The High Season(105)
In the city at first they’d covered their ears for jackhammers, lost their MetroCards, took the express when they should have taken the local. The Upper West Side was a new land.
The first month she brought Jem to school, riding the subway together, holding hands underneath the flaps of their coats. She’d leave her three blocks away, exchange a silent you’ll be okay gaze, and then sit with her coffee until she could move again. It was worse than dropping a three-year-old Jem at preschool.
Ruthie had found a sublet, a Columbia professor who was going on sabbatical who had one bedroom and an office. The apartment was light-filled, and he didn’t mind if she brought in a bed for Jem. It was tight for both of them—one bathroom!—but it was all she could afford.
The Whitney had committed to a retrospective for Gus Romany, and that meant Gus mattered again. It turned out that Gus had been right, the new work was the best of his career. Ruthie had indeed picked up the fucking phone and gone over to his studio and told him so. He didn’t need her to tell him; the Whitney was already sniffing around. Apparently Joe had seen the work earlier in the summer and passed on his thoughts. Gus had stopped by Ruthie’s house the day before Thanksgiving and in the middle of the boxes and the bubble wrap had told her the news, cackling with happiness, and said by fucking God she was going to help curate the show.
He insisted to the Whitney that she was the right person, and surprisingly, they’d agreed. He needed her eye, he’d said. The money wasn’t much, but it was almost enough, and she no longer had to worry about being able to afford things like the dentist for Jem. Those things were now taken care of.
Jem had slid into the best high school in District Three, the one parents pull every string to get their kid into, and now, thanks to Adeline, Jem had as many strings as she needed. Within a few weeks she came home with news of electives and clubs and this cool girl who sat with her at lunch. She’d become a self-importantly busy person, slothful in the mornings and energized at night, needing Ruthie desperately and condescending to her, yelling about bathroom time and finishing all the sesame noodles without asking. Things were back to normal.
Ruthie found her new routines. Takeout on Friday nights, researching and writing, taking Sundays off for solitary walks while Jem did her crushing load of homework. There were friends she could call, for a dinner, a drink, and she would do it someday soon. What surprised her the most about her quiet winter and spring was how often she thought of her mother. It was like discovering a new vein of grief. Maybe it was because mourning a marriage was like mourning a parent—you miss the person you wished you had, as well as the one you did.
Jem would spend the summer in Orient. Ruthie had rented a car for the drive, and the backseat was crammed with Jem’s bags and boxes, plus supplies for the pantry she didn’t think she could get out on the North Fork, spices, Iberian ham, and a selection of cheeses from Murray’s. In less than a year, Jem had become a New Yorker.
As soon as they turned off onto the two-lane road, they were officially back on the North Fork. The road went up and down, the wooden signs announcing pies and tomatoes and cherries. When at Southold the road narrowed and they saw the Sound, just a flat gray on this overcast day, Jem grabbed her arm. They hadn’t been out to the North Fork since they’d moved to the city.
The Orient house had been renovated, Adeline pushing an architect to complete a two-phase plan so the first phase—the kitchen, Mike’s new studio, the home gym—would be ready for the summer. Next year the whole house would be jacked up in case of another hurricane storm surge, and the deck expanded. The house, Ruthie knew, would no longer look the same.
“When we get to Orient, can we stop at the store for a salted oatmeal cookie?” Jem asked. She lowered the window and stuck her head out like a dog, sniffing. She’d cut off her long hair and wore it cropped very short.
“Of course.” Ruthie knew she would cry when she dropped off Jem for the summer, but like any mother, she would do it after driving away. She would head to Penny and Elena’s for coffee, and she would leave after lunch, against the traffic. She could not spend a night in Orient.
Mike and Adeline had married in the spring, a quiet wedding after Roberta’s funeral. It was strange not to have to worry about the big things now, about college expenses and launching Jem into the world. Vacations were now taken care of—there were already plans to take Jem to Italy next year. Ruthie would be left behind, but that was okay, that was fine, all her pleasure now was watching her daughter explore the world. Penny had called her Mildred Pierce without the melodrama.
They passed the Belfry, now a construction site. The old sign was gone. Instead a new sign had been erected: THE MANTIS FOUNDATION.
It had taken almost a year, but Daniel had dismantled the board, Lark had fired the staff, and she was at work on the renovation for the private museum that would bear his name. Access would be limited to “scholars,” which meant no family days, no after-school art classes, no local artists’ organization, no school outreach. The historical collection had been donated to the Southold Historical Society.
Mindy, having facilitated the changeover, had clearly done it for a seat on a more prestigious board, but Daniel had squeezed her out. Her house in Southold was on the market. Ruthie heard that she and Carl were looking in Quogue. Catha was now selling real estate in Mattituck.