Lost and Wanted(61)

I wanted to say something reassuring about Addie and Carl—how they were in the worst stage of grief, and would eventually soften toward him—but I couldn’t find the right way to frame it.

Terrence gave me a sort of pat on the arm. “Thanks for distracting me tonight,” he said. Then he got out and walked in his casual way, feet forward and shoulders thrown back, as if even his body were expressing its ambivalence, up the solid brick path to the house, his hands in his pockets.





6.


The last time I saw Charlie was a few days before Christmas in 2012. She, Terrence, and Simmi were in Brookline for the holidays; we had planned that she would bring Simmi to our house, where the nanny I employed then, Pema, would look after both children while Charlie and Terrence and I went out to dinner.

The fact that Charlie and I had landed in each other’s hometowns was a coincidence, and it should have made it easy to see each other at least once a year. They always came to Boston for longer than Jack and I went to L.A., and so it made more sense for us to meet while they were in town. The Boyces were more demanding than my family, though, and much more socially active. When Charlie brought her family to Brookline for Christmas, there was always a slate of holiday visits and events on their calendar. Charlie had groaned about those obligations to me by text—once we were in the same time zone—but we often made plans that she canceled. When my phone rang that afternoon, I thought she was doing it again. Instead Charlie said that Simmi had a bad cold, and that she was going to leave her at her parents’ with Terrence, while just the two of us had a night out.

That evening when I opened the door she did her customary shriek and grabbed me. We rocked back and forth, hugging each other, until I felt it was reasonable to detach myself. It had been four years since I’d seen her in L.A., and we’d been in only sporadic touch.

“I think it worked out for the best,” she said, once she got inside. “I really wanted you to see Sims, but having Terrence at dinner would’ve changed the whole dynamic. My mom was dying to have you and Jack for the Christmas Eve party, but I told her you’d be in L.A.”

Charlie looked around my living room, which I’d been seeing through her eyes all day, with misgivings.

“This is so Helen,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

    Charlie liked to read even more than I did, but she wouldn’t have installed built-in bookshelves in the living room. I knew without having seen the inside of her house that the furniture would go together in a complicated way I wouldn’t be able to articulate; that there would be a chandelier somewhere; and that at least one piece of furniture would be upholstered in toile. There would be a faux zebra rug, and especially nice bathrooms. She couldn’t possibly have admired the midcentury modern living room set I’d purchased from a vintage warehouse in the South End—not because I especially liked that period, but because it seemed like what people bought these days—or my grandmother’s threadbare Persian rug. Still, I felt that when she said “so Helen,” her admiration was genuine.

“I love these old Victorians,” she said, taking off her coat and hanging it over a wooden bench just inside the door. “I love that it’s blue.”

“It was blue when I bought it.”

“It’s cozy and whimsical.” She was wearing a pink sweater and navy, wide-legged wool culottes that buttoned up the side. Her boots were knee-high and black leather, with a round toe, and she had a set of gold bangles on one arm. Her hair was still short, but it was straight, and a fringe of long, highlighted bangs fell over one eye. She pushed them behind her ear; only the diamond studs were unchanging. Even by her own high standards, Charlie was well-dressed.

She saw me noticing. “This morning Terrence said I save my best clothes for when we’re at my parents, and I was kind of annoyed. But he’s completely right. I still want to impress my mom more than anyone.”

“I probably want to impress you more than anyone,” I said. “And this is still what I’m wearing.”

Charlie laughed. “You look great—you always look great. And thin.”

“You’re always thin.”

“Yeah, but only because my meds are completely nauseating.”

We could hear Jack and Pema playing in the bedroom. Charlie’s face lit up. “Is he in there? Can I meet him?”

    I nodded. I was filled with the same kind of anticipation I’d had when my parents came to see Jack and me in the hospital.

Charlie toned down her greeting for Jack, maybe sensing that he’d respond better to a more reserved approach. Even so, Jack was shy. He gave a barely audible “Hi,” and scooted closer to Pema. They had built a zoo out of unit blocks, and were populating it with plastic animals.

Charlie got down on her knees, in spite of her outfit. “I have a little girl, and she loves these animals, too,” she told Jack. “She especially loves horses.”

“I love reptiles,” Jack said, adding an alligator, but he didn’t smile until Charlie reached into her capacious leather bag and pulled out a package in Christmas wrapping. “Sorry,” she mouthed to me, and I soon saw why: it was a remote-controlled car, the kind of toy I rarely buy him. It lit up in rainbow colors, played music, and could even do stunts; when Jack pulled the toggle toward him, it turned a flip, landed on its rubber tires, and squealed off to a tinny, electronic pastiche of the Star Wars theme.