“But the president has dark skin.”
“Yes, but that’s the first time a president ever has.”
“I have one more question.”
“What’s that?”
“Why does everyone at my new school have light skin?”
“That’s a complicated question too,” said Karen. “Unfortunately, most schools are very segregated. That means that they are all one kind of people or all the other.”
“But Betts wasn’t like that,” Ruby pointed out.
“No, it wasn’t, that’s true,” said Karen, who could do nothing but agree.
And then there was Clay. Now that she’d asked him to go away, and it appeared that he had, Karen couldn’t stop wishing he’d get back in touch. She couldn’t stop dreaming of their next encounter either, even as she regretted the one they’d already had and forbade herself from initiating a new meeting. Karen’s emotions were so confusing to her—his silence felt like another death in the family—and also so consuming that they left little room for thinking about how she could improve her marriage.
And yet, confoundingly, Matt didn’t seem entirely unhappy with their current marital détente. Karen had always suspected that he had intimacy problems that were as bad if not worse than her own. Now she wondered if their fight had given him an excuse to further retreat into himself and indulge his antisocial tendencies. On those rare occasions when they were at home together and interacting, he’d answer Karen’s questions monosyllabically, a blank expression on his face, after which point the two of them would retreat back to their respective electronic devices. Or was she projecting? Maybe Matt was as discontented with the status quo as Karen currently was.
On Monday morning, while eating a croissant at her desk—every now and then, Karen couldn’t help herself and indulged in refined flour—she happened on an article in a local newspaper about the Winners Circle charter school chain’s co-location in Betts Elementary. According to the article, which described the co-location as “controversial,” parents there were protesting on the grounds that it would deprive general-education students of their music studio and special-ed kids of their physical therapy room. In paragraph three, it was noted that Winners Circle had the backing of many prominent figures in finance, especially in the hedge-fund world, including Clayton Phipps III. At the sight of his name, spelled out in all its establishmentarian glory, Karen found herself startled and disoriented. It seemed almost impossible that the person she was reading about should be the same one she spent her days and nights dreaming about—and she quickly closed the article, telling herself that neither Clay nor Betts qualified as her problem anymore.
For the rest of the day at work, Karen comforted herself with visions of Ruby and Charlotte Bordwell on their playdate. She imagined them sitting on a floral wool area rug, in shades of hot pink and celery, playing Connect4 or making fishtail braids on Charlotte’s extensive collection of American Girl dolls. She also e-mailed Ms. Millburn to tell her that Charlotte’s mother, Susan, not Ashley, would be picking Ruby up from school. As for retrieving Ruby from Susan’s house after the playdate was over, Karen had decided to do so herself. It seemed safer that way. What if Ashley accidentally revealed where Karen lived? Plus, it hardly seemed worth Ashley’s time for her to arrive so late in the day. And what if this was Karen’s one chance to meet her unwitting patron saint?
When Karen hadn’t been paying attention, the weather had grown positively balmy. As she exited the train station late that afternoon, a fluttery breeze blew the hair off her face and tickled her nose. For a brief moment, life offered itself up not as a cauldron of conflict but as a delightful comedy of manners, its myriad intrigues to be reveled in rather than reviled. But the sight of the same private banker/art dealer whom Karen had crossed paths with the night she’d stolen Nathaniel Bordwell’s utility bill interrupted the reverie. Somehow, he seemed at least partly to blame for everything that had happened. If only he’d smiled back, maybe she wouldn’t have sought love and validation elsewhere, Karen thought. As before, the man had a cigarette between his lips and a phone tucked between his shoulder and his cheek. In the daylight, he looked more dissolute than distinguished. This time, as he drew near, she glowered. It was unclear if he noticed.
Turning onto Pendleton, she found the cherry trees just past blooming season. Even so, or maybe because of it, the streetscape had never looked so magical. The sidewalk blanketed in tiny pink petals, it resembled a real-life Candy Land or the end of a wedding reception after the confetti had been tossed over the happy couple.
When Karen arrived at the Bordwells’ stately brick manse, she paused to collect herself and take in her surroundings. Someone had filled the flower boxes beneath the second-floor windows with silken pansies, only adding to the aura of genteel charm. Karen took a deep breath, opened the gate, and started up the short path that led to the Bordwells’ forest-green front door. Standing before it, she found no doorbell, only a brass knocker with a lion’s head at the top. The lion had its mouth opened, as if in a silent roar. Karen could relate. She knocked twice and waited.
Soon, a trim but large-boned white woman of probably forty or forty-two, wearing black stretchy pants that flared at the ankle and a pristine white tank top, her dirty-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, appeared in the portico. She was far from beautiful, but she had bright eyes and perfect teeth. “Welcome!” she said. “You must be Ruby’s mom.”
“Yes! Hi! I’m Karen,” she said, putting out her hand.
“And I’m Susan,” said the woman. “It’s nice to meet you. Please—come in.”
“Thank you,” said Karen, following her into a high-ceilinged living room that, while fashionably minimalist in its way, had an unfurnished quality that surprised her. There was no coffee table in front of the sofa and no rug on the floor. Even more incongruous, considering that Susan clearly liked to exercise, there was what appeared to be an elevator in back. To Karen’s disappointment, there was also no sign of anyone named Nathaniel, and Karen didn’t feel right about asking who or where he was. “And thanks also for picking up Ruby,” she went on.
“It was my pleasure!” said Susan. “The girls had a great time.”
“I’m so glad,” said Karen.
“Not that I was even allowed in Char’s room. Every time I went to check on them, she told me to go away.”
“Oh no!”
“Can I take your coat?”