“Olivia,” Winnie said. “I’m going to come for August first.”
Olivia moaned. She had not let herself think about it, even though it was less than a month away. She had actually forgotten about her own birthday last October until her parents and Amy showed up with a cake from the supermarket. Such a last-minute cake, she’d thought, imagining them arguing about whether or not to take it to her, then racing to buy one with her name hastily written across the top in pale pink icing, and arguing even as they stood on her doorstep, the cake with its pink rosettes in the box.
But David’s birthday, she couldn’t forget. She had considered flying out to California to be with his parents, two people she hardly knew; but at least they would be uncertain what to do that day, too. She had considered going away somewhere, someplace far from anything else she and David ever did or dreamed of doing. Peru or Alaska or Vietnam. But now that Winnie said it, Olivia knew that being with Winnie would be the best way to spend that day.
She said, “Yes. Come then. August first.”
“I’m a whale. I’m hot and cranky,” Winnie said.
“I know.”
It wasn’t until after she hung up that Olivia realized Ruby would still be there. Two hot and cranky pregnant women, Olivia thought. Maybe Winnie would actually understand. Wasn’t she someone whom Olivia could count on?
Olivia woke to the sound of shouting from outside.
“Her husband is dead, you asshole!” Ruby said.
Olivia went to the window and looked out. Ben stood there, his arms spread like he was about to take flight. And Ruby, her hair wet and her back covered with sand—they’d been to the beach, Olivia guessed—paced back and forth in front of him.
A chill crept up Olivia’s arms, sending the hairs there on end.
She could not hear what Ben was saying. Was he trying to take Ruby from her? Or the baby? Or both? Olivia hadn’t trusted him, this longhaired poet who claimed to be genetically linked to the introduction of ice cream in America.
“You can’t leave like this,” Ruby said.
“I can do whatever I want,” he said, and he turned from her and headed down the path, toward the road.
Ruby hesitated, then started after him. She ran so awkwardly that Olivia willed her to stop. Olivia remembered how Ben had described her tiny waist, the way he’d shaped such a small circle with his hands.
Both of them disappeared from Olivia’s sight.
She stood there, gripping the windowsill for balance. It was another hot, muggy day with air that was too heavy and stagnant. If Ruby came back, they would go to the beach. They would take cold watermelon, a jug of lemonade, a treat from Winnie’s food basket. If Ruby came back. Olivia was ready to start bargaining, the way she had when she got the news about David. If you make this go away, she’d said to God or whoever might be listening, I will join the Peace Corps, give away all of my earthly possessions, do anything, anything.
What bargain could she make now? she wondered, watching the hydrangeas that bordered the path out. The hydrangeas here grew the most beautiful shade of blue. She tried to remember why. A heavily alkaline soil? Or heavily acid? That was something else David would have known. She tried to name the shade of blue. Periwinkle? Somewhere she had once read that the color of hydrangeas could easily be manipulated by changing the chemical balance of the soil. The ones in her parents’ yard were a pale pink.
Olivia sighed.
Still no Ruby.
Only minutes had passed—ten, fifteen? But they seemed endless.
From somewhere toward the beach came the sound of firecrackers. It was the Fourth of July. She had promised Amy that she would go to a barbecue at her condo. She had promised to take potato salad.
Still no Ruby.
David had made the best potato salad. He’d used sour cream and mayonnaise. He’d used fresh dill. Today was the day Olivia and David had planned to have a big party here. The house would be finished. They would have a baby. What a lovely, lovely life.
The hydrangeas hung blue and still in the hot summer air.
Olivia imagined the kind of party she and David would have made here. There was room in the yard for a big striped tent. David’s specialty was sate, chicken and shrimp, skewers of them with a peanut dipping sauce. They would have grilled corn. They would make drinks in the blender with rum and fruit juice. In a box somewhere Olivia had a collection of brightly colored plastic mermaids and fish that she’d bought at the Sixth Avenue flea market. She saw herself on their lawn, with a baby in her arms, moving through a crowd of their friends, handing out tropical drinks with hot pink mermaids and electric blue dolphins perched on the rims. She was tanned and confident; she was loved. Olivia saw herself there, and almost, almost, saw David turning toward her.
Olivia leaned toward the window, as if leaning that way might bring her to him, to that time that would not ever be.