going anywhere. Nick stared blankly at the magazines, warm with relief.
The trip home, up the hill, was longer, and Nick kept his distance, letting the coat stay several blocks ahead. He could probably spin off now, avoiding any risk of being seen, but he wanted to be sure. It was only when his father turned into the alley, back home, that he felt safe again. The sky was darkening for another snowfall, but he couldn’t go in yet. Not so soon. Instead he went around the block to the front and pretended to roll snow with the other kids for the big fort. When they started throwing snow, he was the first to get hit, because he hadn’t seen it coming. He was looking over the reporters’ hats toward the house, protective as a guard dog.
He ate dinner alone again, then went upstairs to watch his parents dress for the ball, his father in a tuxedo with jet cufflinks and shiny shoes, his mother in a tight shoulderless top and a long skirt that swooped out with stiff petticoats. The day was almost over and nothing had happened. Nick kept glancing at his father, wondering if he knew he’d been followed, but he seemed unaware, smoking and fixing his bow tie with some of his old spirit. His mother was wearing her good necklace, the one with the garnet pendant, and she was smiling in the mirror, so that Nick thought maybe their good luck had come back again. It had been like this a hundred times before, the warm busyness before a party, the air rich with powder and aftershave.
The telephone rang.
“Now what?” his mother said, annoyed. “We’ll be late.”
His father answered the phone and listened for a minute without saying a word. Then he put the receiver back gently, as if he were afraid of waking someone, and looked up at them, pale.
“I have to talk to your mother, Nick,” he said simply, and Nick knew that it had come, whatever it was. He glanced at his mother, but her eyes, anxious now, were fixed on his father.
“I’ll be there in a minute, honeybun,” his mother said absently, and Nick, dismissed, went out and closed the door. At first he could hear nothing, then a quiet undertone of voices, a moan. He had to know. He crept back to his room, then through the door of the connecting bathroom, the way he did to fool Nora, watching her vacuum. But now the spy game was real. The door to his parents’ bedroom was open just a crack, and at first he heard only conspiratorial whispers. Then their voices rose, his mother’s a kind of wail.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t,” his father said. “I couldn’t.”
“ Now?” his mother said, inexplicably.
“I didn’t know it would be tonight. I’m sorry.”
“No, I don’t believe any of it,” his mother said, and Nick could hear a cry beginning in her voice. “What about us? What about us, Walter?”
“I’m sorry,” his father said quietly. Then, more audibly, “Come with me.”
“Are you crazy?” his mother said. “You must be crazy. Everything-” She broke off, sobbing.
“Livia, please,” his father said.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, and Nick froze.
For a moment he heard nothing, but he didn’t dare push the door open. Then his father was talking, so quietly that Nick missed the next exchange.
He heard his mother take a quick few steps. “No, you can’t,” she said. “It’s all-Walter, this is crazy. You can’t-”
“Livia, I have to,” he said calmly. “Come with me.”
“Go to hell,” she said, almost spitting the words.
“Livia, please,” his father said.
Nick heard a new sound, then realized she was hitting his father’s chest. “Go,” she said. “Go.”
“Believe me, I never thought-”
“Never thought,” she said, her voice unfamiliar with scorn.
“Never. I love you.”
Now his mother was crying.
“I’ll call tomorrow. The way I said.”
“I don’t care,” his mother said faintly.
“Don’t say that.” Nick heard his father move toward the door, then stop. “You are so beautiful,” he said softly.
For a moment there was absolute silence. Then, “I hope you die,” his mother said.
Nick heard the door close. He rushed into the room and saw his mother sink onto the bed, her head drooping, as if the crying had made her limp. His stomach heaved. Once he had seen a man lying on the sidewalk downtown, people surrounding him and calling for an ambulance, and he’d felt this same fear, of life stopping before he could run away. Then he heard his father below, and he bolted from the room, clumping down the stairs and racing along the hall until, breathless, he caught him at the back door, his coat already on.
“Nick,” his father said, turning, dismayed.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go away, Nick,” he said, bending down to face him. “Im sorry.”
“I got rid of the shirt,” Nick said.
“You did?” he said, not understanding.
“Fifteen and a half, thirty-three. Like the lady said. I got rid of it. They’ll never find it. You don’t have to go.”
“Nicku,” his father said, holding him by the shoulders. Nick watched his father’s eyes fill with tears. “My God. I never meant any of this to happen to you. Not you. Do you believe me?”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I can’t explain. Not now. I wouldn’t know how.” His father got on one knee, his face level with Nick’s. “I’ll never leave you. Not really.” He paused. “Would you do something for me? Make sure your mother’s all right?”
Nick nodded, but what he heard was that his father was really going. Nothing would stop him now.
“Don’t go,” Nick said quietly.
“Could I have a hug? Would you do that?”
Nick put his arms around his father’s neck, smelling the smoke and aftershave.
“No, a real one,” his father said, clutching him, drawing him tighter and tighter, until Nick felt that he was suspended, without air, holding on for dear life. They stayed that way until Nick felt his father’s arms drop. When he finally let go, he looked at Nick and said, “Okay,” like the handshake of a deal.
He got up and went to the door.
“You need your rubbers,” Nick said, pointing to the shiny formal shoes.
His father gave him a weak half-smile. “It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” Then he opened the door and started down the stairs, leaving Nick to close it behind him.
Nick watched through the pane of the mud room door. His father didn’t go to the garage but headed across the courtyard to the alley. His shoes made holes in the snow, and even after he was out of sight, pausing only once at the corner to look back, Nick stared at the footprints, waiting for them to fill with new snow until finally every trace was gone.
Upstairs his mother was still crying, slumped over on the bed in her pretty dress like a stuffed doll. When she saw Nick, she opened her arms wordlessly and held him.
“Where did he go?” Nick said, but his mother didn’t answer, just sat rocking him back and forth, the way she did when he was hurt. Finally she wiped her eyes, reached back to undo the clasp of the garnet necklace, and let it fall slowly into her hand. She sat looking at it for a moment, then closed her hand over the bright red stone and got up to put it away with the rest of her things.
Chapter 2
The phone rang early the next morning, but Nick knew it wasn’t his father because his mother said, “No, I’m sorry, he’s not here,” and immediately hung up. When, a little later, it rang again, she didn’t answer but let it go on and on, shaking the quiet house until Nick thought the entire street must have heard. Then it stopped and she picked up the receiver, put it under her pillow, and went down to make coffee.
