While we waited for Vivian to return, London and I went to the park, where we followed a nature trail that led to the golf course. Years ago, an Eagle Scout fulfilling his service project had mounted small plaques near various trees listing both their common and scientific names. At each of them, I read the information to London and would point out the bark or the leaves, pretending I knew far more than I did. She would repeat the words--Quercus virginiana or Eucalyptus viminalis--and even though I knew I'd forget pretty much everything by the time I returned to the car, while on the trail I felt a little smarter than usual.
But London stayed smart. Back home, I made sandwiches and while we were eating on the back porch, she pointed to a massive tree in the backyard. "That's a Carya ovata!" she exclaimed.
"That one?" I asked, not bothering to hide my amazement.
She nodded. "Shagbark hickory."
"How do you know?"
"Because you showed me," she said, gazing up at me. "Remember?"
Not even slightly, I thought. To me, it had reverted to being a tree. "I think you're right."
"I am right."
"I trust you."
She took a drink of milk. "When's Mommy getting home?"
I checked my watch. "Pretty soon."
"And then we're going to Nana and Papa's?"
"That's the plan."
"I want to bake today. Cupcakes again."
"I'm sure Nana will love that."
"Will Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz be there?"
"I hope so."
"Okay. I'd better bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. I'm sure they'll want to say hi."
"I'm sure."
She chewed her sandwich. "Hey Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad I get to stay with you."
"What do you mean?"
"Mommy told me that I'm not going to day care. She said you could work and take care of me at the same time."
"She did?"
She nodded. "She told me this morning."
"She's right, but you might have to be in the car with me while I get my stuff done."
"Can I bring my Barbies? Or Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles?"
"Of course," I said.
"Okay. It'll still be fun then."
I smiled. "I'm glad."
"When you were little, did you go to day care?"
"No. Auntie Marge watched me."
"And Auntie Liz?"
"No. Auntie Liz wasn't around yet."
"Oh," she said. She took another couple of bites of her sandwich, her head turning from side to side as if taking in the world one sense at a time. I watched her, thinking about how beautiful she was, not caring whether I was biased at all.
"Daddy! There's a giant bird in the tree!" she cried. When she pointed, I spotted the bird. It was chocolate brown with white head feathers glowing in the sunlight. As I stared, it spread its wings before tucking them back in.
"That's a bald eagle," I told her in amazement. In all the years I'd lived in Charlotte, I'd only seen one twice. I was struck by a sense of wonder, a recurring theme during our weeks together. Staring at my daughter, I suddenly understood how much had changed between London and me. Because I'd become comfortable in my role as the primary caregiver, London had become more comfortable with me, and all at once, the thought of being separated from her for hours on end once school began made my heart ache in a way I hadn't expected. That I loved London had never been in question; what I now understood was that I liked her, too, not only as my daughter, but as the young girl I'd only recently come to know.
It might have been that thought, or maybe it had something to do with how the week had gone, but whatever the reason, I felt unusually tranquil, almost entirely at peace. I'd been down and now I was heading back up, and though I acknowledged that the feeling might be a fleeting one--I was old enough to know that much--it was as real as the sun. Watching London's rapt expression as she stared at the eagle, I wondered if she would remember this experience, or if she knew how I felt about our newfound closeness. But it didn't really matter. It was enough to feel it myself and by the time the eagle flew away, I held on to the image, knowing it would stay with me forever.
CHAPTER 12
Bad Weather on the Horizon
In February 2004--I'd been out of college for almost two years, and had been seeing Emily almost as long--I went to visit my parents on the weekend. Already, the habit of seeing them had been firmly established by then. Normally, Emily would join me, but for reasons lost to time, she couldn't make it that weekend and I was on my own.
When I arrived, my dad was working on my mom's car, not the Mustang. His head was under the hood and I saw that he was adding a quart of oil.
"Glad to see you're taking care of your better half's car," I said, half joking, to which my dad nodded.
"Have to. Gonna snow this week. I already have the winter survival kit in the backseat. I wouldn't want your mom to have to get it out of the trunk in case she gets stuck on the roads."
"It's not going to snow," I said. The temperature was already springlike; I was wearing a T-shirt and had actually debated wearing shorts to their house.
He squinted at me from under the hood. "Have you been watching the weather?"
"I heard something about it on the radio, but you know weather guys. They're wrong more often than they're right."
"My knees say it's going to snow, too."
"It's almost seventy degrees!"
"Suit yourself. I'm going to need some help wrapping the pipes after I finish up here. You'll be around to pitch in like the old days?"
My dad, I should say, had always been that type of guy. If a hurricane was expected to hit the Carolina coast, my dad would spend days clearing debris from the yard, moving things to the garage, and closing up the shutters, despite the fact Charlotte was nearly two hundred miles from the coast. "You weren't around when Hugo hit in 1989," he would tell Marge and me. "Charlotte might as well have been Dorothy's farmhouse. Whole city practically blew away."
"Yeah, I'll be here," I said to him. "But you're wasting your time. It's not going to snow."
