In a way, Eva was lucky. She and the others were caught smoking pot in the forested area behind the school, but since no drugs were found in Eva's locker, she's not being charged with anything. She has, however, been expelled. The school has a zero tolerance policy, and--despite my impassioned entreaties--apparently zero tolerance means exactly that. So here she is, expelled from two schools in as many years.
As we pull into our drive, I catch sight of Joan's car in the parking lot by the stable. Thank God for that--at least Eva hasn't also cost us an afternoon's revenue.
I see the kitchen curtain fall, and the door opens before we reach it. Mutti stands aside as I enter. Eva follows me--slinking, disgraced, and yet somehow radiating anger, as if this were someone else's fault.
"What happened? What's going on?" cries Mutti, closing the door and hovering.
I throw my purse on the table. It slides across and onto the floor, scattering its contents everywhere. A coin skids across the linoleum, spinning. I stand utterly still, blinking at it. Then I turn to Eva.
"Give me your backpack," I say quietly.
"What?" she says. Her eyes widen. She takes a step backward.
"Give it to me."
Her fingers tighten around its pink vinyl strap. I lunge forward and rip it from her shoulder.
"Mom! Stop it! Give it back!" she screams.
I whirl around--first this way, then that--switching direction as necessary to avoid Eva, who leaps around me, snatching at it.
I clutch the backpack to my chest, fumbling with the zippers that meet in the middle, still doing my dervish dance.
"Mom!" Eva is desperate, shrieking. "Give it back! You can't do that!"
One side unzips and I tear the other open, removing most of a fingernail in the process. Then I dump its contents, which hit the floor with a splat--three textbooks that land with their pages mashed; a binder that explodes, sending lined paper and colored class schedules flying; a hairbrush, a compact, a plastic tampon container--and finally, a foil-wrapped condom.
All motion ceases. In the background, a single drop of water hits the bottom of the sink.
I lift my face to Eva's.
She stares at me, her rib cage heaving, her face growing redder and redder. "I hate you!" she screams. She turns and runs from the room.
"Eva! Get back here!" My voice is raw, catching in my throat. "Eva!"
She stomps up the stairs. A door slams.
I turn to Mutti. She is pale, staring at the condom on the floor with the fingers of one hand pressed to her throat and her other arm wrapped around her chest. She is trembling.
Mutti and I are still on our hands and knees, collecting the things from Eva's backpack and my purse, when we hear gravel crunching under tires. We look up at the same moment, locking eyes.
Above us, a door opens, and Eva's footsteps thump down the stairs. She crosses the floor between us and grabs her jacket.
"Eva! Don't you dare leave! Eva!" I shout, lunging for her ankle. "Where do you think you're--"
The door bangs shut behind her. A car door slams, a motor guns, and then there is silence.
I am left on my knees in the middle of the kitchen floor, one hand reaching for my absent daughter, the other perched on a condom's foil packaging.
After a stunned pause, I open my mouth and wail, a low moan that rises and ripens into a howl.
There's the muffled thumping of knees on floor, and a moment later Mutti wraps her arms around me from above.
Mutti installs me in one of the deep winged chairs in the living room, hands me a Jagermeister, and kneels down to light a fire. Harriet sits beside her, sniffing suspiciously.
I watch Mutti's slim back as she fusses with the kindling, alternately staunching my leaky nose with the edge of my sleeve and sipping my drink. I'm not all that fond of Jagermeister anymore--I've become more of a chardonnay girl--but when Mutti hands me a glass, it's a friendly gesture. At this point, I'm just grateful for its effect. As its warmth spreads through me, I pull my knees up onto the chair and allow myself to sink into its velvety embrace.
When the fire is crackling and licking its lazy way up the logs, Mutti puts the poker on the hearth, wipes her hands, and rises. Then she takes a seat in the chair opposite me. Harriet follows, slumping down on Mutti's feet. I stare into her deep brown eyes, beaming guilt signals, hoping she'll come to me, but Harriet is oblivious. She heaves a sigh and closes her eyes, shifting to a more comfortable position.
