Lucy by the Sea (58)

I waited.

Chrissy said, “Okay, just so you know. And, by the way, Becka knows all about this.” Chrissy sat up straighter and looked at me. “I went to see that guy yesterday.”

“And?” I asked this after a moment.

“And, Mom, he made a huge, huge mistake with me.” Chrissy drew her fingers through her hair. “When I told him I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go through with this he got furious with me. Mom! He got really angry, Mom. Really, really angry. It was—honestly?—it was scary, and I thought, God!”

She looked at me, her mouth partly open, her eyes wide.

I said, “So that’s it?”

“Oh God, yes, that’s it.” She sat back.

I turned to look at Becka, who only raised her eyebrows at me.

Chrissy said, “And then I went home, and Michael and I had a long talk, and I said I’d been an asshole because of the pregnancies and that I was really sorry, and he was pretty nice. Hesitant, but nice.” Here Chrissy’s eyes welled up, and I felt Becka’s hand squeeze my knee slightly as I watched Chrissy.

I understood that I had no idea what would happen to Chrissy’s marriage.

Chrissy said, “It’s because I’m old, Mom, and the doctor just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. And he’s supposed to be a specialist.”

“Then we’ll find you a new doctor. New York is filled with doctors.”

She said, “I’m afraid they’ll shoot me up with progesterone or something, and that increases my chances of cancer later. I’ve researched this online.”

“Online,” I said. “You’re getting your medical information online. Well, that may be true. Or not. But we’re going to get you to a new doctor. Your father should know one, he knows people in the sciences. Come on, Chrissy. For heaven’s sake, this is not over.”

“I don’t know…” she said.

“Well, we’ll find out.”

Briefly she touched my hand, and as she pulled it away I took her hand in mine, and she let me. We sat in the sun holding hands.



—

After a few moments Becka asked me, “Mom, so you’re going to live the rest of your life up there on a cliff in Maine?”

“I know,” I said, turning my face to her. “I know exactly what you’re asking. I’ve been wondering that myself.”

Becka said, “Well, it’s a cute house. I mean, it could be worse.”

“Oh God, it could be a lot worse,” I said. Then I said, “Your father loves it there because of his new family and all the parasites and potatoes—”

“I know,” Chrissy interrupted. “That’s all he talks about when he calls these days.”

I thought, Oh God, William. But I continued, “So your father is happy there, and I’ve made some friends. Bob Burgess for one, I think he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” I described him briefly, his sweet bigness, his baggy jeans.

Chrissy looked at me then, and she smiled almost playfully. “Are you going to have an affair, Mom?”

“No,” I said seriously. “He’s married to a minister, she’s a good woman, I think he’s a little afraid of her—”

“Why?” Becka interrupted this time.

“Well, he sneaks cigarettes when she’s not around.”

Chrissy actually laughed at this. And Becka said, “Wait—how old is this guy?”

“Oh, my age I’d say.”

“And he has to sneak cigarettes behind his wife’s back?”

“Yup,” I said.

“Mom, that’s crazy.”

“Well,” I said, “you know, we all make our choices.” But as I said that I wondered if it was true—if we really did make our choices—and I thought of that thing I had seen on my computer one night about there being no free will and that everything was predetermined. So I said, “I guess we make our own choices, I don’t really know.”

Chrissy turned to look at me. “What do you mean? Mom, you just sat here the other day talking me out of a choice I probably would have made, so how can you say you don’t really know if we make our own choices?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if I believe it or not.” I paused. “I don’t really know anything.” I added, “Except how much I love you and Becka. I know that.”

Chrissy looked straight ahead. “Mom,” she said softly, “you know a lot.”



—

Becka spoke again. “Well, we were just thinking— Okay, I’ll just say it. We wondered if Dad manipulated you into going up there for the pandemic to get you back with him so he doesn’t ever have to be alone again.”

“Seriously?” I was really surprised, and then I remembered how Lauren, Becka’s therapist, had told Becka years ago that William manipulated me, and how I had never understood it.

I said to them, “He took me up there to save my life. He got you guys out of the city hoping to save your lives as well.”

“Oh, we know he loves us,” Becka said. She added, “And we love him. But why did he take you to Maine and not somewhere else? Probably because of Lois Bubar, and that worked out for him.”