Lucy by the Sea (Amgash, #4)(60)

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Because I would never have had an affair, I thought William would not either.

I had been thinking like myself.



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—

Lying there on the bed with the lace curtains at the window, I thought how it had become a sort of private joke between David and me, the thinking-like-yourself line. If David wondered, let’s say, why the conductor of the Philharmonic eviscerated the new violinist one night, I would say, “You’re thinking like yourself, David.” And he would laugh and agree. “Get inside his head, and you might understand,” I’d say, and David would say that he didn’t want to be inside that man’s head.

Everyone thinks like themselves, this is my point.



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—

And then as I turned over in the bed, I thought about what Chrissy had said about David adoring me. She was right, he did adore me.

Would I really have given that up?



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—

It did not matter at this point; my life had unfolded as it had.



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—

And hers would unfold too, in whatever way it did.



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The next day my head stayed clear. I told myself: There is nothing you can do about it. (But in truth, I felt afraid for my child.)

I walked the streets of the city, and I noticed that if someone stepped in front of me on the sidewalk, they said “Oh, sorry,” or “Excuse me.” This happened a number of times. The man in the deli who made my sandwich for lunch told me to have a really good day. “A really good one, okay?” And he smiled as he gave me my sandwich.

On many doors of places that were open were signs that said, We Are All In This Together.



* * *





William called and said that Estelle and Bridget were moving back to the city soon, Estelle had had her vaccination and they seemed to be doing okay. But he sounded solemn and I waited and he said, “I’m calling from outside their place, and I’ll go to my apartment tomorrow. I dread it, Lucy.”

I still wanted to speak to him about Chrissy, but I did not want him thinking about that while he was with Bridget, and so I did not tell him.

“How’s Bridget?” I asked, and his voice became lighter and he said, “She’s good. It’s been great to be able to see her.”

He said that when he came into the city in two days he’d have to go to his office and hopefully see some people and get his retirement stuff in order and visit his lab for the last time, and I understood that this made him sad. So for these reasons I did not tell him that Chrissy—probably as we spoke—was meeting with a man she planned to have an affair with. I just reminded him that I was seeing Becka tomorrow and that both girls would come back in a few days and see him with me as well.

“Okay, Lucy.” He did not say he loved me as we hung up, as David would always do. But William wasn’t David. That much I knew. And he didn’t have to be. I knew that too.



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That night as I got ready for bed I got a text from Chrissy. It said: I’m coming into the city tomorrow with Becka to see you again.

I wrote back: I’m glad.



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And there they were, my beautiful daughters. By the duck pond were my two girls. But they were never really mine, I thought as I walked toward them, any more than New York City was ever really mine. These two thoughts went through my head. Chrissy and Becka put their hands up and waved as I walked down the little hill. The sun was shining again, although clouds were moving in. Neither of the girls was wearing sunglasses, and so I slipped mine into my coat pocket as I approached. After I had hugged them both they moved apart so that I could sit between them. Chrissy was holding a large paper cup with a top on it—coffee, I supposed. She took a sip from it. She looked tired to me.

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.”