“Wow.” Clare muted the volume on her mother-in-law’s television. Margy, sitting on the sofa next to her, kept shaking her head. “It wasn’t that bad,” Clare said.
Margy looked at her.
“All right, it was that bad. The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look is never good. He should have stopped talking after he said he hadn’t been charged.”
“He should have let Lyle MacAuley handle the whole thing, that’s what he should have done.” Margy bent over the bouncy chair where Ethan had been batting at black-and-white figures strung from a frame. “Sometimes your daddy’s an idiot, Ethan, and that’s a fact.”
“I wish he had just talked to me about what happened back then. I could have at least pointed out a few pitfalls.”
Margy looked up at her. “Is he doing the strong, silent man routine?”
Clare clicked off the remote and rose from the sofa. She grabbed the backpack she used to carry her son’s bits and pieces and began tossing things in. “Yes, and I don’t get it. He’s always been, well, not forthcoming about certain events in his past, but at least willing to share them with me.”
“Mmm. I bet he hasn’t said much about Desert Storm, either.”
“Other than the fact he was there, and drinking? No.” Clare paused, an Elmo doll in her hand. “Which is odd, because I was there, too. It was my first deployment.”
“He probably didn’t go into the end of his service, before he came here.”
“No.” Clare frowned. “Okay, this is really bothering me, now.”
Margy stood up and stretched. “When he came back from ’Nam, he wouldn’t hardly say a word. I wasn’t any fool, I knew it was because he was hurting inside. Sometimes, when you’re carrying around too much pain, you don’t want to open your mouth because you’re afraid you’ll start yelling and you won’t stop.”
“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“You don’t get to be my age without having a few pains, sweetie.” Margy squeezed Clare’s arm. “Then there are the other things you don’t want to think about. The things you messed up bad. The time you cheated on a test at school, or the night you lied to your parents to sneak out with your friends.” She looked at Clare. “The days when you drank when you were pregnant.”
“I didn’t know—”
“I’m not blaming you, sweetheart. I’m just pointing out there are some things we don’t want to think about because we’re ashamed of ourselves. Now, if it’s an ongoing problem”—thankfully, Margy didn’t say Like you wanting a drink—“you’re going to need to confront it. But if it’s not going to happen again, it’s all right to let it lie. You don’t have to ‘deal with’ or ‘process,’” she made air quotes, “fibbing to your mom and dad when you were a teen, because you’re a grown-up. If you want to stay out with your friends until four in the morning, you just do it.”
Clare bent over Ethan. “Not with a baby in the house.”
“Ha! No, well, don’t worry. Being a parent gives you a whole other set of moments you’re going to mess up and not want to think about ever again.”
“Yeah, I’ve already gotten a head start on those.” She wiggled Ethan out of the bouncy chair and hoisted him up, pressing kisses into his fat cheek. On the sofa, her phone rang.
Margy picked it up. “New York City area code.”
“Oh! I bet it’s my new intern.” She exchanged the baby for the phone and walked into the kitchen. “Clare Fergusson here.”
“Clare? It’s Joni Langevoort. Is this a bad time?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just picking up the baby from my mother-in-law’s place.”
“Is she the one you mentioned when we were talking? The political one?”
Clare glanced at Margy’s refrigerator, covered with stickers urging the viewer to stop war, disinvest from fossil fuel companies, and vote Green. “Oh, yes,” Clare said.
“Good. You can ask her for me. My folks are having a dinner party to honor my dad’s replacement at Barkley and Eaton—Dad’s retiring soon—and my mother said it would be a perfect time to discuss the Save the Police campaign.”
“That’s a lot better than the Committee for Public Safety.”
Joni laughed. “Isn’t it? Anyway, I already spoke with Mrs. Marshall, and she’s bringing her gentleman friend with her, so this is your invitation. Please come with your husband and your mother-in-law. Is she Mrs. Van Alstyne? Oh, hang on.” The sound of Joni’s voice was muffled for a moment. “My mother says to invite your father-in-law as well. Sorry.”
“Margy is a widow, but thank you.”
The widow in question had drifted into the kitchen, Ethan on her hip. She raised her eyebrows at Clare. Clare switched the phone to speaker so Margy could hear.
“Well, if she has a gentleman friend like Mrs. Marshall has, he’s welcome, too. Friday at seven— Oh, hang on.” More muffled talking. “My mother wants to know if that was your husband on the news just now.”
Clare and Margy exchanged pained glances. “Yep, that was Russ.”
“Huh. Well. That should make for interesting dinner conversation.” Joni dropped her voice. “It’ll be nice to have someone else in the spotlight instead of me.”
“You were saying Friday at seven?”
“That’s right. Casual cocktail dress. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thanks, Joni. And thank your mother for me.”
“A few of my parents’ friends who are also summer people will be here, so be ready to hit them up for a contribution.”
“I may leave that part to Mrs. Marshall. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.” Clare put her phone in her pocket. “How would you like to be a founding member of the Save the Police Committee?”
“Finally! An organized campaign! If Lacey Marshall is involved, we’ll raise enough money to get mailers to every voter in the three towns. I admire that woman.”
“Me, too.” There was a small pile of folded baby clothes on the kitchen table—Margy had taken to doing Ethan’s laundry when she was babysitting. Clare carried them into the living room and packed them in Ethan’s diaper bag. “My one worry is that Joni is doing this because I’m supervising her internship at St. Alban’s. I don’t want her to think the price of admission is helping Russ keep his job.”
The kitchen door creaked open. “Mom, you left the door unlocked,” Russ said. “Clare’s bad habits are rubbing off on you.” He walked into the living room like a man wearing a lead overcoat. When he hugged Clare, it felt more like he was using her to keep from falling over. “I thought I was picking up Ethan?”
“I came over to watch the news with your mom.”
“Oh, God.” He flopped into the recliner Margy kept for him and shut his eyes.
“Did you see it?” Clare asked.
“I didn’t have to. I lived it.” He opened his eyes and pointed a finger at his mother. “You’re thinking I should have had Lyle do the press conference. And you would be right.”
Mercifully, Margy didn’t unload any more hard truths on him. Instead, she laid Ethan on Russ’s chest. One big hand came around and clasped the baby. Russ sighed.
“Don’t you worry, son. You’ll figure this one out. And Clare and her new intern and Lacey Marshall and I are going to put together a nice fundraiser for the Save Our Police campaign.”
Russ opened one eye. “What in the heck is the Save Our Police campaign?”
“It’s a citizens’ advocacy group formed to raise awareness of the ballot initiative.” Clare perched on his chair’s roll arm. “Or at least, it will be as soon as Mrs. Marshall registers it. It’ll raise money for informational mailings and ads, and otherwise support the continued existence of the Millers Kill Police Department.”
Russ groaned. “Clare. I thought you weren’t going to take on any more projects for a while.” He said “projects” the way someone might say “nuclear waste.” “Any spare time you have should be spent sleeping.”
She didn’t bother to engage with that statement. “We’ve been invited to a dinner party at the Langevoorts’ summer home this Friday night, to confer about fundraising and tactics.”
“Tactics.”
Margy patted her limp and overgrown perm. “I guess that means I’ll need to get Cousin Nane over to do my hair. Cocktail casual. Do you suppose that old blue shirtdress of mine’s good enough?”
“Between the nursing and the baby hips, I don’t know if I can fit into any of my old dresses.” Clare shouldered the diaper bag. “Lucky for you, you can get away with your khakis and blue blazer.”
“Great.” Russ got up from the chair, still holding Ethan. “They’ll go with the bag I’ll need to wear over my head until people forget that press conference.”