Florida(27)

No joke, Genevieve said. Bankrupt. Manfred’s mania went international this time. The rapper’s rent is what’s keeping us afloat. What is it they say? It’s all about the Benjamins.

That’s what they said when we were young. Well, in our twenties. I thought the house where we’re staying was yours.

No. Manfred’s sister’s. The poor one, until about six months ago.

Ha! Amanda said. It was so unexpected, this grief for her friend. She’d become used to seeing Genevieve as her own dumb daydream. The better her.

Don’t cry for me, Genevieve said lightly, squeezing Amanda’s arm. We’ll be okay.

I’m crying for me, Amanda said. I don’t even know who to envy anymore.

Genevieve studied her friend, leaned forward, opened her mouth. But whatever was about to emerge withdrew itself, because Leo was running toward them across the plaza, his head down. The carousel had stopped. The air had stilled and there was a sudden silence, like wool packed in the ears. Darling! Genevieve called out, half standing, upsetting the last of the bottle of wine.

And then the blanket covering the sky ripped open, and Leo, still running, vanished in the downpour. Leo! they both shouted. In a moment, the boy appeared on Amanda’s side of the table, and he put his cold face on her bare legs. Then there was the blind run through the rain, holding the little boy by the hand between them. They reached the parking garage, a wall of dryness and light. They laughed with relief and turned to look at the curtain of rain a foot beyond them, at the wet dusk that had descended so swiftly in midday.

But as they watched, shivering, there was a great crack and a bolt of light split the plaza wide open and the lightning doubled itself on the wet ground, the carousel in sudden gray scale and all the animals bulge-eyed and fleeing in terror. The others crowded into Amanda, put their faces on her shoulder and her hip. She held them and watched the tumult through the sear of red that faded from her vision. Something in her had risen with the rain, was exulting.



* * *



—

They were still wet when they arrived at the airport. Genevieve’s dress was soaked at the shoulders and back, her hair frizzed in a great red pouf. Leo looked molded of wax.

Mina, on the other hand, was fresh even off the plane. Stunning. Red lipstick, high heels, miniskirt, one-shoulder shirt. Earbuds in her ears, accompanied by her own soundtrack. Even in Paris, the men melted from her path as she walked. Amanda watched her approach, her throat thick with pride.

One more year of college, and the world would blow up wherever Mina touched it. Smart, strong, gorgeous, everything. Amanda could hardly believe they were related and found herself saying the silent prayer she said whenever she saw her niece. The girl hugged her aunt hard and long then turned to Leo and Genevieve.

Leo was looking up the long stretch of Mina, his mouth open.

Genevieve said, But you can’t be Mina.

I can’t? Mina laughed. I am.

Genevieve turned to Amanda, distressed. But I was there when she was born, she said. I was in the hospital with you, I saw the baby before her mother did because Sophie had lost so much blood she was passed out. I left for college when Mina was five. She looked just like your sister. She was fair.

Oh, said Mina, leaning against Amanda. I see. She means I can’t be me because I’m black.

Amanda held her laugh until it passed, then said, Her father was apparently African American, Genevieve.

I’m sorry? Genevieve said.

I grew up and everything got darker, Mina said. It happens sometimes. No big deal. Hi, she said, bending to Leo. You must be my very own kiddo. I’m beyond pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Leo.

You, he breathed.

We’re going to be friends, Mina said.

I’m so sorry. It’s just that you’re so beautiful, Genevieve said. I can’t believe you’re all grown up and so gorgeous to boot.

Mina said, You’re pretty, too.

Oh, God! The condescension in her voice: Amanda wanted to squeeze her.

Let’s get a move on, Amanda said. We have to speed home if we’re going to get to the shops down in the village and buy some dinner before they close.

Amanda knew that in the car Genevieve would tell too much about herself, confide to Mina about Manfred’s electroshock therapy, about Leo’s enuresis, about her own gut issues whenever she ate too much bread. Amanda would sit in the front seat, ostentatiously withholding judgment. In the backseat, Mina and Leo would be playing a silent game of handsies, cementing their alliance. Out in the parking garage, the day felt fresh, newly cold after the rainstorm. As soon as they left the city, the washed fields shone gold and green in the afternoon sun.



* * *



—

It was time. Manfred rose from his chair. Grant nearly choked on his apple. All morning he’d swum in the pool and pretended to work on the website he was designing—the very last he’d ever design, no more jobs lined up—and all afternoon he’d played solitaire on his computer. He’d come to believe that he’d been left alone in the house. The other man had been so still that he had become furniture. It had been easier when Grant believed himself alone. He had all day in silence to defend himself against the thought of Mina: the kiss he’d taken in the laundry room, the chug of machine and smell of softener, the punch so hard he’d had a contusion on his temple for a week afterward. He could be forgiven. It would all be over soon enough, in any event.