The woman was blond, her hair short and straight, her narrow eyes a faded blue. She wore no makeup, and Annie could see at once why she didn't bother with it--her skin glowed, smooth as a child's. She seemed a little older than Kit, however. Well, Annie thought, returning her friendly smile, the man ran true to form in the age department, that seemed clear.
Henry climbed over his mother and pressed his face against the window. He stared at the passing lights and sang a jumbled version of the alphabet.
"You were in Africa?" Annie said, trying to make conversation that somehow did not touch on Kit Maybank.
"We're staying with Aunt Charlotte now. She needs some looking after. And the house is huge."
"Yes, I've heard that," Annie said, then fell into an uncomfortable silence, for how else would she have heard that except from Kit?
Henry unglued himself from the window to watch the conductor punch holes in his mother's ticket but not in Annie's monthly pass. Annie explained that she was a commuter, then explained what a commuter was.
"You go on the train every day?" he asked, his eyes wide with awe and envy.
"Two times."
"We saw dinosaurs," he said a little defensively.
After that, conversation flagged until they neared the station at Westport.
"We don't get off until Greens Farms," Leanne said as Annie started putting on her coat.
"Right. Of course. Your aunt's house is so much closer to the Greens Farms station. I like that station. And the little old-fashioned post office there. Kind of my favorite place in Westport."
Leanne laughed.
"I want to go to Randa's house," Henry said.
"You never met Aunt Charlotte, did you?" asked Leanne.
"I want to go to Randa's house."
Annie shook her head. "No. Never did."
"No. She and Kit are not exactly on friendly terms, so you wouldn't have."
"But you're obviously on good terms with her."
"Oh yes. She's a bit of a gorgon, but we love her, don't we, Henry?"
Henry sucked silently on his fist.
No wonder Kit had lived in the run-down boathouse. But what had he done to alienate his aunt? What had his ex-wife done to keep the confidence of her in-law? Annie wished she had time to pursue this interesting conversation. Of course, it was none of her business. But gossip so rarely was.
Henry continued to want to go to Randa's house, now in a loud singsong chant. Annie wondered if she should respond. She knew Miranda would be overjoyed to see Henry. But perhaps Henry's mother would not be overjoyed to drop her son off at the home of her ex's ex. It all seemed very complicated.
"I want--"
"Okay, okay," his mother said, clapping a hand over Henry's mouth. "Listen," she added suddenly to Annie. "You'll all come for tea. Yes. Perfect." She released Henry's mouth and dug in her purse. "Here." She thrust her card at Annie with a dazzling smile and an almost military sense of authority. "It's settled."
Annie laughed. Leanne reminded her a little of Miranda.
While Annie was rumbling home on the commuter train to Westport, Frederick was rumbling toward New York on the Amtrak train from Boston. Amber and Crystal were not with him. They had taken his car a week earlier. Amber was accompanying Crystal to Great Barrington, where they were house-sitting (Frederick could not bear to pronounce "home-sitting" even silently in his thoughts), then they would both continue on to the city to meet Frederick. They were all staying with Felicity and Joe in Joe's big apartment on Central Park West, although Felicity didn't know it. Amber and Crystal were going to be a surprise. Frederick chuckled, imagining his sister's face. They could all go to hell, he decided. He asked very little in life, really. Just to sit in his office and listen to the sea and write his books. Why was there always so much fuss?
His head back, Frederick closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something other than the fuss. He had to write a book review and tried to compose his opening sentence, but the novel he was reviewing, a stark and painful allegory set in Las Vegas, was, finally, boring. Everything, he'd discovered, was boring as you hurtled toward the abyss. Fear, hopelessness--it turned out they were unequivocally dull. He decided to take up smoking again as soon as possible.
Amber and Crystal had spent the day shopping, starting on Fifth Avenue, ending up at the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. They were meeting Frederick for drinks at Gabriel's, on the other side of Sixtieth Street. They perched on their bar stools, their shopping bags clustered around their feet. They ordered Cosmopolitans and waited.
"I feel very artistic," Crystal said.
"Don't you mean sophisticated? There's nothing artistic about shopping, or even cocktails, to be honest."
"Pardonnez-moi." Crystal contemplated her pink drink. "Hey, should you even be drinking? Doesn't it cut off their placenta or oxygen or something?"
"It's my placenta," Amber said. But then she saw Frederick pushing open the door and slid the drink away from her.
"Hey, Daddy-o," she said, standing and embracing him.
"You really have to stop calling me that, Amber."
"Silly," she said, kissing him.
He smiled. "Ready, girls? Once more into the breach?"