Heartwood

  “Oh, Mom! I hope you didn’t …”

  “Don’t worry, I was very nice to her. Although I doubt she would have noticed if I wasn’t. She was too busy trying to figure out how much things in the house had cost.”

  “Maybe she was just nervous.”

  “She couldn’t take her eyes off your Nana’s silver candlesticks. And it was her opinion that I could get over twenty thousand dollars for that ring Papa gave Mama.”

  Even nonjudgmental Laura didn’t have an answer for that. “Did Daddy behave himself?” she asked.

  “Your father is a gentleman.”

  “In other words, he was aristocratic and Viennese. And icy.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t pick up on it.”

  “I hope Steve didn’t.”

  “He’s too besotted with her to see anything else. What can he be thinking of? He must know they have nothing in common. When I think of all the pretty, smart girls he could have had …”

  “But that’s not Steve. He wants a girl he can rescue. And Christina was one of his clients—wasn’t she?”

  “Oh yes, she told us all about it. She was overcharged by her landlord and she was evicted and Steve won her case for her. Of course, now she doesn’t have to worry about where she’s going to live because she’s moving in with him.”

  “That is quick.”

  “Do you know what she told us when she was here? Steve makes her feel like Cinderella because no one has ever taken care of her before. Why would a grown woman want to feel like the heroine of a silly fairy tale? But Steve just sat there smiling and listening to her. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Mom, promise me that you won’t say anything like that to him. He’s in love with her.”

  “He can’t be.”

  “He says he is. And he means it.”

  “She’s using him. Someone has to make him see that.”

  “When has anyone ever been able to make Steve see anything—if he doesn’t want to?” Laura paused. “And if you try to talk him out of this … you know what Steve is like.”

  Iris did know. She’d learned the hard way that when her brilliant, passionate son felt he had to do something that was foolhardy, or even dangerous, trying to reason with him just made it worse.

  “After all we’ve been through with him … now this …”

  “Don’t start thinking that way, and don’t let Daddy get started either. This is nothing in comparison to what Steve did during Vietnam—he’s come a long way. Besides, what if Christina really is the right one for him?”

  Iris had wanted to cry. “He deserves so much better.”

  “Maybe she’s better than you think. Give her a second chance. I don’t think you have any other choice.”

  Iris had tried. In the months since that phone call, she had not said one word of criticism against Steve’s girlfriend. She had even invited Christina to come for Thanksgiving.

  “But Steve says she can’t make it,” Iris reported to Laura. “And I’m not going to lie, I’m glad.”

  “I’m sorry this relationship of his is so hard for you.”

  “It’s just …” Iris could hear her own voice cracking. “I thought I didn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  But even as she said the words she knew how ridiculous they were. You always had to worry about those you loved, because human beings couldn’t stay safely in one place. They changed and they grew and they moved on, that was a part of life and you couldn’t stop it. Even if you were convinced that they were headed in the wrong direction, like Steve. Or like her youngest son, Philip.

  Up ahead, the sweating men having finally finished unloading the truck, they climbed back into the front seat and began inching forward. Iris followed them, her mind now switched over from her firstborn to the last of her children.

  Philip wasn’t making an overt mistake like Steven was with Christina. What was going on with him was more subtle than that. And more unexpected. That was what made it so hard; because when Philip was growing up, she’d never had a moment’s anxiety over him. He’d been her surprise baby who had come to her after she’d thought her childbearing days were finished, and from the beginning he’d been easygoing and affectionate. And talented. From the age of five, Philip had been something of a piano prodigy.

  His grandfather Joseph had been especially thrilled by this. “You can’t tell where genius will come from,” he’d say when Philip had finished playing a Chopin étude for the family. “His grandmother and I aren’t at all musical. Iris, you had talent, but forgive me if I say that even you were not in the same class as our little Philip.” And Iris would agree that her son had surpassed her, and Joseph would go on to predict a great career for the boy. “Yes, yes, yes, I know what the odds are against making a success in classical music,” he’d say as Theo and Iris tried to restrain him. “But someone has to play at Carnegie Hall, and why shouldn’t it be my grandson?” And in spite of themselves, Iris and Theo would let themselves dream a little too.

  They were careful to keep these dreams from Philip, and not to push him in any way, but they might as well have saved themselves the effort. The boy knew what his family was hoping for. And even though Joseph had died by the time Philip entered the Juilliard School of Music, Iris knew that when he walked into his first class Philip was remembering the old man who had had such faith in him. That was why it was so awful when two years later he said he was quitting. “I’ve seen real genius now,” he told his parents. “I’ve heard it in other students. I know I’m not good enough to be one of the best, and I’m not humble enough to be content with second best.”

  And so he had left Juilliard and gone to business school. “After all, most musicians are good at math,” he’d told Iris with a sad little grin that broke her heart. Then he’d become a trader on Wall Street, working his charm and winning personality on his clients, and doing rather well.

  “But look at the way he lives,” Iris said to Laura. “Always running around. And all the money he makes, doesn’t he have enough? He’s never home … if he isn’t working he’s going out every night to restaurants and nightclubs with those so-called friends who drink too much … and do worse things. And he’s with a new girl every week.”