"Well, it could be worse," says Mutti, reaching for her glass.
"How?"
"She wasn't arrested."
"Well, yes," I sigh.
"And at least she's using protection."
"Mutti!"
"Would you prefer she weren't?"
"I'd prefer she weren't doing it at all!"
"Well, of course."
"She's probably doing it at this very moment," I say miserably.
"She can't have been doing it for long."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because this Eric is a new development. I heard her talking quite happily to Luis last week. And we know she wasn't sleeping with Luis because he lives in Henniker."
"Oh, great. So she's been seeing this Eric creep for a week and she's already sleeping with him?"
Mutti stares at me, tapping her lips with her finger.
"What?" I say irritably.
"Are you going to tell Roger?"
"About what? The pot or the condoms?"
"Yes," she says simply.
I drain my glass in a single gulp.
Mutti rises instantly and refills it from a cut glass decanter.
"I can't tell him," I say. "If I tell him, he'll want her to come live with him."
"And is that such a bad idea?" she says, topping up her own glass before heading back to the side table.
"Yes! It's a horrible idea."
"Why?"
"Because I can't stand the thought of her living away from me. It's the whole reason I never called Nathalie Jenkins back."
Mutti freezes, the decanter suspended an inch above the table's surface. "What?"
I stare at her, but what can I do? The words are already out there.
"What did you just say?" Mutti says.
I look guiltily into the fire.
"Did you just say Nathalie Jenkins called you?" Mutti sets the decanter down and turns so she's staring at me full on. She puts both hands on her hips. "Annemarie!"
"What?" I say.
"Why? What was she calling about?"
I sigh and turn back to her. "About Eva potentially coming to train with her. She watched Eva ride in Canterbury and was impressed. She wanted her to come try out."
"And you didn't call her back?" she says, her voice incredulous.
I shake my head, utterly miserable, two inches tall.
"Annemarie Costanze Zimmer! She is a three-time Olympic medalist! Why didn't you call her back?"
Mutti watches me for a moment, and then leans back in her chair. "Annemarie. You must listen to me. This is a godsend. It solves everything--the horse, the boy, school, everything!"
"I suppose so," I say.
"Then why in heaven's name do you sound glum?"
"Because she's the only child I'm ever going to have, and I'm not finished being her mother."
"Oh, Schatzlein. You will not stop being her mother. Look at us--you are forty and still living with me."
"I'm not forty! I'm thirty-nine!"
"Pssh!" says Mutti, waving her hand.
"And besides, I lived away from home for twenty years before I came back." I feel a bit petty for having to point that out, but it's an important distinction. Otherwise I'm just a forty-year-old loser who never left home.
Mutti leans forward, seeking my eyes. "Do you think it was easy for me to let you go train with Marjory?"
I frown. Strangely, this had not occurred to me. I had seen Eva's potential experience as a parallel of mine, but I had not looked at it from the other direction.
"It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do," Mutti continues.
"Really?"
"Of course! You wanted so badly to go. You couldn't get out of here fast enough."
"That wasn't because of you, Mutti. Pappa was making me miserable."
"I was so hurt," she continues. "And think of how your father felt. It was hard for him, too--to admit that she was the better trainer and that you belonged there rather than here? But he did. He knew what was best for you and he worked hard to persuade me, because I did not want you to go. I was absolutely sure that Marjory would take my place in your life. And of course she did not."
I stare at her in amazement.
She's right. I loved Marjory. I loved living with her, loved training with her, loved everything about that period in my life until the accident ended it all; but despite this, I haven't been in contact with Marjory in almost eighteen years. Instead, I'm sitting in my mother's living room.
"Schatzlein, Eva is in serious trouble."
"I know that. Believe me."
"The best thing we can do is remove her from the situation. You say you don't want her to go live with Roger. Fine. I understand. It's too far away. But Nathalie--she works out of where? Columbia?"
