Doug says.

“I’m right here.” Margaret can’t keep a slight unfriendly edge from her voice.

“I saw you go out to the garage,” Doug says. “I thought I’d check to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” Margaret jerks a hand toward the cage. “I was just checking on the doves.”

He closes the door behind him. “Doves?” Undeterred by her terseness, he comes closer.

“For the wedding ceremony.” Margaret feels unwilling to explain the gesture Leanne has planned. But Doug nods, stopping a few feet away.

“The bigger one has been looking lethargic.” Margaret softens her voice, relenting somewhat. It’s nice of Doug to be concerned. She never showed much concern for him. She looks away as if he might guess her thoughts.

Doug leans over and opens the door of the cage. He reaches in and, so quickly and softly no one has time to get ruffled, he catches the larger dove. He pulls it out and holds it in both hands, its head sticking up and feet sticking down from his grasp. His thumbs stroke the bird gently but firmly as he examines its head, rolling it to one side and then the other. It tries to flap its wings once, when he takes his left hand off it, but for the most part, it goes still, fixing him with eyes like tiny bright beads.