BY THE TIME STEFAN CAME DOWN, Mary was at the stove making breakfast. She was silent as she prepared the meal, feeling the peace of inevitability. She remembered how a calm came over her grandfather during the last months of his life. He would look at Diane and smile, and Diane would burst into tears. Don’t worry, my girl, he’d say. Don’t worry. And Diane’s cries would escalate. But that was the time that Mary liked her grandfather best, just before he died. When there was no fear on his face, just the detritus of the past. When what was coming seemed no more optional or exceptional than the turning of the earth.
Mary had heard Stefan’s steps as she cracked the eggs, swiftly sending six plump yolks sliding into the glass bowl. Looking to the doorway, her eyes met his for a moment before she said, “Bunny, can you get me the milk?” Without a word, Hannah leaped up from the chair she was sitting in and walked over to the refrigerator, then tugged on the handle.
“Hey, Mare,” said Stefan, the question thick in his voice. With the smallest of movements, he nodded toward Tim. “What’s going on?”
Mary took the milk from Hannah and set it on the countertop, then wiped her hands on her white tank top. And as Mary looked at Stefan, she knew that she would love him through the long stretch of her life. “Morning, Stef,” she said. The blanket was in a pile on the floor now, and Mary stood in her underwear. “How’d you sleep?”
She heard Tim clear his throat. Stefan glanced at him but kept his face turned toward Mary, letting his eyes run briefly down the body that stood so bare in front of another man. “Who’s this?” he asked, nodding more explicitly this time to Tim.
Tim raised his hand and waved, a mocking, hard-jawed smile on his face. “I’m Tim,” he said.
“He’s a cousin of ours,” said Mary. “He surprised us.”
Stefan jerked his thumb to the hallway. “Mare, can I talk to you for a sec?”
And Mary followed Stefan out of the kitchen. They walked in silence until they were in the living room, then Stefan turned around. “Who the fuck is that, Mary?”
Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you,” she laughed. “He’s a cousin.”
“Mare,” said Stefan, looking into her eyes as if unable to get the right view. “He looks like shit. He’s sitting there at the table grinding his teeth. He’s clearly on something and he’s in there with Hannah. And you’re standing there in your underwear.” Stefan extended his hand, as if waiting for Mary to place a retort in it.
As Mary felt her eyes begin to burn, to well up, to reveal everything she didn’t want them to, she dug her toes into the carpet. Then she turned her huge glimmering yellow brown eyes up to Stefan, and said, “I know. He’s got some problems. I just wanted to help.”
Stefan took a single step forward and pulled Mary into his chest. He cupped the back of her head with his hand. “Come here,” he said. “You have such a good heart, Mare.” And Mary felt something that was very close to remorse.
When they went back into the kitchen, Mary was wearing Stefan’s T-shirt, which he had pulled off and helped her into, gently guiding each of her arms through the sleeves. Hannah watched the two of them enter the room as if they were feuding parents who had excused themselves as to not disagree in front of the children.
“Tim,” said Mary, with as much politic as she could muster, “I’d like you to meet Stefan.” Mary smiled from Tim to Stefan. “Stefan, this is Tim.”
Stefan promptly strode across the room with a firm outstretched hand.
Tim stuffed each of his hands under his armpits and gave Stefan a nod of acknowledgment. “Charmed,” he said, with no small amount of disdain.
“So you’re Mary and Hannah’s cousin?” asked Stefan, making the sort of small talk that Martina would make.
“Of sorts,” answered Tim.
“On which side?” asked Stefan. “Their mother’s or their father’s?” Confusion passed over Tim’s face before it slid into delight. There was only one side of the family, of course. He swiveled his head toward Mary, and said, with his brows raised, “What an interesting question.”
Mary’s gaze was unwavering. “My mother’s,” she said, before she turned, picked up a whisk, and, with quick rotations, began beating the eggs into yellow.
“Are you making real eggs?” Tim asked, angling his head to better see Mary’s preparations. “Gail only uses fake eggs now. The real ones are supposed to be bad for you.”
After they all ate their scrambled eggs and toast in a stiff silence broken only by the clank of fork to plate, Tim leaned back in his chair, resting his head against his laced hands. “So, Stefan,” he said. “I’m dying to meet your parents.” Then he smiled. “I’ve heard so much about them.”
Eighteen
1983
It was a testament to Stefan’s upbringing that he invited Tim to his parents’ house that evening. Mary and Hannah are coming. Why don’t you join us? And so, after sleeping most of the day, Tim rose in his rumpled clothes and rode with the Chase girls to the house on Northton Avenue. With his feet up on the dashboard of the Blazer, he wore a sneering, half-cocked smile as he watched the town pass.
When they arrived at the Kellys’ and the car pulled into the driveway, Tim tilted his head thoughtfully as he regarded the beautiful stone house, which he had first seen the evening before. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Mary” was all he said.
Mary put the Blazer in park and let her shoulders round forward. “If you tell them anything, then we both lose,” she said. The Kellys’ finding out any of the number of truths that Tim could tell about Mary would mean that he wouldn’t be able benefit from their benevolence either.
Tim’s eyes narrowed in consideration. “I guess that depends,” he said. “On whether or not we’re playing the same game.” Then he pulled the handle and got out of the car.
Mary, Hannah, and Tim made their way up the path to the Kellys’; it was early evening and the day had just spilled the last of its gold. Tim hung back as they reached the door. “Go ahead, Bunny,” Mary said, nodding toward the bell, her voice carrying with it an inevitability. Hannah looked back at her, a worried expression on her face, before pressing it.
Martina answered and her eyes flitted nervously to Tim. Stefan would have warned her, of course. He has some problems. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said to Mary, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “How are you feeling today?” Martina always smelled like perfume, her cheek always felt slick and smooth.
Mary managed a smile. “Better,” she said. Then she stepped aside, directing Martina’s attention to Tim. “This is my second cousin. Tim Dackard.”
Tim extended his hand. “So nice to meet you,” he said, his saccharine greeting just subtle enough to pass for sincere.
“You as well,” she said, with a genteel nod, her hands clasped in front of her.
Martina led her guests back through the house through the kitchen. “So how long are you in town, Tim?” Martina asked.
“Dunno,” replied Tim, his voice light and casual, his eyes running over the Kellys’ things, everywhere but in front of him as he walked. “Could be a little while.”
“Well,” said Martina, managing a smile. “We certainly hope you enjoy it. Northton is so lovely this time of year.”
As they reached the French doors to the deck, Martina turned around and again faced her guests.
“You have a lovely home,” Tim said, with a polite smile. “Very elegant.”