Alternate Side(70)

“That’s not how she makes it sound when she talks to me. She says all it does is rain there.”

Christine laughed. “Nonnie, all it ever does is rain here. Calm down. She’s just confused. And sad.”

“She told me one night that she’s in mourning for her life.”

“That’s Chekhov. The Three Sisters, I think, or it could be The Seagull.”

“She knows I was a history major.”

Christine laughed. “I don’t think she’s trying to test your knowledge of Russian literature. She’s just dramatic. She’s always been dramatic, although I’ve got to tell you, she doesn’t bring the drama to work, not one bit, or she wouldn’t be doing as well as she is. Don’t worry. You’re a great mom. She has so much confidence. If I had a daughter and she felt like that, I’d feel like an enormous success.”

Silence.

“Non?”

“Sorry, that was the sound of me crying.”

Along with everything else, there was the inevitable split from Charity. Nora knew it was silly, the idea of having her stay on once the house was sold, the children scattered, Homer only a tin canister of ashes stuck in the back of a closet, behind the shoe boxes. Charity had not abandoned her. She had helped Nora pack Charlie’s things up, sent the clothes Rachel wanted to Seattle, put boxes into storage, but then the tasks were done and it was time for her to move on. She’d taken a job with a family she’d met in the park the year before, before everything changed. Nora couldn’t blame her. The family had two little girls, ages four and two, who were probably doomed to hear a fairy-tale rendering of the perfect manners and unquestioning obedience of Rachel and Oliver Nolan for years to come while they ate their after-school snack. Charity’s sister Faith, who worked only as an evening and weekend nanny for a family in Chelsea, had agreed to clean and do laundry once a week for Nora. So at least there was that. Charity said Vance thought that was a good arrangement.

Selling the house was a relief, since every time she passed the Fisk house she couldn’t help but think to herself, Ah, that is the place where the Nolans started to unravel. Of course it wasn’t the Fisk house anymore. It had sold quickly, and Sherry had bought an apartment in the same building as her office. “They say you’re not supposed to make any sudden decisions,” she said as she and Nora had coffee in her new living room, with its view of the river, the same view that Nora had had during her morning walk for so many years. “Another thing they say that’s ridiculous. Has your house sold?”

“It’s under contract but still being shown,” Nora said. “We had a full-price offer in ten days. It’s insane.”

“My sons keep talking about how great it is that I’m not in a place with stairs anymore,” Sherry said. “They actually say that. Obviously they’re already worried about the widow Fisk, and how she’ll get around in her dotage.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

“No, it’s true. I don’t even mind. Thinking of me that way is good for them.” She peered over the edge of her coffee cup. “I’m seeing a man who lives in my building.”

“Seeing?”

“You know. He’s an entomologist at the Museum of Natural History. He’s very…” Sherry searched for the right word. “Sweet,” she said finally. “I told him my husband was the man who’d beaten someone with a golf club. He’d never even heard or read the story. It was so nice. I met him in the elevator. It means he doesn’t have to stay over. I’ve always preferred sleeping alone, and he doesn’t mind. He just goes three floors down to his own apartment. The one time he fell asleep here, I woke up in the middle of the night and thought Jack was sitting by the closet, glaring at me, when it was only the extra blanket I’d thrown over a chair.”

Nora scarcely knew what to say. She thought Jack Fisk was exactly the sort of man who would come back from the dead and glare at his wife.

“I don’t think Charlie would do that,” she said.

“Ah, but Charlie’s not dead,” Sherry said. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh, God, no. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what happened.” Nora lifted her cup. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s like we just ran out of steam.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Sherry said. “It’s actually fairly typical. What’s not typical is that while many marriages run out of steam, most of them keep on going. Or at least endure, steamless.”

Nora lifted her hands and shrugged.

“It was what happened on the block,” Sherry said, a statement, not a question, and Nora didn’t even bother to disagree. “It changed everything.”

“I don’t know,” Nora said. “It feels to me like everything changed but we’re all still somehow the same. Does that make any sense?”

Sherry shook her head. “I have a friend who lives in San Francisco, in a beautiful new co-op building. Lovely, lovely apartment, so much space and light. Last year they found out the building is sinking. It’s already gone down a couple of feet. The apartment doesn’t look any different in any way, but she says when she lies in bed at night she has this feeling like she’s falling. It’s not rational, but it’s real.”