The Way We Live Now

During sixth period on Thursday, Edward was drawing a cross section of an animal cell on the blackboard: membrane, cytoplasm, nucleus, when the fire bell went off. It was cold and rainy, but they all had to leave the building immediately, without retrieving their jackets or slickers from lockers and closets. The headmaster’s sonorous voice over the PA system reminded them of the protocol. Out on the street, the students shivered and rejoiced in the fate that had freed them temporarily from the tedium of academe.

As usual, there was no fire, but this wasn’t just another drill, as Edward discovered in a quick conference with an eighth-grade dean. Someone had phoned in a bomb threat to the school, the third one since 9/11. They’d never found out who had called in the other two, although there was speculation: a student aspiring to new levels in telephone pranks, a disgruntled fired teacher, a crazy parent—it could have been anyone, really. And there were real bombs exploding somewhere every day. The way we live now, Edward thought as he herded his chattering, rain-soaked students in disorderly lines two blocks away from the police action. One girl held a page of notes over her head, its penned words dissolving into a blue blur.

It was another false alarm, they concluded, after the bomb squad had scoured the building. But by then the school day had ended, and the students were allowed to retrieve their belongings before being sent home. Edward erased the cell he’d been drawing on the blackboard, grabbed his briefcase, and headed for Englewood.

There was a message from Nick on the phone, asking Edward to stop by after dinner; he and Amanda had something to show him. There had been similar messages in the past, once to unveil a new car, he remembered, and once to surprise Bee and Edward with champagne and cake on their anniversary. He imagined he was going to be shown a sonogram picture this time, a swirly little black-and-white Rorschach in which one might discern a blip of new life, or pretend to, and he felt a buzz of anticipation, edged with sadness and something else he couldn’t identify. Envy? Fear?

He did a quick calculation—the baby he and Bee hadn’t been able to produce would be in college now. It wasn’t like Edward to think this way, to sentimentalize something—somebody—that had never materialized. Even Bee hadn’t done that. Despite her disappointment, she’d finally said, “But we have a lovely life just as we are, don’t we?” She was thirty-eight by then, and her pregnancy with Julie had been difficult and tenuous. They decided not to seek medical intervention.

It wasn’t the nonexistent child he mourned now, but those months of hopeful lovemaking, their blinkered gaze fixed on the infinite, lucky future. And he wasn’t afraid of moving up into the next generation, of making that leap toward the precipice. He was already almost there, even without a replacement in the wings. When his sister Catherine was pregnant with her first, their father had joked, “I don’t mind becoming a grandfather, but I’m not crazy about sleeping with a grandmother.” Well, that wouldn’t be Edward’s problem, or his pleasure.

But he envisioned telling people—Sybil and Henry, his friends at school and from the Vineyard—and the air of celebration. When had he last had any good news to share with anyone? What would Laurel think, or say? He stopped at a liquor store on his way to the kids’ house and bought a bottle of chilled Taittinger, but he left it in the car, just in case the news didn’t turn out to be what he’d expected. Maybe they were only going to show him a garden catalog and ask his advice about plantings, or roll out plans for finishing their basement, which Nick had been talking about for a while.

But there was Julie, peeking through the front window and waving at Edward, and when he went inside, Gladys was in the living room, too. The whole family hadn’t been assembled to consult on some home improvement. “Close your eyes, everyone,” Amanda ordered before she and Nick left the room. They all laughed, looking at each other like disobedient, scheming children. “I think I’m going to be an aunt,” Julie whispered. Gladys took Edward’s hand and squeezed it. “Be ready to call 911, honey,” she said. “Surprises are dangerous at my age.” Her bony hand was cold, but her grip was fierce.

Then Amanda and Nick came back in, and he was carrying a carton. “You can open your eyes now,” Amanda said, although they were all staring at her and at the carton, which appeared to be shifting on its own in Nick’s arms. “Voilà!” Amanda cried, and drew a white puppy from it, like a rabbit from a magician’s hat. Gladys dropped Edward’s hand and put it to her breast.

“This is Chanel, everybody,” Amanda said. “Say hello, sweetie.” The puppy was yipping and wriggling convulsively by then and Amanda dropped her into Julie’s lap. The letdown Julie must have been experiencing seemed to be immediately replaced by her enchantment with the fluffy little dog. “Oh, look at you! Aren’t you the cutest,” she crooned, and Chanel reciprocated by lavishly licking Julie’s face and neck.

“Mazel tov,” Gladys said weakly.

Edward was glad he’d left the bottle in the car. He’d be damned if he’d break out good champagne for a French poodle.

“She’s a bichon frise,” Amanda said, as if she’d been reading his mind. “What do you think of her, Dad?”

Edward couldn’t help himself. “I thought you weren’t ready for a dog, for the responsibility,” he said. He sounded as peeved as he felt. “That’s why you couldn’t take Bingo.”

“That was such a long time ago,” she said. “But we’re ready now, right, Nick?”

Nick didn’t look directly at her or at Edward. “Right,” he said.

“And we thought we could ask what’s-her-name, Mildred, to do some dog walking for us, too.”

“Bingo and Chanel will be like cousins,” Julie said, and Edward wondered if there was something wrong with her, if she was even more immature than he’d thought. He had planned on telling them all about Bingo’s heart and his prognosis, but now the timing didn’t seem right. Julie might even suggest that he get a puppy, too.

Amanda said, “Well, enjoy yourselves, we’ll get some coffee,” and she and Nick and the carton disappeared from view.

“A dog,” Gladys said, the moment they were gone. “I was hoping … I thought we’d have someone to name for Mommy.” Edward reached over and patted her arm.

“Poppy. Gladys,” Julie said sternly, “we have to look happy for them.”

“What are you talking about?” Edward asked her.

She shook her head at him and sighed, a teacher striving for patience with a slow pupil. “They probably can’t get pregnant, and Chanel is just a consolation prize they’ve given themselves.” She was cradling the puppy as if it were a baby, a role it seemed to enjoy.

“Oh,” Edward said, chastened, and suddenly deeply admiring of Julie. She must have inherited some of her mother’s natural instincts about human behavior. But he had a queer, pervasive sense of loss, too. Only hours ago, he’d stood in the rain near the school, contemplating children calling in bomb threats, and others carrying out actual bombings elsewhere. The animal cell erased from the blackboard, the words running from that girl’s notepaper in the rain—an unlearning, the way we live now. It would be wanton to bring another hostage to fortune into this ephemeral, stupid world. So why did he feel so crestfallen?

Amanda and Nick came back inside. He set down a tray and went to Gladys and knelt before her. “I almost forgot,” he said. “We have something else to show you.” And he took a black-and-white picture from his shirt pocket and put it into her waiting hand.