  For once, Laura didn’t try to soothe her. “He’s still mourning for his music,” she said. “He loved it so much, and I don’t think he enjoys what he’s doing now. But he’s not ready to face that yet. We just have to wait until he can.”

  “I wish he’d come home for Thanksgiving instead of running off to some overpriced resort.”

  “Yes. That might be good for him,” Laura had said thoughtfully.

  Iris had thought that was the end of it. But a few days later Philip had called to say he was coming home for Thanksgiving. Iris had been sure Laura was behind it. It was the kind of thing she would do. It was the kind of thing Anna would have done.

  It was shortly after Laura had engineered Philip’s new Thanksgiving plans that something occurred to Iris.

  “Every time I talk to you, I’m going on about one of my other children,” she said to Laura the next time she called. “You are all right, aren’t you? I know money is tight for you and Robby.” Laura’s husband, Robby, was a graduate student working on his PhD in archaeology. He earned a small salary as assistant to his faculty advisor, teaching two of the man’s undergraduate courses and doing research for him.

  “Of course money is tight for us,” Laura had answered cheerfully. “But we never expected to have much, with Robby in academia. You know that.”

  “But Katie’s getting older, it can’t be easy.” Katie was Laura’s nine-year-old daughter.

  “Katie is fine. We all are. Don’t forget we have a terrific deal on our rent, because Robby qualifies for faculty housing, and I bring in a little extra doing some baking for that caterer I’ve told you about. Please don’t start fretting about me, Mom.”

  Iris felt herself sigh with relief. The truth was, she counted on Laura to be her carefree,
happy child. “Your Nana always used to say about you, ‘You’ll never have to worry about that one,’ ” she said. “And she was right. You do everything so beautifully … I just … well, I admire you, Laura. I’m not sure too many mothers can say that to their daughters.”

  Mine never could have said it about me, she added silently.

  And Laura, who always seemed to hear the things that weren’t said, had reassured her. “We’ll make this the best Thanksgiving ever, Mom.”

  Her sons might have their problems, but Laura truly seemed to have everything under control. Beautiful, loving Laura.

  Iris looked ahead. A red car was pulling out directly in front of her. The parking spot was hers! Triumphant, she turned into it.

  Chapter Two

  The springform cake pan was too bulky to fit into the overnight bag Laura had filled with cooking utensils. “Why do you have to lug that thing all the way across the country?” Robby had demanded when he saw her wrapping it up to keep it from getting dented. “Doesn’t your mother have pots and pans of her own?”

  Of course her mom did have pots and pans, and other basic tools for getting a meal on the table. But a gourmet cook like Laura required special equipment.

  “She doesn’t have a springform pan,” Laurie said patiently. “I need one to make my chestnut torte.” The torte, which was filled with Laura’s special chocolate buttercream, was her most recent re-creation of a classic Viennese dessert. When Laura was a child she’d learned to bake old-fashioned European treats with Nana. A few years ago, when she and Robby had needed the extra cash, she’d begun baking her Americanized versions of the traditional baked goods for a local caterer. This season, her chestnut torte had become a fad with the caterer’s clients; it seemed as if half the San Fernando Valley wanted to serve it for Thanksgiving and Laura had been baking around the clock.

  Robby had complained about that. “You don’t have time to cook dinner for Katie and me, you’re so busy making those damn cakes,” he’d said.

  “It’s going slowly because I have a regular stove, not a professional one. So I can only make one cake at a time,” she’d said, and given him a quick smile. “Why don’t you take Katie out to Martin’s Drive Thru tonight?”

  But Robby had stayed home, and he and Katie had eaten cold cereal for dinner. Laura had felt guilty and it had been hard to keep herself from thinking that Robby wanted her to feel that way.

  The truth was, she could have done her baking in the large professional stove in the kitchen at the catering company, because the woman who owned it had offered her a full-time job. But Laura’s salary would have been higher than her husband’s. She knew that there were many women who would say she was being ridiculous to let that stop her; this was 1979, not 1950 after all. She admitted to herself that a steady paycheck would be nice, and yes, sometimes she thought it might feel good to have an actual job instead of being treated like a little housewife who was earning her pin money with her cute baking hobby. But none of that would matter if Robby felt threatened.

  Laura wanted a perfect marriage. She knew such a thing was possible because she’d watched one when she was young. It hadn’t been her parents’ marriage, that relationship had always had deep problems for all the love that was there. No, it was her grandparents Laura wanted to emulate. Specifically her grandmother. Even as a child, Laura had understood why Nana had such a happy home. Anna Friedman was smarter and stronger than her husband, but she had never let him know it. On the contrary, she had always made him feel like a king. In return, he had rewarded her with undying love and devotion.

  Her grandmother’s methods had seemed so simple, until Laura tried to use them in her own marriage. She had learned fast that there were dozens of ways to undermine a man’s confidence without meaning to. Taking the well-paid job with the catering company would have done it, so that was out of the question.

