The Paper Palace(22)

“His ex-wife wants him dead,” my mother says to a friend over the kitchen phone. “If it were up to her, Leo would never see his children again.” She lowers her voice. “Frankly, I’m with her, but don’t you dare repeat that. They aren’t very likable children. Though I suppose very few people actually like other people’s children. Leo says the boy hates to get in the water, so being on the pond with him in this infernal heat is bound to be an absolute nightmare. Let’s just hope he bathes.”

She has told us to be on our best behavior.

In the center of the pond where the water is deepest, forests of bladderwort grow up from the bottom. The fish like to hide here. I flip onto my stomach and peer over the edge of the raft. The patch of shade I cast creates a lens that allows me to see everything beneath me in focus. A school of minnows moves through lily pad stems and rotting grasses with swift, jerky motions. A painted turtle swims slowly through the dull green toward the surface. Far below it, a sunfish guards its nest with a vigilant, lazy waft. I lean forward and put my face into the water, open my eyes. The world becomes a soft blur. I lie like this for as long as my lungs can take it, listening to the sounds of the air. If I could breathe underwater, I would stay here forever.

Across the pond, I hear the slam of a car door, Leo’s booming laughter. They are here.

12:35 P.M.

Jonas is leaning back on his elbows, his black hair slicked like an oily duck. A thin white cotton shirt clings to his shoulders. A spark of sunlight glints off his wedding ring. He doesn’t turn as we approach. I wonder if it’s because he can’t face me now, face what we have done. Or maybe wanting me all those years was the point, and now I’m just someone he fucked and has to deal with. Or maybe he, too, wants to avoid this moment of acknowledgment—keep his old life alive for one moment longer, before everything changes. Because, either way, it will.

Peter sits down right next to him, points to something on the horizon. Jonas leans in to answer. Dizzying ripples of heat rise off the sand.

“Hey!” Gina shouts, eyes narrowed, and starts coming at me across the sand. I stare at her pierced belly button as it comes in and out of sight beneath her tankini top. Finn and Maddy have spread out their towels nearby and are spraying each other with sun block.

Jonas hasn’t turned, but I think I see his forearms tense ever so slightly.

I glance over at the kids; a rising dread.

“Seriously, Elle?” Gina says, squaring off with me.

“Mom,” Finn calls out, “I need you to tighten my goggles.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Whatever you have to say, I think, please say it quietly.

“We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour. The sandwiches are gonna be totally soggy.”

I will my voice to keep its cool, stay level, sure my face is betraying me. Under the pile of towels I’m carrying, my hands are shaking. “I’m so sorry. We should have called. I had a stupid fight with Jack this morning and it spiraled. Let me just put these towels down. I’ll run to the market and get fresh sandwiches.”

Gina looks at me as though I’ve gone nuts. “Um, earth to Elle? I’m kidding! I can’t believe you honestly thought I’d be pissed off about the sandwiches.” She laughs, but for a millisecond a strange expression flashes across her face, and I wonder if she has felt my intestines unfurling.

“Of course not.” I force a laugh. “I’m losing it. It’s either the Ambien or perimenopause.”

Gina puts her arm through mine, drags me over to the others. “I’m just glad you got here. Jonas is refusing to come into the water. Is this the most beauteous day, or what?”

“It’s too hot.”

“I swear to Christ, I will never understand you Back Woods people. You have the perfect life in the most gorgeous place on the planet and all you can say is ‘It’s too hot.’ Jonas was like pulling teeth this morning. Swim time,” Gina calls out to Finn and Maddy. “Last one in, cutie pies. It’s time to boogie.” She gives a little booty shake. Maddy looks over at me with an expression of pure horror, but they follow her down to the water, racing to dive in headfirst.

“Hey, missus,” Peter calls over to me. “Toss me that water jug, will you? I’m dying of thirst over here.”

I take aim and throw the thermos at him. It slaloms through the air and lands perfectly upright at his feet.

“Nice,” Peter says.

Jonas turns then. Looks directly at me. He stands up and brushes the sand off his palms, walks toward me, arms outstretched, grabs the stack of towels I’m carrying, leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

“Hi,” I say softly. I can’t bear it. It is too much to bear. “I missed you, too.”

He runs the tip of his finger down my arm and I shudder.

“Who’s going in?” Peter calls over to us. “It’s bloody broiling.”





1977. February, New York.


Fifth grade. A snow day. Anna and I are staying with her godfather Dixon for the week. Dad and Joanne are living in London—he has been transferred for work—and Mum and Leo have gone to Detroit for a gig. They are getting married in May. Dixon is Mum’s “cool” friend. Everyone loves Dixon. He has long dirty-blond hair in a ponytail and drives a pickup truck. He knows Carly Simon. Mum says he doesn’t need to work. They’ve been best friends since they were two years old; otherwise I don’t think he would even speak to her. They went to preschool together and spent summers together in the Back Woods, skinny-dipping and digging for quahogs and littlenecks in the muck when the tide was out. “Even though I hated shellfish,” Mum says. “But Dixon has a way of making you do things.” A long time ago, Anna asked Mum why she hadn’t married Dixon. “Because he’s a rake,” Mum had said. And I thought of leaves.