When they arrived home, Tim went to walk upstairs without a farewell, intent on keeping his anger intact at least within the four walls of his room. “Good night,” Mary stage-whispered, as he took the steps two at a time.
He might have mumbled something in return, but Mary couldn’t tell. The house was silent now. Tim in his room, Hannah in theirs. According to Tim, Gail would be sleeping the heavy dreamless sleep of a pill. And Ron would be in his office. Mary waited a few more minutes, listening to the water run in Tim’s bathroom, then shut off. Listening to the low murmur of the television coming from Ron’s office.
Then she walked quietly through the dim room, running her fingers over Gail’s things, letting them slide over the back of the leather couch and across the thick brushstrokes of the paintings. Beyond the glass doors at the far end of the living room was the brilliant pool, glowing and sunk into the earth. Mary opened the door and stepped out, kicking her shoes off and feeling the cool stone on her feet as she walked to the pool’s edge and stared down into it. Filled with light, it looked like a liquid gem, its facets rippling.
With unhurried motions, Mary pulled off her shirt, letting her body work its way out like a snake shedding its skin. Mary then unhooked her bra, letting it drop beside her feet. She felt the warm night air on her bare breasts. Her shorts came off, then her underwear. She waded quietly into the pool, and despite its warmth, the water brought rise to goose bumps on her skin. Having grown up by the ocean, Mary felt good in the water, as though it were her natural habitat. Quickly, she submerged, swimming confidently out to the center of the pool. Once she arrived, she turned back to face the house and let her limbs circle around, her body glowing in the light. She looked up at the house and found the window to Ron’s office. And then she treaded water and watched until she was sure there was movement. Until she was sure she saw the curtain being pulled ever so slightly farther back.
Six
1981
Mary stayed in the water until the skin on her fingers began to wrinkle and crease. When she emerged, she did so as a Venus, liquid spilling from her skin and running down her limbs in thin channels under an enormous white moon.
Gathering up her clothes, she padded toward the house, feeling the uneven stone beneath her feet. She began to hum the Temptations’ “Just My Imagination,” which had been Diane’s favorite song. She passed the door to Ron’s office and saw the television’s quick flickering light under the door. She imagined him in there, his back to the bookshelf, his heart pounding in his chest as his hand pressed against the front of his trousers. With her arm sliding up the rail, she took languid steps up the staircase, leaving damp footprints behind her.
She opened the door to her room, and the light from the hallway rushed in. Hannah was lying on her back in bed, her hands palms up, as if she had surrendered something. Mary pulled a T-shirt from her bag and slipped it on, then got into bed beside Hannah. Her wet hair stuck to her neck and soaked her shirt, but her limbs felt loose and light, and the white cotton sheets were cool against her skin. The air conditioner hummed, and Hannah emitted her tiny snores, and as Mary let her fingertips glide up and down Hannah’s forearm, she felt for the first time in a long time that everything might be okay.
Hannah woke before Mary the next morning, wriggling in close to her and waiting until Mary raised her long lean arms above her head and stretched. Mary slung one leg up over the covers, then looked down at Hannah.
“What are we supposed to do here?” asked Hannah, her voice small, her brow two tight lines. In Sandy Bank, days passed without needing to be filled. Here, even Hannah sensed that would take more effort.
“I don’t know,” said Mary, smiling. “I guess we’re just going to see what Gail and Ron have planned.”
Mary helped Hannah get dressed, then did the same, pulling on cutoffs, and then rubbing her legs with baby oil so they shone shimmery slick. They held hands as they took the stairs, listening to the voices already in the kitchen, which came in brief bursts between ponds of silence. The Allens invited us for dinner Thursday. Tim needs a check for the Orlando trip. The sprinkler at the end of the driveway is broken.
When Mary and Hannah entered the room, Ron, who had his newspaper open on the glass-top table in front of him, gave his hands a clap. “There they are!” he said, beaming. He looked at Tim, who was standing in the corner leaning against the wall, eating a bowl of cereal.
“Good morning,” said Mary, smiling as she paused just inside the large room.
“Morning, girls,” answered a tight-lipped Gail, who was at the counter slicing a cantaloupe.
“What do you all have planned for today?” asked Ron, looking from Mary to Gail and back again, his arms crossed over his chest. “Gonna do a little sightseeing? The Seaquarium is always fun.”
“Well,” chuckled Gail, giving her husband a searing glance. “I’d love to take the girls around, but unfortunately I have a lot to do to get ready for the holiday. I was thinking that Mary and Hannah might like to just relax by the pool.” Gail placed her perfect wedges of melon into a glass bowl.
Mary made her expression one of stoic disappointment. “Oh,” she said, with a brave smile. “That’ll be nice.”
Ron regarded her silently for a moment. “Oh, come on now,” he said. “We can’t let you sit around the house all day.” He turned to his wife. “Honey, you do your shopping. I’ll take the girls around.”
Gail smiled, her hand at her neck. “Ron,” she said. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
“Nah . . . ,” he said, with a magnanimous swat. “I just get in the way there anyway.”
Gail looked at Tim. “Well, you can all do something,” she said. “Tim doesn’t have school today.”
Ron forced himself to acknowledge his son. “What do you say, Timmo?” he asked, his sarcasm bleeding into the edges of his words. “You want to get out of the house?”
Tim abruptly deposited his cereal bowl on the table. It sloshed milk onto the glass. “I’m going to Zack’s,” he said, as he rushed out of the kitchen.