The Glass Wives Read online

  “Kids are resilient,” Laney said, picking at the pilling on the front of her sweatpants.

  “When it comes to the twins, I think I’ve cashed in my resilient chips.”

  Evie had heard it a million times since the divorce—kids are resilient. Hers were proof. But you could stretch a rubber band only so many times before it snapped. Plus, she didn’t want to move. This was the home where she’d recalibrated her definition of family, accepting that she and Sam and Sophie were complete—not a unit with missing parts.

  “Your parents told us they’d consider moving here,” Beth said.

  The words tumbled in Evie’s heart. Her parents couldn’t live in Lakewood; they’d waited their whole lives to leave Wilmington and become full-time Floridians. But Evie wasn’t really thinking about them. She was thinking about herself and Sophie and Sam. What she wanted. What she wanted for her kids. Which was for things to remain as normal as possible. Maybe it was selfish to stay, rely on friends, grasping at ways to make the newest new life make sense. Maybe the best way for a new life was to leave the old one. Maybe she should move to Palm Aire so the kids could be near their grandparents. It might be nice with its sunshine and pools and shuffleboard tournaments. And of course there were those early-bird dinners. Yes, it would be nice—when she was eighty. Until then Evie would revel in deep snow and winters that lasted until June, a center-hall colonial with a red door and black shutters that needed a coat or six of paint. She wanted the backyard with the swing set no one used and the kitchen door that squeaked a familiar tune even with squirts of WD-40 that would make the Tin Man sing. She wanted the house where she’d memorized the cracks and crevices, where the twins had learned to walk, where she’d learned to stand on her own.

  The house where she’d learn that all over again.

  This old house in Lakewood, with its mud patches in the backyard, with its drafty, double-hung windows and dated pink-and-black-tiled bathrooms was hers, quitclaim deed included. She’d gotten it in the divorce, knowing the planned renovations would never happen. She didn’t care. It suited her in its simple, dated grandeur. It was best for her and the kids a few years ago, and it was better than best for them now.

  Unless she couldn’t pay the mortgage.

  Chapter 3

  FOR THE THIRD NIGHT IN a row, Sam and Sophie fell asleep watching a movie in the living room. The thought of rallying them into bed via a normal routine did not appeal to Evie. It was winter break in Lakewood. She knew their routines would be redesigned, but not just yet. Right now she existed just a little bit in denial. It was a safe and comfortable place.

  The phone rang. The kids didn’t budge—the blessing of exhaustion. Evie reached to answer without looking. It had to be Scott. She’d left messages for two days. He’d have some explaining to do. Who was she kidding? She’d just be glad to hear his voice.

  “Hey, handsome,” Evie whispered, cupping her hand around her mouth.

  “Evie, it’s Nicole.”

  Evie straightened and her cheeks grew hot.

  “I’m in your driveway.”

  “You’re where?”

  “I’m in your driveway.” Evie wasn’t deaf, just dumbfounded. “Can I come in? I was driving around and noticed the glow from your TV.”

  What were they? Sorority sisters? What made Nicole think a late-night chat—at Evie’s house—was good or even acceptable? What happened to old-fashioned, ill-timed, hastily composed e-mails strewn with typos? Was nothing sacred?

  Evie clicked the phone off. Mouth agape, she walked to the front door.

  There was Nicole, in all her inappropriate splendor—a pink, fuzzy robe that looked three sizes too big wrapped all the way under her arm. Her hands were tucked up into her sleeves and she hugged herself. Nicole looked like a swaddled newborn, secure with the wrapping, unsure what to do with arms, limbs, and emotions.

  “Who’s with Luca?”

  “He’s in the car, sleeping.”

  Evie pointed to the idling sedan. “You can’t leave a baby in a car. In December. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

  “Since you’re still awake, could we talk now? I’ll go get him.”

  Evie, bitch-slapped by Nicole’s gall, still didn’t want to fight. Not with Nicole. Not at ten-fifteen. Not while she was waiting for Scott to call. And not with the kids asleep in the next room.

  “Fine. Get the baby.”

  This better be good. Evie had had her fill of bad. And Scott would probably call any minute.

