True Places(10)

She never forgot the lesson she had learned that night: she was not the most important person in her parents’ lives. She was, in fact, less important than the woman who had driven away from the house, a woman Suzanne would never know. It was, without argument, a cruel lesson, but as Suzanne made a pile of the weeds she had pulled from the damp earth, she did not fall into the arms of self-pity. Instead she considered Brynn, who had always been at the center of her parents’ universe, yet whose resentment of Suzanne was perhaps greater than any Suzanne had felt—or did feel—toward Tinsley. It was a conundrum, and one that mattered. Giving too little, giving too much. Subtracting from here, adding there. Caring for your marriage, your children, your parents, your reputation, your future, and, if you could manage it, your younger, more idealistic self. This complex calculus was based on theories of love and motherhood, and equations of duty and self-worth. But Suzanne could not work out the solution because the calculus was not predicated on her experience, on vows she had made or beliefs she had ascribed to, not anything she could rest her feet on or hold to her cheek. She wanted a balanced life but had only guesses, wishes, and fears when what she needed was answers.





CHAPTER 5

Night had fallen by the time Whit climbed the bluestone steps to the front patio. The sight of the white columns—eight of them—and the imposing door with the fox-head knocker never failed to give him a boost. The classic touches and impressive entrance were what had sold him on the place, that and the location, adjacent to the university. Demand would always be ferocious in this neighborhood. Whit found that reassuring because it meant he had chosen well. The equity in the house didn’t hurt their financial standing either. He’d married a Royce, which meant they weren’t likely to ever hurt for money, but he was proud of what he had contributed, in what he and Suzanne had achieved together.

He wiped his feet on the mat, stepped into the entry, and dropped his keys and briefcase on the side table next to the piano. His son, Reid, was descending the double staircase from the left, wearing, as usual, jeans and an Indian-style gauze shirt with a tab collar and flowing hem. The shirt was a solid, businessman blue, leaving an impression that was both too formal and too bohemian. As Whit had told his son too many times, fashion speaks volumes, and this fashion choice would prevent Reid from being taken seriously. At seventeen, it was something he needed to consider, pronto.

“Hey, Dad.” Reid glanced from Whit’s empty hands to the table behind him. “Did you get the pinkies?”

Baby mice for Reid’s snake. A task he couldn’t give Suzanne because her rodent allergy meant she couldn’t tolerate the pet shop. “Oh, crap. Sorry, champ. I was slammed today.”

Immediately he regretted the “champ,” a tag he’d used years ago when Reid still admired him and took up whatever sport Whit selected. Now the word made Reid hang his head, either to control his resentment or to hide the shame of not being the right sort of son. The posture made the boy seem six years old again. Whit winced at the loss of that promise.

“Hi, Daddy!” Brynn shuffled across the entry from the living room in sweats and monkey slippers and threw her arms around him.

“How’s my girl?”

She stepped back but held on to his hand, swinging it back and forth. “Great. Did you have a good day looking for money in the bushes?” It was their joke from when she was too little to understand what he did for a living. Fifteen years old and still just a big puppy.

“I did, actually.”

Reid leaned against the wall and sighed. “Dad, the pinkies?”

Brynn tipped her head and scowled at her brother. “If that disgusting snake needs food, you should get it yourself. You’ve got a car.”

Reid ignored her.

“Oh, that’s right. You have a car, a brand-new Mustang, but it’s against your religion to drive.”

“It’s not against my religion. It’s a moral position independent of Buddhism.” He turned to his father. “If you can’t do it, I can get to the pet shop on the bus. It’s just a pain.”

Whit rejected Reid’s views on the evil of cars, but Suzanne argued that having a strong moral position, no matter how inconvenient or ridiculous, was a sign of good character. Whit thought it was weird, and weird made life difficult for everyone. But he wasn’t going to get into it, not now. “Putting it at the top of my agenda.”

“Thanks.” Reid made his way past his father en route to the kitchen and disappeared into the pantry. Always hungry. Reid called out, “Some dinner in here, Dad, if you want it.”

“In a sec.”

Brynn said, “Come hang out with me in the living room.”

“Maybe later, sweetheart. Your mom upstairs?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

Whit found Suzanne stretched out on the chaise in their bedroom, laptop perched on her thighs. She had changed into her end-of-the-day outfit: yoga pants and one of his T-shirts, an ancient Bucknell one today. Whit, normally possessive, made an exception for her appropriation of his clothing; it was an intimacy that felt easy and right.

“Hi, Suze.”

She smiled. The bedside lamp cast a soft light on her tawny hair and pale skin, freckles splashed across her cheekbones. His gorgeous wife.

“What’re you working on?”