The New Husband(12)
“Shouldn’t take but a minute,” he announced, using a flashlight to examine the faucet carefully. The kids did not come to inspect the visitor, but Daisy did, and her olfactory memory earned Simon a lick on the arm.
While Simon toiled, half hidden underneath the cabinet, Nina worked in an apology for the other evening.
“We didn’t talk about you hardly at all,” she said, making no allusions to them both sharing a tragic past. “I felt bad about it when I got home.”
Simon eased himself out from under the sink and met Nina’s worried gaze.
“I had a wonderful evening,” he said. “You don’t owe me an apology for anything.” And with that, he turned his attention back to the faucet.
As if on cue, Maggie came into the kitchen, surprised to see Simon there.
“Hey there,” Simon said, pulling himself out from under, his expression becoming animated. To Nina’s delight, he anticipated Maggie’s question. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d fix the faucet. I noticed it was loose last time I was here. How are you?”
“Good,” Maggie answered.
“Everything going well at school? I know getting back must be hard.”
“It’s okay,” Maggie said in a soft voice.
“Well, it’s almost summer,” Simon said brightly. “I don’t know who’s more excited for the break—the kids or the teachers.”
Maggie returned a polite laugh. She had missed almost three weeks of school—first for the search, later for the grieving—while managing to keep up with her studies from home. At first, to help her kids stay on track, Nina had kept the most damaging information from them. All they knew was that their dad was missing. She said nothing of their father’s many misdeeds, nor did they have an inkling that their mom was beginning to develop feelings for another man.
Maggie didn’t stay long. Adults had nothing to offer her, and if she did have questions about Simon’s motives for fixing the sink or her mother’s feelings, she’d never shared.
But she was sharing now.
Long after Nina and Simon had become a couple—after more dinners out, then movie dates; after long talks on the phone (something Nina hadn’t done since she and Glen had begun dating); after a moonlit beach walk and dance in the sand with only the wind and waves for music; after their first kiss on the lakeshore by Simon’s house and the first time they made love; after Simon professed his love for Nina (words he admitted to being too scared to say to anybody since his wife’s suicide); after the rocket-ship trajectory of new romance—Maggie had found her voice, and had no trouble speaking her mind.
Nina trudged upstairs, anticipating a rehashing of her daughter’s well-worn complaints: He’s not my real father. How could you just replace Dad? Why don’t I have any say? How come I can’t move to Nebraska and live with Nonni and Papa? The real issue, of course, was Glen.
It took time and a lot of soul-searching before Nina had decided to level with her kids about what their father had done. She didn’t expect them to comprehend the situation the way an adult would, but she had hoped it would make it easier for them to accept what she wanted out of life now: Simon, love, a second chance at happiness.
While Nina wasn’t completely forthcoming, she’d given them the essential shape of the truth. She avoided using the word “affair,” and downplayed certain details of their financial woes for the benefit of young psyches in no need of further scarring. The most important message Nina tried to convey—and thought she’d done a good job of it, too—was that their father was gone, never to come back. In nearly the same breath, she had reassured them that she would always be there for them, but she wanted, needed, and deserved to move on with her life—a move that, to Maggie’s chagrin, involved Simon. This recent flare-up would in no way deter Nina’s resolve to make everyone happy, including herself.
When she got upstairs, Nina found Maggie spread out on her bed, lying on her stomach, feet where her head belonged, listening to music on her phone (she was still in her pop phase). Daisy was on the bed with her, curled in a tight, furry ball, content as could be. A book lay open on the plush comforter: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, the novel Maggie was reading with Glen when he disappeared.
Nina sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her daughter’s silky hair. Maggie wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red, suggesting she’d only recently stopped. The whole room buzzed with her daughter’s energy, her vibrant life force. The walls were plastered with a kaleidoscope of bright colors and handmade crafts Mags never tired of making: felt flowers, stuffed sock toys, painted rock animals, little creatures made from clam shells she had collected on a family trip to Sanibel Island.
Almost every inch of wall space was taken up with something Maggie had made, along with pictures of horses (her new obsession, though riding lessons were out of the question) and a lacrosse poster that read: I PLAY LIKE A GIRL. TRY TO KEEP UP! The furniture included a comfortable chair for reading, and well-stocked bookshelves. Mini blinds covered the windows. All in all, Mag’s room was neat and ordered—unlike their lives.
“Want to talk about it?” Nina asked.
Maggie flipped over onto her back before pulling herself upright. “What’s there to talk about? You won’t listen anyway.”
“You’ve been calling for me since I got home.”