Life and Other Inconveniences(78)

I yearned for my mother with an ache so big and powerful I didn’t have words for it. At night, I was afraid to go to sleep, of the tears and shaking that would envelop me. I missed my old life, missed sitting next to Drake on the bus, missed recess with Rachel and Taylor. No one at my new school could double Dutch; there weren’t even jump ropes given out at recess. I missed our house, the smell of pancakes, my old room.

Gigi was sort of famous, I learned. The other kids at school all knew her, but this didn’t help me make friends. Now I lived in a house with a name and servants (though Helga terrified me, Charles would play checkers with me sometimes in his house over the garage).

I tried to be brave. I was a little scared of Gigi, but she was my grandmother. She would love me.

That’s what I expected. But it never quite happened.





CHAPTER 23


    Miller


Tess was in her crib, finally, and Miller was holding an ice pack on his jaw, thanks to her head-butt. She was winding down, only screaming every six seconds now instead of with every breath. He watched the footage from the surveillance cam he had in her room, which showed her still standing at the bars, so tired she was nearly falling asleep between screams.

He wanted with all his dead heart to go into her room and pick her up, kiss her sweaty curls and say, “It’s okay. Daddy’s here. Go to sleep now, little bunny rabbit,” or whatever normal fathers said. But experience had taught him that this would only cause a surge in adrenaline, enabling Tess to stay awake and enraged for hours more. Hours.

So he had this. A surveillance camera so he could make sure she wasn’t hurting herself, so that he could see the moment she finally would sit, then flop to her side, then fall asleep for a few hours.

Fatherhood, once removed.

He’d found a nanny last week, a somewhat resigned college girl. Kimmy wasn’t a monster by any means, but she let Tess run wild while she was glued to her phone. At least she took Tess outside for a few hours in the fenced-in backyard. But she didn’t love Tess, didn’t try to win her over, or read to her, or give her a bath. She just kept her from hurting herself. And while Miller understood that philosophy quite well, he did want more for his child. Someone to love her.

But today had been a good day. Or a good evening, anyway. At Genevieve’s, he was amazed at how Tess had taken to Emma’s daughter. Riley. The girls were sort of related; second cousins or something like that. Ashley would’ve known; she loved genealogy, the only person he’d ever met who knew what second cousin once removed actually meant.

Going to Genevieve’s house for cocktail hour over the past couple of years had been Miller’s only social outings. It was the only place where no one would try to fix him up, and the one place where he wouldn’t be asked the inevitable “How are you?” He didn’t feel like such a failure with Genevieve; they’d gotten to know each other when he did some construction on Sheerwater five years ago, sprucing the place up, replacing the roof, some of the windows, putting in a French drain. He’d been under the impression she was going to sell the place, but apparently not.

“You’re not the wastrel I expected,” she said when he was done. “I wouldn’t have hired your family, but I like to keep my business local. You were a pleasant surprise.”

He remembered laughing with Ashley over the comment. Like everyone in town, Ashley was fascinated and awed by the great Mrs. London and had pumped him for every detail of the house, her shoes, her outfits. That night, they’d made love, and Ash had said, “You were a pleasant surprise,” and he’d pressed his forehead against her heart and laughed and laughed.

Genevieve had come to the funeral, and rather than the usual drivel people said at funerals, she’d held his hand for a minute, looking him in the eye, and said, “This is a horrible tragedy.”

That was all. A few months later, he got a written invitation to come to cocktail hour, and he’d gone. That was back when Ashley’s parents still offered to take care of Tess, and Miller felt insane with grief that day, afraid to take care of Tess, so tired his hands shook. He’d gone, and Genevieve made him a drink strong enough to make him weave on his feet. He woke up in a lounge chair some time later, covered by a soft throw, and she’d had her driver take him home.

Since then, he’d had a standing invitation every Friday. He tried to go at least once or twice a month. Being around people his own age was too hard. And Genevieve had suffered great losses, too—her son, her husband. He admired her and was grateful to her . . . She never gave advice, just kissed him European-style and talked about town news or books. Occasionally, she’d ask for a recommendation—who’d do a good job plowing her driveway, who was the most ethical boat salesman. It was rare that Miller felt normal, but in Genevieve’s presence, he did. Donelle was a hoot, and the guests at the cocktail parties were always very nice. No one pried. He wondered if Genevieve had coached them, and if she had, he was grateful.

Tonight, being with Emma and Jason had been tough, Ashley’s ghost so close he could almost see her as he gazed across Sheerwater’s lawn toward her grave. When Jason started talking about how hard marriage was, he’d had to leave or he would’ve punched his cousin in the face.

But Tess had been so cute with Riley, and Emma, too, and that had outweighed his anger and loneliness. Moments like that—Tess going upstairs to play without screaming or kicking, letting herself be held by someone—gave him hope that his daughter might be normal.