"Yes," I say staring at my lap.
"That's an hour away at most. Please, please, for God's sake, call her back."
"I will, Mutti."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes." I look up and find her scrutinizing me. "I will, Mutti. Things are different than they were when she first called."
Mutti nods deeply, agreeing with me so vehemently her drink sloshes from side to side in her glass. "It is the right thing. And absolutely, without question the best boy repellent in the world. This will save her. You will see."
"Unless she breaks her neck."
"Annemarie!" snaps Mutti.
"All right, all right, I'm sorry," I say, draining my glass for the second time.
This time, Mutti doesn't refill it.
Eva returns at just past eleven. She walks in the back door, peels off her jacket, hangs it up, and goes straight upstairs. Mutti and I exchange glances and immediately go over to the row of coat hooks.
I lift a sleeve and press my nose against it. "Just tobacco. Thank God."
Mutti sniffs the air at various points around the jacket.
"Yes. Cigarettes," she nods. She delves into Eva's left outside pocket and comes out with a fistful of stuff. She opens her palm and examines it--two peppermints, various coins, and a crumpled piece of paper, which she carefully unfolds.
"A movie receipt. From tonight. So."
"Well, thank God for that," I reply, up to my wrist in Eva's right outside pocket.
The phone rings.
"I'll get it," I say.
Mutti shrugs and stuffs everything back in Eva's pocket. "Okay. Now that everybody's accounted for, I'm turning in."
"Good night, Mutti."
She pads off into the hallway. Harriet, who is doing her dead-dog routine--lying flat on her back with her belly exposed--lifts her head, considers following, and then decides against it. As she plops her head back down, gravity pulls her lips away from her teeth in what looks like an upside down snarl. Her whole body shudders in a mighty sigh.
"Oh, good girl!" I croon, giving her a quick caress as I pass. "You do love me, don't you?"
I grab the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey, sexy lady."
"Dan!" I squeal. "Where are you? Are you home yet?" I press the phone closer to my ear, listening for clues. There's a bit of crackle, so he's on his cell phone, but I don't hear any traffic noises in the background. That's a good sign.
"I'm not, no."
"Oh, Dan," I say. My jaw begins to quiver. I'm in serious danger of melting down right here and now--he's been gone so much, and I've never needed him more than I do at this moment.
"Not anymore, that is," he continues in a slow drawl. "See, even though Mike and I just drove a couple of thousand miles straight through in shifts, and all I've been thinking about for the last eighteen hours is getting home and into bed, when I got there, it turned out that the bed I wanted to be in wasn't there..."
"What?" I say, perking up. "Dan, where are you?"
"Where are you?" he parries.
"At home, of course."
"Where?"
"In the kitchen."
"Look out the back window."
I rush forward until the phone cord yanks me to a halt. Then I roll onto my tiptoes, peering over Mutti's lace half-curtains.
The roof of Dan's truck picks up glints of moonlight in the stable parking lot.
"I thought you'd already be in bed," he says. "Was hoping to surprise you. Are you turning into a night owl on me?"
I'm halfway to the stable before I realize I've left Harriet behind. After a moment of hesitation, I go back for her.
Dan and I lie in bed, limbs entwined and feet tangled with the mulberry eiderdown. Before long, we'll have to reach down and get it, but for now we bask in the aftermath of passion.
Harriet is behind me, desperate to wiggle her way between us. Our nocturnal activities worry her--she doesn't know exactly what we're up to, but she knows it doesn't involve her and she doesn't like it. When we're finished, it always takes her a while to recover.
She lays her head across my neck so that her nose is between our faces. When she pushes hard enough to impinge on my windpipe, I shove her away. She reappears instantly, burrowing, twitching.
"So what made you change your mind?" says Dan, ignoring the dog and running his fingertips up and down my back.
"About what?"
"Letting Eva compete."
"It's largely so she won't end up pregnant or in the slammer," I say.
"Yeah, but you didn't find out about any of that until after you'd already agreed. Unless I've got it backward."
