Somebody Else's Daughter (7 page)

“Tell me about Brooklyn, the high school there. I imagine it was a difficult place.”

“It's a whole different world.” He suddenly felt protective of his work there, his students. “They're good kids,” he said. “It's a rough place to grow up.”

“I know rough,” she said with disdain. “Before we came here we were at the Remington Pond School.”

“I don't know it.”

“Up in Maine. Kids with major issues. We had a hard time. It was hard on Ada.” She frowned. “We did six years up there.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“For me it was,” she said quietly. “I felt very—” She began to say something, but stopped when her husband entered the room.

“Very what?” Jack Heath walked toward Nate and held out his hand. “Hello, Gallagher.”

Nate stood up and they shook hands. “Jack.”

“Isolated,” Maggie said. “Remington Pond.”

“Ah yes.” Heath was freshly showered and smelled of aftershave. He had on a starchy white oxford shirt. His khaki trousers were meticulously pressed. “Did she tell you what happened?”

“I didn't want to spoil the evening,” Maggie said pointedly. The moment languished. She looked at Nate and explained, “There was an accident.”

“A girl was killed,” Jack confessed. “We left shortly after that.”

Nate thought better than to ask for specifics. “Wow, that's too bad.”

“Yes, it really was,” Jack said. An awkward silence filled the room. Then a car pulled into the driveway and Maggie looked relieved. “There's Greer.” She stood up and went to the door.

“Our chief financial officer,” Jack said, then added in a whisper, “Otherwise known as a bitch on wheels.”

“I
heard
that, Jack,” Maggie called, opening the door.

“You'll see.” Heath flashed a grin. “Watch out.”

“I stand warned,” Nate said as Greer Harding burst through the door behind an unruly bouquet of white daisies.

“For you, darling,” Greer said dramatically, handing Maggie the flowers. “I thought you'd like these.”

“They're beautiful.”

“They've completely taken over my garden.”

“Let me get a vase.” The women went into the kitchen and Jack wiggled his eyebrows ominously at Nate and whispered, almost like a threat, “She's got the goods on everyone.”

“Is that right?”

“I don't know how she does it—it's scary, really—our very own KGB. I'd be terrified if I were you.” He smiled at his joke, but under the circumstances Nate failed to see its humor.

The women came back into the room. They were talking about the traffic. “Who's responsible for it, that's what I want to know?” Greer said.

“Yo-Yo Ma's playing tonight,” Maggie said. “It's the last concert of the season.”

“Good,” Greer said. “Now everyone can go home. Those
motorcycles!
”

“Look, aren't they beautiful?” Maggie had put the flowers into a white pitcher and set it down on the coffee table.

“They are indeed,” Jack said.

“Greer Harding, Nate Gallagher.”

“Don't get up,” Greer said.

But he did anyway. “Hello, Greer,” Nate said, shaking her hand.

“You weren't supposed to be this cute,” Greer said in what he suspected was an uncharacteristically generous tone and then added, considerably less generously, “I just finished one of your stories. You're an interesting man, Mr. Gallagher.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. “Well, thanks.” He tried to smile. “I'm just an ordinary guy.”

“I'm guessing you have few ordinary qualities.” She held her gaze on him longer than necessary. The back of his neck prickled with sweat.

“What are you drinking?” Maggie prompted.

“Whatever you're having. Anything—as long as it has alcohol in it.” Greer dropped onto the couch, apparently more than comfortable in the Heaths' home. “A good deal of alcohol, I might add.” She had on a white tennis shirt and chinos and her silver hair was cut short, like a man's. She'd taken off her shoes at the door and was barefoot now; he noticed she was wearing a toe-ring. There was something frightfully attractive about her, he thought. “Where's Ada tonight?”

“Out in the rowboat somewhere.”

“Good for her. It's a perfect night for it.”

Maggie handed her a drink. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, darling.” They clinked their glasses. “I have an announcement, in fact. We have a new student.”

