“And. And the doors have been framed, and the windows too, all to the specifications of half-inch-thick floors. If we change that now, we need to change a lot of things. We basically need to restructure the first floor. We need our structural engineer back. We need to raise the doorframes to accommodate the extra inch and a quarter.” He summoned his best diplomatic voice, honed from a brief, long-ago, and ultimately unsuccessful stint on the Brown debate team, and said, “I urge you, Mrs. Cabot, to consider sticking with the floors you already chose.”
This time there was no pause; Mrs. Cabot launched in, missilelike, on her target. “Let me get something straight here, Robert.” It was not lost on Rob that she had suddenly switched to his full name, typically employed only by his mother when, during his teenage years, he had gotten up to some trouble with the boys from school. “Are you telling me that it is impossible to use this tile, or that it is merely difficult?”
Rob’s mind said, “Impossible,” but his mouth was out of sync with his mind. “Difficult,” said his mouth. “Nothing is impossible, with enough time and money.” The second those words hit the air he regretted them. A fly landed on the window in front of him and stopped, the way flies do—it seemed to be studying him, perhaps offering him solace. Rob leaned in and studied the fly’s furry legs, its oversized red eyes.
What an indulgence, what a colossal waste of money, to order one type of floor and then to arbitrarily choose another instead. What would Charlie Sargent say if he heard his son-in-law at work in this way? He’d probably have some enigmatic Down East way of telling Eliza she’d married an asshole, and he would be right.
“Wonderful,” said Mrs. Cabot. “I’ve got plenty of both.”
“But you don’t, actually. You don’t have plenty of time if you want to be in by Thanksgiving.”
“So, then, I suppose we’d both better get up there when the tile arrives, hadn’t we? Thursday morning, half past nine.”
“Thursday morning,” said Rob wearily. “Half past nine.”
As soon as he disconnected the call a sense of panic seized him, and he hurried down the flight of stairs and into his bedroom. But he knew, even before he got up close to his dresser, that it was gone. He slapped the pockets of his shorts, felt their insides frantically, although he knew that if it wasn’t on his dresser it wasn’t anywhere. It was gone, baby, gone. Vanished. The ten-baht. His lucky coin.
26
LITTLE HARBOR, MAINE
Eliza
Eliza was ten minutes into a reluctant run. It was the middle of the afternoon, which was a terrible time for running, and the sun was high and bright and unrelenting, but she hadn’t wanted to go until she knew for sure her father was asleep. She ran around the Point, and tried to take her mind off her legs’ complaints. She thought she might end her run at the wharf, see if it was almost time for the boats to come in. She understood that her conversation with Russell from the night at The Wheelhouse remained incomplete and that as the person who’d lost her lunch in the scrub grass she was responsible for finishing it, just as she was responsible for apologizing to Rob, without using Evie as the intermediary. If he’d ever answer the phone.
Eliza ran straight down Main Street to get to the wharf. As she was approaching The Cup she saw a figure near a battered Subaru parked across from the café. The figure was leaning on the car with her head in her crossed-over arms.
“Mary?” called Eliza, recognizing her. “Mary!” And Mary looked up. “What are you doing?” Eliza thought about saying, What are you doing, girlfriend? but that was just the sort of thing that made Zoe wince and cringe with humiliation, so she stopped herself.
“Hey,” said Mary, raising her head. She looked tired and defeated. She hit one fist on the hood of the car and said, “I have an appointment in Ellsworth, but my car won’t start.” Her voice had that trying-not-to-cry sound. “I’d open the hood, but I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
“I wouldn’t know either,” said Eliza. She put her hands on her hips and studied the car. “I’m useless with cars.” She was panting like a dog. “That sounds like such a girl thing to say, but it’s absolutely true. Do you have Triple A or anything?”
Mary looked confused. “I don’t think so.”
“I do,” said Eliza. “I definitely do. I think I can use it on a car that isn’t mine. I just need my card, for the number. When’s your appointment?”
“Four fifteen.”
Eliza looked at her running watch and switched modes until the real time showed. It was three thirty.
“Never mind Triple A,” said Eliza. “You won’t make it if we have to wait for someone to come out. I’ll drive you. Let me just run home and get my car.”
“But—you’re running,” said Mary. “You’re busy.”
“Are you kidding?” said Eliza. “I was looking for a reason to stop. I hate running. I have such a cramp.” To prove this, she raised one arm over her head and bent to the side. “I can never remember if you’re supposed to lean toward the cramp or away from it.”
“Toward, I think.” Mary was starting to look a little less stricken.
“You’re right. I was doing the opposite. Anyway. I would be delighted to take you to Ellsworth for your appointment. My dad sleeps a lot in the afternoons, and I can put Val on call.”
“Really?”
“Really. Stay here, don’t move. I’ll be back in a flash.”
———
“This is a nice car,” said Mary as they started on the winding road out of Little Harbor.
“I guess so,” said Eliza. “I’m not a car person, you could put me in this or my dad’s pickup and I’d hardly know the difference.” That was a slight exaggeration, of course: Rob’s car was an Audi A8 and cost nearly one hundred thousand dollars, all in. Nobody could mistake it for a pickup truck. To hide what an idiot she felt like for suggesting that you could, Eliza kept talking: “This is my husband’s. I had to leave him the kid-friendly Pilot, the one with all of the Dorito crumbs, at home.” She glanced at Mary and said, “I’m totally kidding. I don’t let them eat Doritos. Much. I think those things are laced with heroin—they are so addictive. Right?”
“Right,” said Mary, and she seemed to give a little shudder. Then she said, “This car is so clean.”
“My husband is not particular about everything,” said Eliza. “But he is particular about his boat, and he is particular about his car. I’m just trying to do right by it, while I have it. It’s killing him to be driving my Pilot around at home. But he needs it, with the kids. Do you have the address of where we’re going?”
Mary nodded.
“After I press this button you just say the address and the GPS will pick it up…ready? Go.”
Mary said the address. She looked serious and slightly embarrassed, which was exactly how Eliza felt every time she spoke out loud to the GPS.
“Well done,” said Eliza. “So is this an appointment for…?” She nodded significantly toward Mary’s stomach.
“Yeah,” said Mary. “It’s my first actual prenatal checkup.”
“Good,” said Eliza. “That’s good, prenatal care. Very important.” She paused. “Does that mean you—”
“I don’t know,” said Mary. “I’m not sure. But I have some time. In case I decide to…” She paused.