Margaret stared down at her cell phone. The area code was 212. Julia. She was sitting in the carpool line on Chapel Street outside of Charlestowne Prep School where her husband was the chairman of the board. Summer was fast approaching, and she had been busy making all of her children’s schedules: sailing, camp in the mountains of North Carolina, a week at Litchfield by the Sea.
This was the third time Julia had tried to get her. She only had about five minutes before school let out so she wouldn’t have to talk too long.
She took a deep breath and pressed the green button. “Hello, Julia.”
There was a pause. “Hi, Meg.”
“It’s Margaret, remember?”
“Oh, right. I apologize.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “So I hear congratulations are in order?”
“Yeah.” Julia had all but lost the gentle lilt to her voice. Her vowels were sharp and enunciated. She sounded like a stranger.
“December twenty-second is the date. I hope you all will consider coming.”
“Send me the info on Facebook, okay? We will try to make it happen.”
They wouldn’t be missed. Julia had a whole life up there, and in truth there was no way Margaret was going to allow her family to forego all of their usual Christmas activities: the holiday program at school, the Christmas pageant at church, the Nutcracker at the Performing Arts Center, and brunch with Santa at the Yacht Club.
There was a silence between them. It was awkward. “Did you need something?”
“I’m calling about Marney.”
Margaret could feel her temples pulse.
“You know she’s sick, right?”
“No, I didn’t,” she lied. She had heard from their babbling Aunt Dot that she’d had an early stage of cancer, and she wasn’t surprised. Bad lives yielded bad fruit. It was inevitable.
“She has lung cancer and has to have this major operation. There’s no one to look after the children while she recovers.”
The school bell rang, and the children started pouring out of the brick building and lining up on the street by the carpool queue. They were screaming and laughing and guffawing, the sun catching the crowns of their smooth, golden heads. She saw her youngest, Katherine, holding hands with her best friend, and then her two boys, Preston and Cooper. Preston was shoving a classmate a little too roughly, but she wasn’t surprised. It was that annoying Simms boy who was a head taller than everyone else. Her younger son, Cooper, was in an in-depth conversation with a couple of his friends, probably talking about Harry Potter. She wouldn’t let him read past the third book, so he read the first three over and over, though he tried to get hints about what happened next from his friends who had been allowed to read further on.
“Hmm,” Margaret finally said in response to Julia. “Well, Marney’s resourceful. I’m sure she can figure something out.”
Julia exhaled deeply. “Both she and Aunt Dot have asked me to help, but I’ve got this fellowship in Budapest.”
“That sounds nice . . . Come on in, sweethearts.” She didn’t bother moving the receiver away from her mouth as she greeted the kids. Did Julia have any idea what a busy life Margaret had? And her work was far more important than painting and teaching and traveling to some offbeat European city. Her work was raising young lives.
Margaret was not going to budge. Not going to give Julia an inch. If Julia thought for one moment that she was going to have anything to do with those children, she was wrong. If it were up to her, she would never cross paths with them again.
“Well, I don’t suppose you’d want to watch her kids or know of someone who could?” Julia finally got to the point of her self-centered call.
Margaret cleared her throat. “The kids? No, I’m afraid not,” she said as though she had been asked if she would like crumbled blue cheese added to her garden salad. “We’ve got a very busy end of spring and summer. I won’t bore you with the details, but there is no way I can help.” The kids tumbled into the car along with the other two neighbors they carpooled with. They tugged their backpacks in behind them and elbowed around and into one another until they each found a seat. Preston kicked the back of Margaret’s seat. “Let’s go, Mom.”
“It’s a really bad situation.” Julia’s voice was growing faint as Margaret pulled out of the carpool line. She knew she had gotten her message across.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Margaret turned back at the stop sign and made sure everyone was buckled in. “That’s really too bad.”
Cooper called out, “What’s for snack, Mom?” over the backseat. Margaret lifted her index finger sharply to indicate she needed a moment more. “Best of luck figuring something out, Julia. I have to go.” Then she clicked her phone off and turned back to her son, whose head was already back in his book. “The usual,” she muttered.
The kids got home, and she made them a healthy snack: peanut butter on celery and sliced apples and organic milk. They quickly finished their homework and then they went racing out into the backyard where she watched her two sons and daughter chasing one another around, kicking the soccer ball, and then going in three separate directions: Preston on the trampoline, Cooper in the treehouse with his book, Katherine on the tire swing.
Just as she was preheating the oven for the chicken, her husband walked through the front door and patted her playfully on the backside. She stood upright, put her hands on her hips, and swiveled around.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
She pulled the whole chicken out of the fridge and glared at him. “Guess what egotistical artist called me from New York today.”
Preston stepped back and furrowed his brow. Then he pulled a canister of almonds from the pantry and started to munch on a handful. “How’s Julia doing?”
Margaret clucked her tongue. “How’s she doing, Preston? She’s doing the same as always, hiding far away from the mess she left behind.” Preston scratched the back of his neck like a thickheaded baboon. He never seemed to share her disdain for Julia, or anyone for that matter. In that way he was as obtuse as her father, unaware of the motives of women, unmindful of the trouble in the world, even though he practiced law. Though she was the one who was particularly involved at their church, for the sake of the children, he was the one who seemed as though a weight had been lifted every time he uttered the Confession during the Sunday service.
Margaret stuffed the carcass with onions and carrots. “And she had the gall to ask me if I could help or find help for Marney’s children while she has her operation.”
Preston selected a bottle of red from the wine storage cabinet and slid off the wrapping with a single pull as Margaret washed her hands thoroughly. He shook his head as he reached for the corkscrew. “You keep Marney’s kids?”
He was the only one who knew what Margaret had done those four years ago when she realized her father had left the entire Edisto property to his second family in his will until the children were grown, dashing her hopes for having a vacation home out there.
She had called DSS. And she had not regretted it. She saw how Marney kept house, and anyone in their right mind would have done the same thing. Somehow Marney had weaseled her way through the system and had the kids back within a few months. In the meantime, Preston had been promoted to partner at his law firm and Margaret gave up the dream of an Edisto home and conceded to several acres on a lake in Williamsburg County, which they purchased with the plan of building a nice cabin in a few years.
“But why is Julia involved with Marney’s illness?”
Margaret reached for the pepper grinder and began to spin its knob above the chicken.
“Because Julia wouldn’t know a snake if it bit her on the hand.”
Preston chuckled as he poured two glasses of red. Then he opened the glass door for Katherine, who was knocking gently on it. “I need to tee tee,” the little girl said.
“Okay.” Preston leaned down and pointed to his cheek, and the child gave him a kiss before continuing to the bathroom.
“I guess you’re right, honey.” He came over and gently massaged Margaret’s tight shoulders. She relaxed for a moment and leaned back into him.
When the oven buzzed, she turned away and shoved the chicken in. There was only one person with whom Margaret was angrier than she was with Marney and her father. And that was Julia.
She went over, picked up her wineglass, and took a hearty sip as Preston went out to greet the boys and kick the soccer ball around with them. Then she sat down at the computer at the kitchen table, its glow calming her along with the wine as she selected her Facebook page on her favorites so she could check the comments regarding the photo of Katherine at her ballet recital, which she posted just before picking up carpool. They read “Adorable,” “What a beauty,” and “She’s growing up so fast.” She “Liked” them all, then she clicked over to the ticker page to see what the rest of her friends were up to.