"No," I say quietly. "You've got it right."
Harriet has crept forward enough that her belly covers my whole face. I lift her up and toss her behind me. She reappears within seconds, nudging insistently.
"I dunno," I continue. "I was tired of fighting, and my position was full of holes. Besides, she's very clear that it's what she wants to do, which I guess in the long run is more important than what I want for her."
"And what do you want for her?"
I take a moment to eject Harriet again, and then pause, considering the question while tracing loop-de-loops on Dan's chest.
"I want her to be happy. I want her to not hate me. I want her to be successful."
"What do you want her to be successful in?"
"I don't know. Medicine. Law."
"Law. Like her father?"
"No," I scoff. "Not patent law. Not criminal law either," I hasten to add. "Okay, forget I mentioned law at all. Medicine. Paleontology. Astronomy."
"Not astrology?"
I whack him. "I want her to be successful in something where she can't break her neck."
"I'm sorry, but I think astrology qualifies--"
"Dan!"
He wraps his arms around me, pausing first to rebuff Harriet, and rocks me against his chest. "I know how hard this was for you. For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing."
I lie against him in complete surrender.
"I hope so, Dan. God, I hope so."
Chapter 6
When I call Nathalie, she is gracious and happy to set up an audition, although I also get the impression that most people don't make her wait three weeks while they waffle.
When I break the news to Eva, she is so ecstatic she flings her arms around me. (Twice! In forty-eight hours!) Eva bounces happily on the car seat beside me. She has reason to be upbeat; she might well have expected to be driven to boot camp, not the famed Nathalie Jenkins's farm for an audition. She's so excited and so pleased that she neglected to bring the portable CD player and headphones that are normally required to drown out my presence.
"What did she say again?" she says,
looking at me with glistening eyes.
"I've already told you three times!" I laugh.
"Come on, Mom, I want to hear it again!"
"She said that she saw you at Canterbury and was impressed at how you got Malachite through the final stage."
I pause, smiling, waiting.
"Because..." she prompts.
"Because obviously he was in way over his head, and yet you managed to get a clear round out of him anyway."
I sneak a glance at her. She's waiting, staring out the windshield, pretending to be patient. After a few seconds, her eyes dart over to me. Her fingernails dig into the seat's upholstery. She starts banging her knees together.
Her head swivels toward me, her mouth open, but before she can speak I continue. "And that clearly you've got huge potential. 'Natural born talent,' were her exact words, and she wants to see what you're capable of on another horse. A good horse."
Eva sighs dreamily and leans back in her seat.
A moment later she says, "Is that all?"
"Isn't that enough?" I say, laughing again.
She sits forward again. "So obviously she doesn't want me to bring Malachite."
"Clearly not."
"And you're not going to let me bring Hurrah."
"No."
"So will I be riding one of her horses?"
"I would imagine so. That's one of the things she and I will be talking about."
I glance at her--quickly though, since I don't want to run off the road. Her eyes sparkle as she revels in the possibilities.
"And I'll be living there?"
"If she takes you on, yes."
"Oh, she'll take me on all right," says Eva, nodding confidently. Her bravado breaks my heart.
She flops back into her seat. I'm not looking at her, but I can sense her. The air around her throbs with anticipation and energy. I feel a pang of guilt, because if I had only followed up on this when Nathalie originally called, there probably would have been no Eric Hamilton, no pot in the woods behind the school, no condom in the purse and all that little piece of latex implies.
But even now--when there is not a shadow of doubt that this is not only the best choice but the only choice--I can't allow myself to think ahead to the moment when I drop Eva off with her bags.
Instead, I parcel that whole concept off in the back of my brain and rattle and thump toward Columbia in my dear old Camry that has almost no suspension, sharing a welcome moment of closeness with my daughter.
Wyldewood Farm is enclosed by a brick wall. When we pull up to the tall wrought-iron gates, I roll my window down. The black box embedded in the gatepost crackles at me.