I went inside and visited with my mom for a while; when my father came in and motioned toward me an hour later, I knew what he expected. I helped without complaint, but even when I watched him start to work on his own car, I didn't take his cautions to heart. And even if I had, I wouldn't have had the slightest idea what might be included in a winter-survival kit. That's what I told myself later, anyway, but the real reason I wasn't ready for what came next was that, at that age, I thought I was smarter than he was.
As late as Tuesday afternoon, the temperature was still inching toward sixty degrees; on Wednesday, despite the clouds rolling in, the temperature nearly hit fifty and I'd forgotten completely about my dad's warning. On Thursday, however, the storm smashed into Charlotte with a fury: It began to snow, lightly at first, and then more heavily. By the time I was driving to work, the snow was accumulating on the highways. Schools were closed for the day, and only half the people made it to the agency. The snow continued to fall, and when I left work in midafternoon, the roads were nearly impassable. Hundreds of motorists ended up skidding off the highway, myself included, amidst a snowfall of more than a foot in a city with only a few snowplows available. By nightfall, the city of Charlotte had come to a standstill.
It took nearly five hours for a tow truck to arrive and pull me out. Though I wasn't in danger--I'd brought a jacket, had half a tank of gas and my heater was working--I kept thinking about the differences between my dad and me.
While I blithely hoped for the best, my dad was the kind of guy who always expected and prepared for the worst.
August brought with it sweltering temperatures and high humidity broken by the occasional afternoon thunderstorm, but the weeks leading up to London's first day of school felt entirely different than the previous weeks, if only because I was actually earning an income.
Despite being scheduled every single minute of the day, I
felt less stressed than I had since starting my business. I worked with the tech guy for everything tech related, scouted locations and got the releases I needed, talked with the head of the film and sound crews, picked up the permits, talked to an agent at the local casting agency, signed a contract for the billboards, and locked in a great deal for television advertising. All that in addition to finalizing the rehearsal and shooting schedule for the first two commercials and overseeing the casting session for the third commercial, all of which would take place the same week London began school.
Despite those things, I still got London to and from her activities, went bike riding, received a million hugs and kisses, and even got her piano and art classes rescheduled once school began. Tennis camp came to an end right around the time we attended an open house at the school, where London had a chance to meet her new teacher. There, she learned that Bodhi would also be in her class, and I was able to visit with Emily for a minute. Since her ex had been in town, her schedule had been unpredictable and I hadn't seen her much since our playdate. I introduced her to Vivian--my wife's demeanor could best be described as distant, but with a warning--and understood that I better keep such visits with Emily to a minimum or there were going to be problems.
Vivian spent two or three nights a week in Atlanta, and when at home, she continued to blow warm and cool. That was better than the hot and cold I'd been experiencing, but the excitement of the date night toward the end of July wasn't repeated, and the endlessly shifting temperature of my wife's moods left me both excited and nervous about seeing her whenever the SUV pulled up in the drive.
If there was any other change to my routine during that period, it had to do with exercise. The day after I'd really looked at myself in the mirror, I took Marge's advice and on the first Monday of the month, I set the alarm forty minutes earlier. I donned a pair of running shorts and commenced a slow trudge through the neighborhood, one in which I was passed by every jogging mother, two of whom were also pushing strollers. Years ago, I'd been able to jog five or six miles and feel refreshed when I finished: after a mile and a half on day one of my new regime, I practically collapsed on the front porch rocker. It took me more than an hour to feel like myself again. Nonetheless, I did it the following morning, and the morning after that, a streak that hasn't been broken. By the second week of August, I added push-ups and sit-ups to my routine, and my pants became steadily looser as the month wore on.
London had improved enough on her bike to allow me to ride beside her, and on the day after the open house at school, we traversed the neighborhood together, even racing for an entire block. I let her win, of course. After stowing our bikes back in the garage, I gave her a high-five, and we ended up drinking lemonade on the back porch, hoping to see another bald eagle while the sun began its descent.
But even though we didn't, I suspected I'd long remember that day, if only because it, too, was perfect in its own way.
"Don't you think she already has enough clothes for school?" I asked Vivian. It was the Saturday before school was supposed to start, and because Vivian had arrived home late from Atlanta the night before, we'd agreed to put off date night until tonight.
"I'm not getting clothes," Vivian said as she finished dressing in the bathroom. She'd already been to yoga and the gym, and had showered; it was one of those mornings of frantic activity for her. "I'm getting school supplies. Backpack, pencils, erasers, and some other things. Did you even check the school website?"
I hadn't. In all frankness, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I had, however, received and paid the bill for the first semester tuition, which put another dent in the savings.
"I thought we were going to Mom and Dad's."
"We are," Vivian answered. "This isn't going to take that long. Why don't you head over and we'll meet you there?"
"Sounds good," I said. "Are you in Atlanta again this week?"
It was a question I'd begun to ask regularly.