“The Squire boy?”

“That's right. Edward Squire—Teddy. His mother called this afternoon to say he'd be starting. She left a message on the machine.”

“Talk about last minute,” Maggie said, displeased.

“He's a legacy,” Jack told Nate. “The grandfather passed away a few weeks ago, died of a stroke. He was well known in the area.”

“
That's
an understatement,” Greer said. “He was notorious.”

“He was a great director,” Jack clarified. “With the theater festival here. They live up on Prospect Hill. One of those big old houses.”

“With major hedges, I might add,” Greer said. “Very tall, very thick, very very green. The wife's money, you know—they were in cosmetics. Shampoo, I think. Anyway . . . she's long dead. Now
that
was a tragedy.”

“The old man built our gymnasium,” Jack added.

“Guilt can be very motivating,” Greer said, raising her eyebrows with relish.

“She's a single mother,” Maggie proclaimed the fact like a curse.

“An artist,” Greer confirmed. “We have no information on the boy's father.”

“Apart from all this fascinating gossip,” Jack said wryly, “they're a marvelous addition.”

“The boy's grades weren't so marvelous,” Maggie said. “His test scores . . .” She shook her head as if they were too awful to utter.

“He does have something of a checkered past,” Greer conceded.

“Test scores aren't generally conclusive,” Nate said. There was a brief pause as his comment lurked among them like a foul odor, informing him that dissent of any kind among this group was not favorable. He cleared his throat as if to clear the air.

“Well, for
his
sake,” Greer said at length, “I sure as hell hope not.”

They took their drinks out onto the terrace to watch the sunset. They sat in the wrought-iron chairs watching the sun's gradual descent behind the trees.

“Look at that. The leaves are already starting to change,” Greer said.

“It's beautiful here,” Nate said.

“Maybe it'll inspire you, Gallagher,” Greer said.

“No doubt.” He looked over at Maggie and tipped his glass at her. “Here's to inspiration.”

“And poems about the changing leaves,” Maggie said wistfully.

“God, there must be thousands,” Greer said.

“Good old Robert Frost,” Jack said. “Let's have a toast to the old boy.”

Nate was feeling the whiskey now. It was amazing what a glass or two could do for an evening. Someone nearby was having a fire and the air smelled of wood smoke. Loons were singing to one another across the lake. He couldn't imagine a more pleasant setting and he felt good sitting there with the three of them and he thought that perhaps they might all become good friends. He didn't have many friends in the city. Aside from an occasional beer after work with some of the other teachers, he didn't go out much, and on weekends, if he wasn't visiting his father, he was alone.

“I saw geese this morning,” Maggie said. “They were flying somewhere in a triangle.”

“They're so goddamn organized,” Greer said. “Try getting our students to do that.”

“The sign of an early winter,” Jack said, finishing his drink.

“Perish the thought.” Greer shuddered. “I get goose bumps just thinking about it.”

Two girls in a small boat were rowing to shore. The sun was low behind the trees and you could see their long shadows stretching across the lake's surface. The girls were in silhouette.

“There's Ada now,” Jack said.

“Who's that with her?” Greer squinted down at them. “Is it Willa?”

“Last week they weren't speaking,
this
week they're best friends.”

Greer laughed. “Ah, the social pecking order. It's terribly hard keeping track these days, isn't it?”

“Terribly complicated,” Maggie agreed.

Willa.
Nate's throat went dry and the air seemed impossibly warm. Keeping her name had been part of their agreement; it was what Catherine had wanted.

Although he'd anticipated this moment a million times, trying to predict its outcome, he was still not prepared for it. He put down his drink and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. What if she should know him somehow? Even worse, what if she
resembled
him? Yet, even if she
did
resemble him, he reasoned, nobody would draw any conclusions—it was the furthest thing from anyone's mind, including hers. And of course she wasn't going to
recognize
him—she'd been an infant! Still, he felt foolish for coming here. It had been a terrible idea, a mistake. What had he possibly been thinking?

