True Places(17)
Suzanne and Mia entered the living room. Whit greeted them with that glorious smile of his, lavished equally on both women in acknowledgment of their friendship. Suzanne slipped into the space beside him on the couch. Mia took an armless chair, sitting sideways with her long legs crossed at the knee. Her husband, Malcolm, was deep in conversation with Chad Beecham. Malcolm’s dark, wavy hair was swept back from his forehead, accentuating his angular features. His shirt was hand tailored, his shoes supple Italian leather, and his demeanor calm and confident. Suzanne had never felt comfortable around him and wasn’t sure she liked him. It was easy to take Mia’s side in their disputes. Chad Beecham was a small, bald man with a hawklike beak and darting eyes. Suzanne found his appearance alarming, especially in contrast to that of his wife, Steena, a pastor’s daughter true to type. The Beechams had recently moved to Charlottesville and had joined the country club to which the Blakemores and Stones belonged: Birdwood, part of the Boar’s Head complex owned by the university. The dinner was ostensibly a welcoming gesture but had more to do with Chad Beecham’s work as a hedge fund manager. Property development never happened without a great deal of money, and networking with potential investors was essential to Whit’s job. Suzanne didn’t enjoy schmoozing, so Mia’s company served as compensation, giving Suzanne someone to talk to, at least in the kitchen. Malcolm helped grease the conversation. Because the Blakemores and the Stones were established friends, anyone invited into their company would be inclined to perceive the evening as less about business and more about friendship. Suzanne found such evenings tiresome but unavoidable and undemanding. All that was required of her was an hour of cooking and a few more of conversation, in which she took a back seat. Whit had insisted a cleaning service take care of the mess the next day, so Suzanne could hardly complain.
Mia leaned toward Steena Beecham. “Sorry if I missed this, but do you have children?”
Mia knew the Beechams had three, since she’d been discussing it with Suzanne earlier. Suzanne sipped her wine, noting that Mia’s edges were serrated this evening; she might not behave herself. Oh well. Her friend wasn’t under her control.
“Yes, three,” Steena said. “Four, six, and eight years old.”
“My, that’s very organized of you,” Mia said.
Steena was already into her next sentence. “Delightful ages, although we’ve never had a spot of trouble from any of them. Not once. Slept through the night by four months—all three!” She smiled and sat back, waiting for the praise due to her.
“You’ll have to share your secret,” Suzanne said.
Steena shook her head in humility.
Mia pounced. “Yes, do tell us how you do it. And once your kids discover hormones, drugs, and the opposite sex, come back and give us an update.” She offered Steena a smile of such honesty and goodwill, the woman wasn’t sure how to react. Mia was a successful lawyer and liked to practice on the unsuspecting. Suzanne found it both unsettling and amusing, but couldn’t blame her friend for being a bit testy around smug parents, considering the difficulties Mia had with her three children. The youngest, thirteen-year-old Meryl, was sassy and boy crazy. Zane, the eldest, had been an obstreperous and intractable child who turned into an obstreperous and intractable adult; he’d dropped out of college and out of their lives, shouting expletives and pointing fingers as he went. Alex, the middle child and Reid’s best friend, was a calm, sweet boy who had attempted suicide on New Year’s Eve. Well, he may have. As Mia put it, Alex was a mess whether the incident was labeled a recreational overdose or the result of existential despair. The therapist would figure it out, and she and Malcolm, who were to blame one way or another, would try not to make anything worse.
Suzanne herded the group into the dining room and served the meal. She always chose dishes that were neither elegant nor fussy, believing people were more relaxed, and therefore happier, when their food didn’t offer yet another challenge. Steena Beecham was hard to steer away from the topic of her children, but Suzanne discovered she enjoyed gardening as Suzanne did, or rather had, years ago, when she had time. Mia found common ground with Chad Beecham in discussing golf, the sport of power. She had a stealthy game equal to her legal one. Suzanne didn’t know where her friend found the energy for so much competition and positioning. Perhaps work—real work—gave her purpose, providing the fuel for Mia’s fire. Suzanne realized that she herself was more like Steena Beecham, dependent for her own growth on the light reflected from her children and their accomplishments. It should be enough; it was enough for many women. Then why did she increasingly feel like a spindly, yellowing houseplant leaning toward a distant window?
Whit caught her eye and nodded almost imperceptibly at his empty plate. Everyone had finished eating.
Suzanne pushed back her chair and placed her pointedly casual napkin beside her plate. “Let’s have coffee and dessert in the living room.”
CHAPTER 9
During dessert Whit watched Mia twiddle her fork with impatience as she chatted with the Beechams about weekend excursions from Charlottesville. He liked Mia, admired her intelligence and spunk, but he wouldn’t want to be married to her. She didn’t seem to take being married with children seriously enough, as if her own family’s problems were a step removed from her. Mia called it living her life, but Whit found it subversive. Still, he couldn’t blame Mia for being restless this evening. The Beechams were slow going once the topics of weather, children, and weekend activities had been exhausted.