  Settled in the corner of the dining room, on Bubbe’s reupholstered wing chairs, as far away from the twins as they could get, Nicole leaned over and laid her hand on Evie’s leg, piercing a force field Evie had thought was impenetrable. She leaned over and scratched an imaginary itch in order to wiggle her leg back inside her armor.

  “We’re family now, right?” Nicole said.

  “Who?”

  “You, me, the twins, Luca … we’re a family.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Evie said, searching for tact. Her senses had been dulled by the memory of burnt bagels, pine-scented room deodorizer, and the throbbing reality of a dead ex-husband. This is what Nicole wanted to say?

  “Well, I have thought of it that way. I know Richard wouldn’t want me to take Luca away from them,” Nicole stage-whispered. “I wanted to brainstorm some ways we can make this easier. On all of us.”

  “Easier? I don’t think this is going to be easy no matter what we do.”

  “I know. That’s why we should help each other.”

  “We who?”

  “Us. You and me.”

  Evie and Nicole had never been an us. “And how would we do that?” Evie asked.

  “By spending more time together.”

  Does this ten o’clock visit count? “Well, sure, we can plan some playdates.”

  Nicole played with her fingers, as if she were counting. Or stalling. “I was thinking more than playdates.”

  Evie tapped her foot instead of slapping Nicole’s hands away from each other. “It’s late. I’m tired. Can you just spit it out already? What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Evie ignored Nicole’s opaqueness. “It’s still winter break, I’m sure we can figure out something.” Evie stood and inched her way to the door. “Maybe we can go downtown to the Children’s Museum one day next week.” An outing with Luca might be good for Sam and Sophie. A new memory to glue-stick into an empty scrapbook.

  “I guess I should go,” Nicole said.

  You shouldn’t have come.

  Nicole giant-stepped to Evie, leaned over, and hugged her with one arm, the other cradling Luca, still sleeping. Like a baby. “We’ll figure out the best thing for all of us,” Nicole said. “We have to. That’s the way Richard would want it.”

  Evie didn’t have to do anything, yet she hugged back spontaneously and patted Nicole’s back. The duet of compassion and indifference edged her toward kindness and then yanked her back. “Talk to you soon, I guess.” Evie didn’t know what else to say.

  * * *

  Evie climbed back onto the couch. Who knew the kids snored in unison? She wondered if it was a twin-thing or an exhaustion-thing or a grief-thing. Evie lifted her hair from her neck, pulled the blanket to her chin, and tucked it around and under her. Safe in an unlikely cocoon, she closed her heavy lids, but words scrolled inside as if she were reading from a teleprompter. Her ex-husband’s widow—the same woman whom Richard cheated on Evie with—wanted to spend more time with her. The idea was ominous. No, it was insane.

  Evie didn’t even know if she wanted Nicole to visit again—ever. She smiled at the premise. No Nicole. No Luca. No step-anything. No half-anything. How simple life would be. For Evie. Yet, she admitted to herself, how sad for Sam and Sophie. Evie’s thoughts deflated as her insides tumbled to and fro from a maternal tug-of-war. Her load would lighten without Nicole or Luca, yet Sam and Sophie would bear the weight. She couldn’t do that to her own children. Could
she?

  She nudged the kids off the couch and they sleepwalked to their rooms, Evie behind them. Ascending the stairs, Evie relented. The best way to heal the gaping wound in Sam’s and Sophie’s hearts was to keep Nicole and Luca in their lives, maybe every other weekend. Could Evie cope with a regular dinner date with Nicole and Luca? Weekend field trips? Birthday parties? Heading into the no-snore zone of her bedroom, Evie knew she would do anything for Sam and Sophie, but a woman had to have boundaries. Especially a woman with her very own widow making house calls.

  Evie reached for the wand of the miniblinds to block out the light from outside. Light from outside? At eleven-thirty?

  She had her very own widow, indeed. Still in the driveway.