  Still, she was grateful for the money she earned from her baking. The extra income meant she could pay for things like the airplane tickets for the trip east to her parents’ home for Thanksgiving without dipping into the small savings account she’d been putting aside for a rainy day. And she couldn’t help being proud of the success of her torte. She really wanted to bake one for her family at Thanksgiving.

  “I don’t see why you’re bothering,” Robby said. “Your brothers will eat anything, your mother really doesn’t appreciate food all that much, and the only sweet your father likes is apple strudel.” It was his petulant tone that got to her. She’d looked at him, and it was as if she was really seeing him for the first time in quite a while.

  Robby wasn’t at his best these days. His jaw, which had once been so sharply etched, was beginning to blur, and the waistline he’d once been so proud of was starting to thicken. Perhaps he shouldn’t spend quite so much time hanging out with his students at their favorite beer joint. But it was the sullen, closed-off expression in his eyes that really got her attention. She knew what that look meant; Robby was going to be difficult about taking this trip. He was going to find fault with everything she’d done: the way she’d packed their suitcases, the time of their departure, and the five dollars she was paying their neighbor’s son to drive them to the airport the next day. She braced herself for a barrage of complaints that would last until they were finally on the plane, taking off.

  But Robby had something else in mind. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m going with you tomorrow.” This wasn’t his normal nagging. Was he really going to stay home? “It seems like such a waste of time,” he went on. “We’ll only have four days there and then we have to turn around and come home because I have to teach on Monday and Katie has to be back in school.”

  “But you’ve known this for a long time, Robby. The plans have been made for months.”

  “I told you, I’ve just been thinking about it for the last few days. I’ve had other things on my mind, things that are a little bit more important than holidays and vacations. Not that this will be a vacation for me. We’ll be flying on one of the worst travel days of the year and you know how I feel about all those crowds and the craziness. I’ll be beat when I come home and then I’ll have to go right back to work.”

  This was serious; he’d already talked himself into feeling like a martyr. She’d have to handle him very carefully. “The tickets are already bought,” she said.

  “You and Katie can go. You can get a refund for me. You’re always worrying about money anyway.”

  For a moment she let herself think about being back home without him. She could stand on her parents’ porch and breathe in the winter air—she missed the change of seasons so much here in Southern California—without having to hear Robby complain that it was too cold. She could go into Manhattan to window-shop without Robby at her side demanding that they leave because he couldn’t stand the noise and the dirt. Why not take him at his word and let him stay home?

  But she couldn’t do that. Her parents were looking forward to having a big dinner with the whole family. If Robby wasn’t there, they’d wonder why and they’d worry. Laura didn’t want anything to spoil the day for them.

  “You know how my folks love having the whole family together. And Dad loves Thanksgiving …”

  “It’s a hyped-up commercial travesty, and you know it.”

  It was fashionable in their circle to say things like that, but suddenly, Laura realized that she didn’t believe it. She pictured her parents on Thanksgiving Day after the meal was set out on the dining room table, and everyone was seated. Mom would be glowing, although there would be something tentative in her eyes, because Mom never could trust her happiness. But there would be no such shadow in Dad’s smile. He would look around the table at his handsome children, their spouses and children, and his eyes would shine with the joy of a man who had built a life for himself on the ashes of despair. His love of this country that had taken him in was not a hyped-up travesty.

  “I don’t mean to be corny, but my dad knows in a
way that you and I never will what it means to be an American. That’s why he loves to celebrate Thanksgiving. It isn’t just about the food or Macy’s parade for him. He really does give thanks, you know?” The sullen, closed-off look left Robby’s eyes. For a moment he was the Robby she had loved and married—the sensitive boy who knew what she was thinking before she did. “Please come with me,” she went on. “Dad and Mom are looking forward to seeing you. You know the way they feel about you. Please don’t disappoint them.” She paused. “And me.”

  A strange look crossed his face. “You don’t need me to have a good time, Laura,” he said softly. “You’d actually have more fun without me.”

  It was what she’d been thinking—could there be a worse moment for him to become the sensitive boy again?—but there was no way she was going to let him even suspect that. She gave him a kiss on the cheek “Are you kidding? I’d be miserable without you!” Then she added lightly, “Besides, you can’t let me down. Steve is coming home instead of heading off somewhere with Christina, and Phil is canceling some fancy plans for a ski trip so he can make it to Westchester. I’m the one who begged them both to do it and now Mom is acting like it was all their idea and they’re the world’s best sons. You don’t want me to have to explain that I couldn’t convince my own husband to come, do you?”

  “I see. This is all about sibling rivalry.” He’d decided to give in and now he was smiling at her.

  “You bet. I intend to show off my family shamelessly.”

  “Well, in that case I guess I don’t have any choice.”

  She’d won. She covered a sigh of relief. “And maybe on Saturday we could ask Mom and Dad to take care of Katie and we could go into the city for the night. Just the two of us. Like the old days.”

  If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to spend any of her precious visit that way, but she thought he might like it. But she watched his smile fade—just a little—and she realized he felt the same way she did.