Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(2)

Through the tunnel we went, under the Hudson, into the city. Meg and I were the only ones who spoke; the car had otherwise gone silent since the city came into view. She busied me with questions I could only answer with the help of the internet.

When was the Lincoln Tunnel built? 1934. How did they build it? With enough difficulty that the lead engineer died of a heart attack at forty-one. What kind of metal is on top of the Chrysler Building? Non-rusting stainless steel.

And on and on.

Unlike the silent front seats, I was happy to fill the air with something, anything to separate us from the truth of our feelings, which followed us like a balloon nearly out of helium, hovering too close to the ground to be joyful.

It took us an hour to get to the Upper East Side where my uncle lived, passing so many people, so many streets, so many buildings that the magnitude of the city set my mind spinning. Through Central Park we went, looping around Madison to Fifth Avenue, the park on one side and beautiful old buildings on the other.

My heart skipped and skittered as Elle pulled to a stop in front of the building where we’d live now that we had no home.

A doorman in a forest-green suit that matched the building’s awning smiled amiably, moving to open Elle’s door and mine at the same time.

“Hello, ladies. Might you be the Daschles?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile as I took his offered hand and stepped onto the curb.

“Oh, good. Mrs. Jennings has been anxiously awaiting you. I think she’s called down a dozen times.”

I laughed.

“This hour.” He winked and snapped to attention, following Elle around the car to the trunk. “Name’s George,” he said, touching the bill of his hat with two fingers. “Oh, let me get that, Miss Daschle.”

“Thank you.” Elle stepped back as he unfurled Mama’s wheelchair.

Meg slid out of the seat and into my side, her lips together and hands twined, her eagerness gone so completely, it was as if it had never existed.

George unloaded our suitcases as Elle helped Mama into her chair, but when he closed the trunk and I caught sight of Mama’s face, I found it touched with pride and pain and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He rolled all four of the suitcases to the door with the four of us in his wake. The elaborate foyer of the building was a landscape of marble and mirror and soft lights and glass fixtures, like a palace out of a fairy tale, lavish and rich and utterly alien.

When we were in the elevator, George asked about the drive and what we’d seen. Elle dutifully answered him, but the rest of us were turned so inward, we weren’t listening. But when the elevator doors opened, we found ourselves in a tornado of chaos.

The door in the entryway to the penthouse swung open, and half a dozen barking dogs bounded out, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Behind them was our aunt Susan, her cheeks high and flushed, hands clasped at her breasts. None of her attention was paid to the dogs as they jumped and licked and barked in a chorus.

Meg knelt and threw her arms around a golden retriever’s neck, her smile wide and eyes shining. A little Maltese hopping around my feet was too sweet for words. I had to pick him up and let him lick my face.

The comfort and joy I felt was immediate, second only to the hug our effervescent aunt gave me.

“Oh, I’ve just been waiting for you all day. I’ve nearly driven myself mad. I think I fluffed the couch pillows a thousand times,” she cooed as she rocked me, holding me against her soft body.

I felt like a child, warm and protected and right and good, and I found I couldn’t stop smiling or shake the feeling that I might also burst into tears.

She leaned back, proudly looking me over before moving to my sisters. We were still half in the elevator, though Elle had managed to push Mama into the entryway.

Susan greeted Mama last, kneeling in front of her with her eyes full of tears and a smile on her face.

“Oh, Emily,” she said, holding Mama’s hands in hers.

“Hello, Susan.” The words trembled. So did my heart.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

Mama didn’t answer, just looked down at their hands; her chin flexed as she nodded.

“Well,” Susan said as she stood, not dwelling, not pressing, “I am so happy to see you, I can barely stand it. Come, come in. Let me show you around.” She ushered us in, the dogs running around our feet like a rolling ocean of fur.

George put our suitcases inside, and with the tip of his hat, he left.

“John!” Susan called. “John, they’re here!”

My uncle walked in, tall and handsome with hair the color of graphite. His hands rested casually in his slacks pockets, and the smile on his face merrily crinkled his eyes. “Oh, I heard. I’m sure the whole building heard,” he said on a chuckle, stopping in front of us to look us over. “It’s only been a few weeks since the funeral, but it feels like ages.” He turned to Mama, kneeling like his wife had.

“Thank you so much for this, John,” Mama said.

“Please,” he offered gently, “I’ve been trying to help for years. I’m just glad you finally accepted.”

We had no choice, Mama’s eyes said.

He squeezed her hand and stood. “We’ve been hard at work getting your rooms ready. And by we, I mean Susan.”

Susan laughed at that. “It’s true. My children are all grown and gone, and I find myself so very bored. Redecorating was a welcome distraction, and now, I’ll have your company to occupy me.” She pulled Meg into her side and smiled conspiratorially. “And I’ll have someone to eat cookie dough and ice cream with. Mr. Jennings hates sweets; can you imagine? I’m convinced he’s not human.”