All Adults Here(89)

Nicky cocked his head to one side. “He did. Did he talk to you?”

“He did,” Birdie said, her voice low. “The kids and I were at the shop the other night, and we saw Elliot by the roundabout. Seemed to be checking out some properties.”

Nicky locked eyes with Birdie. “Oh yeah?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Astrid was still crying. She slid out from behind the table and carried her cutting board over to the counter. “Checking out what properties?”

The front door opened. Cecelia and Juliette were laughing—Juliette had driven Astrid’s car to pick up some wine in town, after not having driven in a decade. Astrid still wanted to teach Cecelia how to drive—before there was too much snow on the ground, she was going to do it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Nicky said. Cecelia wound her way around everyone and to the stove. Birdie lifted the lid again and let Cecelia breathe in the steam.

“Oh, yum,” Cecelia said. “I’m so hungry.”

“Doesn’t Gammy feed you?” Nicky said. He winked at his mother, knowing the exasperated sounds that would begin to bubble in her throat. “I’m joking, Mom.”

“No, wait, I don’t want us to get off topic,” Astrid said. She put her hands on Cecelia’s shoulders, as if to claim physical responsibility, though of course the girl belonged to her parents more. “What did Elliot do? What’s the business? What are you talking about?”

Cecelia froze. “You told her?” She looked at Birdie.

Birdie shook her head. “I didn’t.”

Juliette snuggled her body against Nicky’s, no matter that he was holding a large knife. “It’s fine, Mom.” Nicky made a face at Birdie. “I think?”

“Who knows,” Birdie said. “People have tried before.”

“People have tried WHAT? Okay, right now, one of you tell me what’s going on!” Astrid shouted. “Where do you want these onions, Birdie?”

Birdie gestured. “Just put them there. Honey, it’s fine.” She looked to Cecelia, and then Nicky. Cecelia covered her ears, but Birdie was calm. “Honey, he’s trying. The building on the roundabout. He bought it. Which is great. We actually had a good conversation about it.” Cecelia slowly lowered herself to the floor and crawled under the table.

“And I don’t want to tell tales out of school, but he’s been talking to some big places,” Nicky said.

“Big places? Bird, you knew about this?” Astrid looked back and forth between them. “What’s a big place? A chain? Which one?” Visions of Clapham as a shopping mall danced in her head. “Why does no one tell me anything? How is it possible that everyone else knows this but me? I am the only person who actually asks him anything, and he tells me nothing! What am I doing wrong? Someone, tell me, please! What am I doing wrong?” Astrid was shaking—it was just like with Porter. How many things had she missed, how many choices, how many mistakes, how many heartbreaks? She had no idea what mattered to any of them, what was boiling inside. She was asking! She had asked. Watching Barbara get hit had made her want to be honest, but it wouldn’t work if the honesty went in only one direction. Astrid felt like she were walking through spiderwebs, trying to claw to the surface. Everything she knew about Porter had been about her daughter being carefree and aimless, Peter Pan. Now that she knew about the abortion, did she need to go back and recalibrate, to reinterpret everything that came after? And if Elliot was happy in his marriage and buying up historic buildings in the middle of town, was he happy? She thought she’d done something so awful, this one thing, and maybe it was awful. It was. But what else had she missed with Elliot, because that moment was all she could see?

“Well,” Nicky said, gently. “I think you’re finally starting to ask the right questions.” Astrid looked at her beautiful baby, eyes oniony just like hers. There had to be things she’d done wrong to him too. God. Astrid wished that there was a button everyone could push that immediately showed only their good intentions—how much pain that would save. Nicky could see it, she thought. He kissed her on the cheek.





Chapter 40





The Harvest Parade



The Harvest Festival Parade was scheduled for ten A.M. on a Friday. The rest of the Harvest weekend was for tourists and returning weekenders, putting in one last good-weather hurrah before retreating until Christmas, but the parade was for the town, homegrown and proud. All around the roundabout, and up and down Main Street, people set up folding chairs starting at dawn, staking out their spots. Parents brought bags of snacks for their toddlers and let them run wild in the temporarily closed-off streets. Wesley Drewes was set up at a booth, broadcasting live, and people stopped to take selfies with his gloved hand waving in the background. The air smelled like apple cider and cinnamon donuts, both of which were available at a stand in front of Spiro’s, Olympia ladling out the steaming cider into paper cups. Cecelia, August, and the rest of the Parade Crew stood behind their creation about fifty feet up Main Street, just out of sight. And, oh, what a sight it was.

Cecelia had not had much faith. The float was really just a decorated platform on the back of a small flatbed truck, and Cecelia’s only skills were following directions and not gluing her fingers together. August and Ms. Skolnick and the rest of the crew, however, had made something magnificent. Not only had they built a small-scale gazebo that looked exactly like the actual gazebo at one-eighth of the size, they’d made waist-high miniatures of the entire roundabout. There was a tiny bookstore, a tiny Spiro’s, a tiny Shear Beauty, a tiny vacant storefront, tiny trees, tiny benches, the whole shebang. Cecelia had helped glue down the AstroTurf grass. She had painted planks of particleboard. August had sewn tiny curtains and cut out hundreds of multicolored leaves. The whole thing sat on a circular platform that could be rotated, very slowly, by a member of the Parade Crew walking alongside the float.