Class(70)

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?”

“That’s okay,” said Karen, raising her palm. “We should probably get going.”

“Well, the girls are still sequestered upstairs.” Susan walked over to a white-painted staircase with a glossy black banister and a navy-blue wool runner that appeared to be in need of vacuuming and called up it, “Charlotte! Ruby’s mom is here.” There was no immediate answer, but that didn’t prevent Susan Bordwell from turning back to Karen. “So, I understand Ruby is new to Mather,” she said.

“It’s true!” Karen told her in as airy a tone as she could manage. “Ruby just started a few weeks ago.”

“Did you just move to the neighborhood?” asked Susan, head cocked.

Karen could have guessed that the question was coming. Even so, its articulation made her wince. “Well, not really—it’s kind of a long story,” she answered with a flourish of her hand that she hoped would discourage the woman from asking her to elaborate. “We were at another school.”

“Really?” said Susan. “Which one?”

“Betts,” said Karen.

“Which one is that again?” asked Susan, squinting. “Truth be told, there are so many schools around here, I get confused.”

Considering that the school was only four blocks away, the question astonished Karen. Was Betts so down-market that it didn’t even register on the radar of Cortland Hill’s professional class? “It’s on Groveland, just off Magnolia?” she said.

“Oh, of course.”