And then the blanket covering the sky ripped open, and Leo, still running, vanished in the downpour. Leo! they both shouted. In a moment, the boy appeared on Amanda’s side of the table, and he put his cold face on her bare legs. Then there was the blind run through the rain, holding the little boy by the hand between them. They reached the parking garage, a wall of dryness and light. They laughed with relief and turned to look at the curtain of rain a foot beyond them, at the wet dusk that had descended so swiftly in midday.
But as they watched, shivering, there was a great crack and a bolt of light split the plaza wide open and the lightning doubled itself on the wet ground, the carousel in sudden gray scale and all the animals bulge-eyed and fleeing in terror. The others crowded into Amanda, put their faces on her shoulder and her hip. She held them and watched the tumult through the sear of red that faded from her vision. Something in her had risen with the rain, was exulting.
* * *
—
They were still wet when they arrived at the airport. Genevieve’s dress was soaked at the shoulders and back, her hair frizzed in a great red pouf. Leo looked molded of wax.
Mina, on the other hand, was fresh even off the plane. Stunning. Red lipstick, high heels, miniskirt, one-shoulder shirt. Earbuds in her ears, accompanied by her own soundtrack. Even in Paris, the men melted from her path as she walked. Amanda watched her approach, her throat thick with pride.
One more year of college, and the world would blow up wherever Mina touched it. Smart, strong, gorgeous, everything. Amanda could hardly believe they were related and found herself saying the silent prayer she said whenever she saw her niece. The girl hugged her aunt hard and long then turned to Leo and Genevieve.
Leo was looking up the long stretch of Mina, his mouth open.
Genevieve said, But you can’t be Mina.
I can’t? Mina laughed. I am.
Genevieve turned to Amanda, distressed. But I was there when she was born, she said. I was in the hospital with you, I saw the baby before her mother did because Sophie had lost so much blood she was passed out. I left for college when Mina was five. She looked just like your sister. She was fair.
Oh, said Mina, leaning against Amanda. I see. She means I can’t be me because I’m black.
Amanda held her laugh until it passed, then said, Her father was apparently African American, Genevieve.
I’m sorry? Genevieve said.
I grew up and everything got darker, Mina said. It happens sometimes. No big deal. Hi, she said, bending to Leo. You must be my very own kiddo. I’m beyond pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Leo.
You, he breathed.
We’re going to be friends, Mina said.
I’m so sorry. It’s just that you’re so beautiful, Genevieve said. I can’t believe you’re all grown up and so gorgeous to boot.
Mina said, You’re pretty, too.
Oh, God! The condescension in her voice: Amanda wanted to squeeze her.
Let’s get a move on, Amanda said. We have to speed home if we’re going to get to the shops down in the village and buy some dinner before they close.
Amanda knew that in the car Genevieve would tell too much about herself, confide to Mina about Manfred’s electroshock therapy, about Leo’s enuresis, about her own gut issues whenever she ate too much bread. Amanda would sit in the front seat, ostentatiously withholding judgment. In the backseat, Mina and Leo would be playing a silent game of handsies, cementing their alliance. Out in the parking garage, the day felt fresh, newly cold after the rainstorm. As soon as they left the city, the washed fields shone gold and green in the afternoon sun.
* * *
—
It was time. Manfred rose from his chair. Grant nearly choked on his apple. All morning he’d swum in the pool and pretended to work on the website he was designing—the very last he’d ever design, no more jobs lined up—and all afternoon he’d played solitaire on his computer. He’d come to believe that he’d been left alone in the house. The other man had been so still that he had become furniture. It had been easier when Grant believed himself alone. He had all day in silence to defend himself against the thought of Mina: the kiss he’d taken in the laundry room, the chug of machine and smell of softener, the punch so hard he’d had a contusion on his temple for a week afterward. He could be forgiven. It would all be over soon enough, in any event.
The women will be back soon. We should make our preparations, Manfred said, walking out to the Fiat that Grant and Amanda had rented.
Crazy motherfucker, Grant said to himself, but reached for his keys and wallet. He started the car and almost pulled out onto the road but there was a line of tractors heading up the hill homeward. They had to wait for the spindly things to pass. Where are we going? Grant said, watching the tractors trail around the bend.
The village, of course, Manfred said, his hands tightly clenching his knees.
Of course, said Grant.
The bakery was out of boules, so Manfred selected baguettes reluctantly. He bought a napoleon for dessert; he bought a pastel assortment of macarons. Leo loves these, he said to Grant, but before they reached the greengrocer’s, he’d already eaten the pistachio and the rose.
He bought eggplants, he bought leeks, he bought endives and grapes; he bought butter and cream and crème fra?che, he bought six different cheeses all wrapped in brown paper.
At the wine store, he bought a case of a nice Bourgogne. We have enough champagne at the house, I think, he said.
Grant thought of the full crates stacked in the corner of the kitchen. I’m not sure, he said.
Manfred looked at Grant’s face for the first time, worry passing over his own, then relaxed. Ah, he said. You are joking.
At the butcher’s, lurid flesh under glass. Manfred bought sausages, veal, terrine in its slab of fat; he bought thin ham. Grant, who was carrying nearly all the crates and bags, could barely straighten his arms when they reached the car. Manfred looked to the sky and whistled through his front teeth at something he saw there, but Grant didn’t pay attention.
We shall have a feast tonight, Manfred said once they’d gotten in and closed the doors.
We shall, Grant said. The little car felt overloaded, starting up the hill.
From behind, from the east, there came a whistling noise, and Grant looked in the rearview mirror to see a wall of water climbing the hill much more swiftly than the car could go. He flipped on the wipers and lights just as the hard rain began to pound on the roof. Grant couldn’t see to drive. He pulled into the ditch, leaving two wheels in the road. If anybody sped up the hill behind him, the Fiat would be crushed.
Manfred watched the sheets of water dreamily, and Grant let the silence grow between them. It wasn’t unpleasant to sit like this with another man. All at once, Manfred said, his voice almost too soft under the percussive rain, I like your wife.
Grant couldn’t think, quite, what to say to this. The silence became edged, and Manfred said with a small smile, More than you do, perhaps.
Oh, no, Grant said. Amanda’s great.
Manfred waited, and Grant said, feeling as if he should have more enthusiasm, I mean, she’s so kind. And so smart, too. She’s the best.
But, Manfred said.
No. No, Grant said. No buts. She is. It’s just that I got into law school in Ann Arbor and she doesn’t know yet. That I’m going.
He did not say that Amanda would never go with him, couldn’t leave her insane battered mother behind in Florida. Or that as soon as he realized he would go up to Michigan alone, leaving behind the incontinent old cat he hated, the shitty linoleum, the scrimping, the buying of bad toilet paper with coupons, Florida and its soul-sucking heat, he felt light. A week ago, when they drove up to the ancient stone house framed in all of those grapevines, he knew that this was what he wanted: history, old linen and crystal, Europe, beauty. Amanda didn’t fit. By now, she was so far away from him, he could barely see her.
He felt a pain somewhere around his lungs; dismay. What he did say was so small but still a betrayal of its kind.
I’m waiting for the right time to tell Amanda, so don’t say anything, please, he said.
Manfred’s hands held each other. His face was blank. He was watching the wall of rain out the windshield.
Grant took a breath and said, I’m sorry. You weren’t even listening.