"I leave Wednesday and there's a dinner on Friday night that I can't miss, but we're flying back afterward. I really hate that I'm missing most of London's first week at school."
"There's no way you can get out of it?"
"No," she said. "I wish I could, but I can't. Do you think she'll be mad at me?"
"If you were missing her first day, it might be different, but she'll be okay." I wasn't completely certain about that, but I knew it was what Vivian wanted to hear.
"I hope you're right."
"Speaking of school," I went on, "the tuition bill arrived and I've been meaning to ask you about your paychecks."
"What about my paychecks?"
"Have you received any yet?"
She slung her purse over her shoulder. "Of course I've received my paychecks. I don't work for free."
"I haven't seen any deposits into our checking or savings account."
"I opened another account," she said.
I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. "Another account? Why?"
"It just seemed simpler. So we could keep track of our budget and your business expenses."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Don't make this into a bigger deal than it is."
But it IS a big deal, I thought, still trying to make sense of it. "Our savings account is getting a little low," I said.
"I'll take care of it, okay?" She leaned in and offered a quick kiss. "But let me get going with London so we can get to your parents' at a decent time, okay?"
"Yeah," I said, wondering if my wife had wanted to make my head spin. "Okay."
"That definitely falls into the that's-very-interesting category," Marge opined.
"I just don't know why she didn't even mention it."
"Hello? That's pretty easy. It was because she didn't want you to know."
"How was I not going to know? I'm the one who writes the checks."
"Oh, she knew you'd find out. Eventually. And that when you did, you'd sit back trying to figure it out."
"Why would she want to do that?"
"Because that's what she does. She likes to keep you guessing. She's always been that way."
"No, she hasn't," I said.
"Liz?" Marge asked.
"I'd rather not get involved," Liz said, holding up a hand. "I'm off the clock. Now, if you'd like to know a wonderful Italian marinara recipe, or if you have some insights into safaris, count me in."
"I appreciate that, Liz. I've heard Botswana has some fabulous safaris."
"I would love to go one day. That's my dream trip."
"Can we get back on topic please?" Marge said. "We have something very interesting going on."
"Rhinos are interesting," I said. "Elephants, too."
Liz put a hand on Marge's knee. "We really should try to schedule a safari in the next couple of years. Don't you think that would be fabulous?"
"I don't like when you take his side when he tries to change the subject."
"He didn't just try. I think he did a pretty good job. I saw an advertisement for a place called Camp Mombo. It looked amazing."
"I think you should definitely try to find a way to go," I said. "It's one of those once-in-a-lifetime things."
"Would both of you please return to the subject at hand?"
Liz giggled at Marge's obvious frustration. "Every couple has their own style of communication and they often speak in shorthand. Unless I know the subtext, I wouldn't know what to think about it."
"See?" Marge offered. "She agrees with me that it's fishy."
"No, she didn't. She didn't say anything."
"That's just because you couldn't read her subtext."
"Seriously," I said to Liz later, "why do you think Vivian didn't tell me that she'd opened another bank account? I know you're off the clock, but I'd really like to understand what's going on."
"I'm not sure I can tell you what's going on. My guess would be as good as yours."
"But if you had to guess?"
She seemed to think about what to say. "The
n I'd say that it was just like she said and that it was no big deal. Maybe she simply wants her own account so she can see exactly how much she's contributing and it makes her feel better about herself."
I thought about that. "Have you had clients who've done things like this? Other wives?"
Liz nodded. "A few times."
"And?"
"Like I said, it can mean different things."
"I know you're trying to be diplomatic here, but I'm at a loss. Is there anything you can tell me?"
Liz took her time before answering. "If there's one common thread that underlies situations like these, it's generally anger."
"You think Vivian's angry with me?"
"I don't spend a lot of time with Vivian, and when I do, it's usually when we're here with the whole family. There's only so much one can learn in a setting like this. But when people are angry, they often behave in ways that are dictated by that emotion. They can do things they ordinarily wouldn't do."
"Like open a secret bank account?"
"It's not secret, Russ. She told you about it."
"So she's... not angry?"
"I think," she said, "that you'd be in a better position to answer that than I am."
Another hour passed, and there was still no sign of Vivian or London. Marge and Liz had gone for a walk around the block while Dad had settled in front of the television to watch a ball game. I found my mom in the kitchen, dicing potatoes as a large pot of stew simmered on the stovetop, the aroma already tantalizing. She wore a bright orange apron that I vaguely remembered buying for her.
"There you are," she said. "I was wondering when you'd finally get around to visiting with your old mom."
"Sorry," I said, leaning in to give her a hug. "I didn't mean to offend."
"Oh, hush. I was kidding. How are you? You look like you've lost weight."
I liked that she'd noticed. "Maybe a little."
"Are you eating enough?"
"I've started jogging again."
"Yuck," she said. "I don't understand how anyone can like jogging."
"What are you making? It smells great in here."
"It's a French country stew. Joanne gave me the recipe and I thought I'd give it a try."
"Liz probably has a great recipe."