“Well,” he said, “they should work something out. It’s not fair to Patsy or to Annali, this arrangement.”
“Patsy doesn’t want anything that looks like a conventional marriage. Frankly, I don’t entirely understand it. Our parents had a great marriage. But . . . I don’t know. It just freaks her out, for some reason. Or it used to, before Jacob, anyway.”
They pulled up in front of the beach house, just ahead of Patsy and Annali, who came roaring up in Patsy’s old Honda, pulling behind it the U-Haul trailer. Patsy hopped out, full of happy smiles. She wore a polka-dotted chiffon scarf over her hair and big sunglasses, and laughed while she ran up the steps to the house. Pru found it impossible to join in her enthusiasm. She unbuckled Annali from the backseat of the car, then gathered her up in her arms. Oh, how she’d been missing that warmth, those tight arms around her neck! Annali was in one of her self-made outfits: leotard and tights, ladybug rain boots, and a shiny red Wonder Woman cape. It would have been twenty degrees cooler, in Ohio, where she’d gotten dressed. Pru admired her cape and thought, Only a mother like Patsy would let her go out like that in the middle of November.
All afternoon, while they unpacked, Pru watched her sister’s every move. Patsy seemed perfectly unfazed that Jacob was not showing up, or giving any sign at all that he would show up. Pru did catch her checking her cell phone several times, but she never seemed in the least bit dissatisfied. John and Pru, passing on the stairs, exchanged an uneasy look.
“This is just so weird,” Pru said, under her breath.
They got the queen-size mattress and box spring up the rickety stairs, two dressers, and carton after carton of clothes, books, teaching materials, and toys. Although it was a cool day, they were all bathed in sweat. At three o’clock, when it was time to go, Pru tried to persuade Patsy to let her stay and help get them settled. But Patsy, who was seized with the notion that Pru and John should be alone together, absolutely refused.
“Get out of here,” she said, as if they were a couple of kids, and she the old married lady. “Go have your fun. We’ll be so close now, we’ll see each other all the time!”
When they were in the van and heading south, John said, “So, what’s the deal with this guy? Jacob? You think he’s cutting out on them?”
“I’m almost positive.” She repeated what Jacob had said in the car, about “explaining it” to Annali.
He frowned. “It doesn’t sound good. What did Patsy say?”
Pru shook her head. “She didn’t take it seriously.”
“Maybe you should try again?”
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “Would you have listened, if someone had told you that your marriage was in trouble? Is that the kind of thing that can come from anyone else?”
“I guess not.” He quickly sank into silence. Pru had seen this from him before, this sudden mood change, usually at the mention of his marriage. One minute he would be attentive and animated and she would start to have hopes. The next, a sad look came into his eyes, he looked a million miles away, and nothing she said could shake him out of it. She turned and watched the passing scenery out of her window.
She felt very irritated with John Owen. What did he want from her? What was he doing with her, what were they doing with each other? What about his girlfriend and his not-yet ex-wife? In-betweenness, how she hated it. She wanted to be at home now, with Whoop, who was probably thinking that she had finally abandoned him, too.
They pulled onto New York Avenue, a major thoroughfare made narrow on both sides with construction blocks and orange cones. It was an ugly strip, banked by cheap motels, and peopled by the usual transient window-washers who approached with their squeegees as soon as the car slowed. Pru hated this entry to the city. You just couldn’t believe the road could possibly lead to anything worthwhile.
Pru said, “Hey, I’m sorry, if I said the wrong thing, there.” She’d tried, but there was nothing friendly in her tone.
“That’s all right,” he said, just as flatly. “It’s not your fault.”
WHEN SHE GOT HOME, BEFORE SHE EVEN TOOK OFF HER coat, she sat down on the couch, and dialed the number for the beach house. Her head was still buzzing from the six hours’ round trip she’d spent in John’s van.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she said, when Patsy picked up. “But at least tell me why you’re not freaking out about Jacob. I care about you, and I care about Annali, and I don’t understand what you’re doing here. I mean,” she said helplessly, “I’m glad you’re nearby. I really am. But I don’t understand you and Jacob. I just don’t understand what’s going on. Patsy, what’s going on?”
Patsy was silent a moment. Then she said, “It’s not what you think.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I don’t want to tell you. I know how you’ll react.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll get all judgmental.”
The word made her stiffen. Patsy could always stop her dead in her tracks with that word. Anything she didn’t want to hear was instantly “judgmental,” and Pru could never think of a rebuttal. She was discerning, not judgmental. There was a difference. Wasn’t there?
“It’s just that, well, Jacob’s wife must have come back from wherever she was. He told me it might be harder to get together.” She paused. “Don’t say anything,” she said.
Pru didn’t say anything. She was surprised, but not surprised. Jacob had a
