“Opposites attract.” Van pulls back the foil cover on our casserole dish. “What did you bring?”
Nancy peers over his shoulder at the casserole. “Oh, I love pecans, Jake!”
“You always did,” Jacob says, taking a swig of his beer. It occurs to me that he may have chosen this particular casserole for Nancy’s benefit. I have a sudden urge to upend the dish and dump its contents.
“It’s a bit sweet,” I say. “It’s made with sweet potatoes.”
“I don’t eat sweets,” Van says, sitting at the head of the table. “But Nancy will have no problem eating it all.”
“Oh, Van,” Nancy says. “Don’t be a party pooper.”
“Is that what this is?” Van says. “A party?”
She swats his arm affectionately. Is she already a little tipsy? “We’re having a dinner celebration.”
“What are we celebrating?” Van says.
“Old friends,” she says, lifting her wineglass. Jacob raises his beer bottle in a toast. Irritated bees swarm through my insides. What’s going on between them?
“I wouldn’t call us old friends,” Van says. “But friends, yes.”
“Oh, I forgot something.” Nancy jumps to her feet again, goes to the kitchen, and brings back a bowl of dinner rolls. “Homemade,” she says. “I love baking bread.”
“You’ve gone to so much trouble,” I say again, feeling suddenly inadequate. I learned to boil an egg for the first time in college, and even then, I wasn’t good at it.
“Did you make the casserole?” she says to me. She must know I didn’t.
“Jacob’s the cook in our family,” I say.
“Must be because I taught him,” she says.
“Oh?” I say. “What else did you teach him?”
She looks down at her plate, and an awkward silence follows.
“Sorry,” I say, although I don’t believe I should be the one apologizing.
“Me, too,” Nancy says.
“Let’s all enjoy our dinner,” Van says.
The room tilts, and I feel my breathing quicken. I get up abruptly, scraping back my chair. “Bathroom,” I say.
“End of the hall,” Van says, pointing through the arched doorway.
“Right.” I escape down the narrow hallway, taking deep breaths. Jacob’s voice drifts down the hall. “How’s the solar panel repair coming along?”
“. . . have it ready for you in a couple of days,” Van says.
In the small bathroom, decorated in a beach theme, I take deep breaths, absorbing the solitude. I examine my gaunt, pale reflection in the mirror. Nitrox, trimix. The words sounded familiar. We’re using nitrox this time, Jacob said. We were on a beach, testing our scuba tanks. I turned the valve halfway, and Jacob told me to sniff the air coming out of the tank. It should be odorless, he said. Was it?
I flush the toilet, wash my hands, and slip back down the hall. I peer into a study with a desk, walls of books, and photographs. Murmured conversation wafts toward me from the dining room. I make a detour into the office. On the desk is a photograph of Nancy, Van, and a teenage boy who must be their son. He looks like a blond version of Van—built strong but with Nancy’s coloring and her narrower nose. I pick up the picture and peer closely at it, trying to detect some evidence of marital discord. The boy appears to be the glue holding the three of them together, his arms around his parents’ shoulders. If he lets go, they will fly apart.
“He just turned nineteen,” Van says behind me.
I whip around, my face burning. I put the picture back on the desk. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be in here. I walked by and saw the picture—”
“We’re hoping he’ll come home for Thanksgiving,” Van says. “We thought he’d be back for the summer, but he picked up a job in the city. Nancy was devastated, but there’s nothing here for the kid to do.”
“It does seem like a difficult place for a teenager,” I say.
“He’s a good kid, a hard worker. He would find something to do wherever he is. I’m glad he came into this world.”
“Even if . . .” I stop myself before the words come out.
Van cocks his head and gives me a wry look. “Nancy’s been busy bringing you up to speed on our life story?”
“She may have mentioned that a child wasn’t necessarily part of your original plan.”
Van laughs. “Is anything ever planned? It doesn’t matter in the long run. We fell in love.”
You fell in love, I’m thinking. Nancy’s laughter drifts out from the dining room. She’s a flirt. Maybe she doesn’t even know what she’s doing. “She does love you,” I say.
“Yeah, I know. Maybe more when your husband isn’t around.” He steps closer to me, pain and confusion in his eyes. Longing. He touches my cheek, and I flinch.
“Van,” I say.
“Sorry.” He withdraws his hand.
“This isn’t about you and me. This is about you and Nancy. You need to talk to her.”
“I know I do.” He has to deal with her complexities, her crush on Jacob.
Do you think? Van asked me, a long time ago. If circumstances were different?
They’re not, I told him, backing away. You’re only upset about Nancy. The edges of our tangled relationships begin to blur, the blacks and whites fading to gray.