  Evie backed away from the window and climbed into bed. About ten minutes later, when she heard a car drive away, Evie closed her eyes and primed for sleep. But future scenarios wound through her thoughts like a tapeworm. She tried to avoid them, but Nicole’s visit broke the dam. No more child support—the financial kind or the father kind or the every-other-weekend kind. How was she going to pay the mortgage? She’d ask for more hours at Third Coast. How would she spend time alone with Scott? Whether she wanted to work or to play, Evie would need to hire a babysitter. Do almost-eleven-year-olds need a babysitter?

  * * *

  Sam lay on his bed, nose to wall, atop the Star Wars comforter he was really too old for but begged Evie not to donate, trash, or hide in the attic. She obliged and just kept washing it.

  “Some of your friends are downstairs,” Evie said. She sat next to him without disturbing the muddle of pillows and floppy stuffed frog she didn’t want to throw away.

  “My friends?” Sam rolled toward her.

  “Your friends. Remember? It’s winter break. You invited them over this morning? To play video games?”

  He rubbed his eyes, lifted his head, and laid it on Evie’s knee. “Mom?” Sam stretched the syllable and his voice rose, adding an extra question mark at the end. Evie held her breath. Sam blinked and looked up at her, wide-eyed. His chest rose as he inhaled. “Do we have any bagels? I’m starved.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was all Evie could muster as she exhaled. The sickening instant of not knowing what came after “Mom?” drained the blood from her limbs. Relieved, Evie turned and looked around the room. Except for the bed, Sam’s room was tidy from Evie’s every-other-weekend cleaning extravaganzas. Her routine: The kids left for their dad weekends (first with just Richard, then with Richard and Nicole, and then with Richard, Nicole, and Luca), and Evie dusted, scrubbed, and straightened the twins’ rooms for thirty minutes. Each. She changed the sheets, rearranged the books, toys, trophies, and knickknacks so they could come home and start their week in peace, recover from the Disney-Dad effect, and ease into real life, the one without monorails, cotton candy, and pancakes for dinner. Now Evie looked at the dust-free shelves and searched the floor for dog hair tumbleweeds, marbles, or Pokémon cards—for any sign of Sam. But, no, she had transformed his boyhood sanctuary into a furniture-store model room. Evie didn’t ask Sam to straighten the bed, and for good measure she toppled the books on the desk before leaving. A tidy room was no longer a priority.

  She poked her head into Sophie’s room. No Sophie there. Evie checked the bathroom. Her pace quickened as she tiptoed down the hall. She was not in the mood for a missing child but couldn’t emit panic.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Evie said. Sophie was lying on the floor next to Evie’s bed with her long arms wrapped around Rex. “Your friend Isabel is downstairs waiting for you. I think she’s in the kitchen with Beth and Laney poking through boxes of cookies.”

  “’Kay.” Sophie stood and moved within an inch of Evie. “Where are you going to be?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” Or six.

  “Why not right now?”

  “I have to pee.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “I promise, Soph, I’ll be right down. Don’t leave Isabel with a roomful of grown-ups and boys!” Evie crossed her eyes.

  Sophie smiled and hugged her mom long and hard before letting go. “Comin’, Issy,” Sophie yelled. She turned and looked at Evie, who nodded slowly. Sophie breathed deep and left the room. Evie heard her daughter run down the steps and jump the last few and land with a thud.

  Evie did not want to go back downstairs into the death-and-cookie zone. She smoothed her bed, tightened the comforter around the corners, punched the pillows, and stepped back to admire the floral bedscape. She needed something in her life in order. But Evie knew the oasis was nothing more than a mirage. She stared a moment longer, then closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side—her wish-I-was-magic movement, akin to Samantha Stephens’s nose-twitching on Bewitched. The past week resembled a nightmare, and she wanted to open her eyes and have it all disappear.

  It was the opposite of what Evie had wanted when she woke up the morning after Richard proposed. She had skipped to the dresser, fingers crossed that the black velvet box with a ring was still inside the top right-hand dresser drawer. He chuckled at her from his side of the bed. She closed her eyes, shook her head, opened her eyes, and, yes: the box, the ring, the fiancé—it was all real.

  This time when Evie opened her eyes, she saw Rex gnawing on a rawhide bone.

  * * *

  “How did last night go?” Laney said, sitting on the arm of the recliner and sliding into its depth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? I mean Nicole pulled into your driveway at ten o’clock, that’s what I mean. And then after she left—she came back!”