He held his hand over his eyes to cut the glare and studied his daughter for the first time. Even from a distance he could see how closely she resembled Catherine. Just the way she was sitting in the boat, angular and poised. The Heaths' daughter, Ada, had gotten out first and was directing the boat toward the shore. They were laughing. Then Willa stepped out, coltlike with her long legs. Her hair was long, auburn, the same color as his. The girls were wearing cutoff shorts and bathing suit tops and they were laughing hysterically, playing some kind of push-me pull-you game. Willa fell backward into the water and laughed some more and Ada took her hand and pulled her up only to be pulled down all over again by her friend. Now they were both in the water, laughing and splashing each other, rolling around like lovers.

Apparently annoyed, Maggie stood up. “Girls! Come in and get changed. We're having dinner in ten minutes.” The girls looked at Maggie and then at each other and burst out laughing all over again. “Hard to believe they're juniors in high school,” Maggie said, displeased.

“They look like they're having fun,” Nate said.

“Too much fun,” Greer remarked sourly.

“They're apparently very good friends,” Nate said, hoping to prompt more information.

“Willa's father's one of our trustees,” Jack said. “He's a very generous man.”

“Exceptionally generous,” Greer clarified. “He's made buckets of money in advertising—commercials, I think. The wife collects thoroughbred horses.”

“Willa's somewhat . . .” Maggie paused, trying to find a tactful adjective, “confrontational.”

“She's adopted, you know,” Greer confided, and the phrase seemed to hover in a cloud of ambiguity. “Not that that has anything to do with it. We have lots of adopted kids at Pioneer—truthfully, it's how we maintain our diversity.”

“Willa Golding's a fine girl,” Jack said definitively, closing the subject.

“Yes, she is,” Greer said. “No argument there.”

Soaking wet, the girls ambled up the incline in their awkward, teenaged way, and said hello to the adults. Nate's heart began to pound. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back. He stood there, waiting to be introduced, his hands clammy. She was taller than her mother had been, and lean. He recognized Ada as one of Larkin's piano students. Heath stood up and made the introduction. “Girls, this is Mr. Gallagher. He's to be your writing instructor.”

“How's that novel coming?” Ada asked in melodious flirtation. She had the same face as her mother, sprinkled with freckles.

“Do you two know each other?” Greer frowned.

Nate explained the Larkin connection, relieved to have an explanation for the idiotic grin on his face.

“You're writing a novel?” Greer said.

“He's
trying
to write one,” Ada answered importantly.

“Well, good for you,” Greer said. “Nate, this is Willa Golding.”

“Hello,” Willa said, and reached out to shake his hand. Her hand was cool, her fingers long and tapered. He instantly remembered her grip as a baby, the way she wouldn't let go.

“Hello, Willa.” Their eyes met and she grinned and for a crazy moment the world stopped.

Maggie's voice shattered the moment. “Go get out of those wet clothes, girls.” She ushered the girls into the house. “I'll get dinner started. Look at that, it's already getting dark. I hate that, don't you? All of a sudden it's fall and I was just getting the hang of summer.”

“Let's have a toast,” Jack said, holding up his glass. “Here's to you, Gallagher. Welcome to Pioneer.”

“Hear, hear,” Greer said, and they lifted their glasses and drank.

Maggie served trout with roasted potatoes and salad and corn bread. The food was delicious, but Nate could hardly taste it. The girls sat off to themselves on lawn chairs, holding their plates on their laps. Everything about Willa spoke of Catherine. The way she moved, her voice, her mannerisms—if only Cat could see her, he thought. How incredible just to be near her. It was as though he'd been revived from a very long sleep. The world seemed brighter, astoundingly vivid. He was awake! Her presence dazzled his senses, the long hair, the bones of her face, the white teeth. She was, in all her full-grown femaleness, magnificent—and she had come from him—
she was his flesh and blood!