The Wife Between Us(40)

It made her think of the AmEx she’d dropped out the taxi window. By now that card was hopefully in the hands of a thief making the rounds at Best Buy and P.C. Richard. Or better yet, a poor mother stocking up on food for her children.

She was relieved when their server delivered their entrées so she could pretend to focus on her chicken and couscous.

Maureen seemed to notice and turned to Nellie. “Early education is so important. What drew you to it?” Maureen elegantly twirled her tagliatelle on her fork and took a bite.

“I’ve always loved children.”

Nellie felt Richard’s leg touch hers beneath the table. “Ready to be an aunt?” he asked Maureen.

“Absolutely.”

Nellie wondered why Maureen had never married or had children. Richard had told Nellie he thought she intimidated men because she was so intelligent. And, Nellie supposed, she’d been a mother to Richard already.

Maureen looked at Nellie. “Richard was an adorable baby. He learned to read when he was barely four.”

“I can’t take all the credit for that. She’s the one who taught me.”

“Well, we’ve already picked out your guest room,” Nellie said. “You’ll have to come visit all the time.”

“And likewise. I’ll show you around my town. Have you ever been to Boston?”

Nellie had just taken a forkful of couscous, so she shook her head and swallowed as quickly as possible. “I haven’t traveled much. Only to a few states in the South.”

She didn’t elaborate or explain that she’d only driven through them when she left Florida for New York. The thousand-mile trip had taken two days; she’d wanted to put her hometown behind her as quickly as possible.

Maureen spoke fluent French, Nellie recalled, and guest-taught at the Sorbonne a few years ago.

“Nellie just got her first passport,” Richard said. “I can’t wait to show her Europe.”

Nellie smiled at him gratefully.

They chatted a bit about the wedding—Maureen mentioned that she loved to swim and couldn’t wait to take a dip in the ocean—then, after the waiter cleared their plates, Maureen and Richard declined dessert, so Nellie pretended she was too full for the blood-orange mousse she secretly craved. Richard had just stood up to pull back Nellie’s chair when she exclaimed, “Oh, Maureen, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”

It had been an impulse buy. Nellie had been walking through the Union Square market the previous week when she saw a vendor displaying jewelry. A necklace had caught her eye. Its light purple and blue glass beads were suspended by gossamer-thin silver wire, so they appeared to be floating. The clasp was fashioned to look like a butterfly. She couldn’t imagine anyone not feeling joy when it was fastened around her neck.

Richard had asked if Maureen could be Nellie’s maid of honor, and even though she would’ve preferred Samantha, she’d said yes. Because the wedding was so small, Maureen was going to be their only attendant. Maureen was planning to wear a violet dress. The necklace would look perfect against it.

The artist had nestled the necklace into a fluffy cotton bed in a brown cardboard box (recycled, she’d explained) and tied a bow around it with a ropy string. Nellie hoped Maureen would like it and also hoped Richard would understand it was more than a necklace. It was a gesture that meant Nellie wanted to be close to his sister, too.

She reached into her purse for the small box. Two of the corners were slightly bent and the bow had wilted.

Maureen carefully unwrapped the present. “It’s charming.” She lifted it up to show Richard.

“I thought you could wear it at the wedding,” Nellie said.

Maureen immediately put it on, despite the fact that it clashed with her gold earrings. “How thoughtful.”

Richard squeezed Nellie’s hand. “Sweet.”

But Nellie dipped her head so they wouldn’t see the blush staining her cheeks. She knew the truth. The necklace that had looked craftsy and pretty just last week suddenly appeared flimsy and a little childish around Maureen’s neck.





CHAPTER





FOURTEEN




I hurry across town, ignoring the man who tries to shove a flyer into my hand. My legs feel shaky, but I press on toward the entrance to Central Park.

I make it to the next crosswalk just as the light blinks red, and I stand on the corner, breathing hard. Maureen is probably at the restaurant by now. Richard would have ordered a nice wine; savory bread would be placed on the table. Perhaps the three of them are clinking glasses, toasting to the future. Under the table, Richard’s hand might be squeezing his fiancée’s. His hands always felt so strong when they were on me.

The light turns and I bolt across the street.

We went to Sfoglia many times together—until one night when we abruptly stopped.

I remember that evening so vividly. It was snowing and I’d marveled at the way the fat white flakes had transformed the city, dusting the streets, erasing the rough edges and grime. Richard would be coming from the office and had asked me to meet him at the restaurant. I’d stared out the taxi window, smiling as I caught sight of a little boy in a striped hat sticking out his tongue to catch a taste of winter. I’d felt a yearning tug in my chest; Dr. Hoffman still couldn’t pinpoint why I hadn’t been able to get pregnant, and I had just scheduled another round of tests.