  “Are you spying on me?”

  “I’m not spying on you, I was awake. Well, Herb was awake and he woke me. You should have called. I would have rescued you.”

  “I sleep through everything,” Beth said. “Was she okay?”

  “Was she okay?” Laney scrunched her eyebrows together. “There is nothing okay about showing up uninvited on someone’s doorstep.”

  “It was fine, no rescuing necessary. She just wanted to talk.”

  Laney squirmed.

  “She’s having such a hard time,” Beth said. “It was nice of you to talk to her.”

  Nice had nothing to do with it. “I’m not going to turn her away,” Evie said, although she wasn’t sure why that was true.

  “Why not?” Laney barked.

  “It’s called empathy,” Beth said without looking at her friends.

  “I don’t know what it’s called,” Evie said. “I just know that as much as I’d like to say it’s over, I know it’s not.”

  “Why do you have to go through losing Richard again—and with that woman?” Laney asked. “You’ve been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.”

  “It’s not about her, it’s about the kids. Right, Ev?” Beth asked, hopeful.

  “It’s about doing what feels right at any given moment.”

  “Even if it seems crazy?” Laney asked.

  Evie just nodded.

  * * *

  The alarm clock buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. Evie reached for the snooze button but her hand patted something cool, slick, open, round, and … wet. A coffee mug? She opened her eyes. She wasn’t in bed; she was on the couch, lodged in the corner, magazine open on her chest, drool on her chin. The best part about having friends like Beth and Laney was that Evie could ask them to leave without offending them. And she had. That noise again. It wasn’t her alarm clock. What was that noise and why wasn’t someone shutting it off? The doorbell! Evie waited for someone to skedaddle through the house on tiptoes not wanting to wake her. Who was she kidding? Beth and Laney had gone home, and the kids didn’t answer the door unless you screamed or they were expecting a pizza. The doorbell rang again, so she mindfully stretched, ran her fingers through her hair, and prepared to play hostess to whoever was bringing a bakery box of whatever deliciousness the person determined would get her on the good list. Evie wiped the midday sleep from her eyes and put on a tired but neighbor
ly smile.

  She peeked out the sidelight, rubbed her temples, counted to three, and opened the door.

  Luca, in his baby bucket, dangled on Nicole’s arm. Next to him was a tapestry suitcase. It stood straight like a proud, saluting soldier at the end of a long trail of squashed snow next to Nicole’s footprints. Evie wanted to turn and shut the door, pretend she hadn’t heard the doorbell.

  “You’re back?” Evie said, looking at the suitcase, at Nicole, at Luca, at the suitcase. The suitcase.

  “I figured you wanted to stay home today,” Nicole said, stepping into the house, baby and luggage in tow. “So I brought Luca here to see the twins.”

  “What’s in the suitcase?” Evie did not have time for mysteries or uninvited guests.

  “Some of Richard’s things. For the kids.”

  “It’s too soon,” Evie whispered, shaking her head and pushing the suitcase to the wall. “Take off your coat.” She motioned to Nicole to hurry and draped it over the suitcase handle.

  Sam and Sophie and their friends stampeded in from opposite sides of the house. The twins each took a side of the baby-seat handle without being told. Or asked. Nicole let go and the twins carried Luca between them, rocking him ever so slightly.

  “Oh, okay,” Evie said. “You guys take him into the living room. For a minute.”

  Evie whispered when the kids rounded the corner, “You can’t keep showing up at my door, Nicole.”

  “You said ‘talk to you soon.’”

  “I meant on the phone.” Actually she hadn’t meant it at all. “I guess you can come in for a few minutes, but next time, call first.”

  “Last night I called first.”

  Nicole untied an itchy-looking scarf from around her neck. Evie half-expected Nicole to push up her sleeves, ready to fight. Instead, Nicole poked up her eyebrows, her eyes ablaze with questions. “You said we’d have playdates.”

  “It’s just not a good time.”

  “If I had called, you’d have told me not to come.”

  “Then why did you?”

  Nicole touched Evie’s forearm, then drew back. “I had to get out of that house. It echoes.”