Life and Other Inconveniences(109)

Dating like this . . . it was pretty fantastic.

On Friday night, Riley and I sat in the conservatory. The promised thunderstorms were rumbling over Long Island, and we were waiting to see if they’d come our way. Helga, Donelle and Gigi had all gone to bed, and we’d opened the windows to the conservatory so we could hear and smell the rain.

The thunder boomed, louder now. “One, two, three . . . ,” we counted in unison. I didn’t know if there was any truth to the seconds between thunder and lightning indicating how far off the storm was, but . . .

“My mom and I used to do this,” I said. “Not here, obviously, but back in Chicago. Sometimes, she’d get me out of bed so I wouldn’t miss the storm, because I could sleep through anything.”

“She sounds like she was so nice. Pancakes for dinner and stuff.”

“She was great.”

“You must miss her. I’d miss you, Mommy. So much.” She tucked her head against my shoulder and rubbed my fuzzy buzz cut with her hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

Riley was quiet for a minute. “Did you ever think about it? Committing suicide?”

“No. Not once. I swear on your life, Riley. I would never do that.”

“Me neither. I swear on your life.”

“Good.”

“Did you ever worry I got the depression gene?”

“Every mother worries, sweetheart.”

“Did I scare you this past year? Being all moody and glum?”

I took her hand from my head and held it, still so soft and innocent, in mine. “You did. Depression crossed my mind, of course. But even if you did have clinical depression, the odds are huge that you’d be just fine. We’d deal with it. We’d make sure you had whatever you needed to get through it.”

“Were you ever depressed?”

“Sure. Everyone gets depressed. I didn’t have what my mom did, though. Hers was a sickness, and she didn’t get the right medicine. It was more than twenty years ago, and people didn’t know as much as they do now.”

The thunder boomed right over us, and we both shrieked a little. Then the rain came in a beautiful clamor, so hard it bounced off the glass dome, nearly deafening and lush. We sat cuddled together and breathed in the rich smell of it.

I was so happy. These were the precious moments I pressed against my heart. Thunderstorm at Sheerwater. Riley’s first word. Braiding her hair. Her oral report on Teddy Roosevelt, which had made both me and her teacher cry. Cuddling in bed on summer mornings.

I was so lucky.

“Mom!” Riley said suddenly, jolting up in her seat. “Gigi’s out there!” She pointed.

And she was right. A flash of lightning showed Genevieve outside at the edge of the yard, down by the stone wall.

I ran to the door of the conservatory. “Genevieve!” I shouted. “Gigi! What are you doing?”

She put her hands over her ears as the thunder crashed again.

“I’ll go get her,” I said to Riley. “Get some towels, okay?”

I ran across the yard, the rain slapping into me, drenching me, cold on my shaved head. The grass was slick and wet under my feet, and the air smelled sharp and coppery. “Genevieve!” I yelled, and I could see that she was in her pajamas, soaking wet and crying.

“Gigi, are you okay?” I asked.

“Where am I?” she asked. “I’m lost!”

“I’ve got you, Gigi. It’s me, Emma. Come on inside. You’re safe.”

Her usually sharp blue eyes were wide and scared, darting from side to side in panic. I put my arm around her and guided her in, and when the thunder cracked again, she huddled against me, feeling thin and small.

When we climbed the steps, she looked at me and did a double take. “Do you have cancer?” she asked.

“No. Just very short hair.”

Donelle and Riley were waiting with towels and dry clothes, and Donelle hustled Gigi into the bathroom in the hall. We could hear Donelle murmuring, her tone reassuring, as if she were soothing a child.

“Will she be okay?” Riley asked.

“I’ll call her doctor in a few minutes,” I said. “You know what I bet she’d like? Some tea. Can you make a pot, sweetie?”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

When Gigi came out of the bathroom, she was dry and in clean pajamas, a robe and slippers.

“Doing much better now,” Donelle said, pulling a face behind Gigi’s back.

“Come have a seat, Genevieve,” I said.

She obeyed without comment, still looking unsure of herself. I wrapped a cashmere throw around her shoulders, because the temperature had dropped precipitously.

The thunder was more distant now, and the rain steady and full.

“Here we go,” Riley said in a cheery voice. She held a full tea tray—teapot, creamer, sugar bowl, even a plate of cookies. My daughter was so thoughtful. “Nothing like a midnight snack. Can I pour you some, Gigi?”

“I take two sugars and no milk,” she said. “Thank you, dear.”

“Do you know who this is?” I asked gently, putting my hand on Riley’s shoulder.

“Of course. She’s . . . she’s a darling girl.”

Riley glanced at me, then back at Gigi. “You got that right.” She poured a cup and stirred in the sugar. “Here you go. Nice and hot.”