Fourteen
Mary waited at the door to the apartment on Boosk Avenue, watching for Stefan. He was coming down from Boston, as he did most weekends. She’d gotten off of work at the hotel, put Hannah to bed. And now there was only waiting.
She felt herself lift when she saw his car, felt her body rise as if floating. She stood on her tiptoes but was otherwise still as she watched him get out of the car and pull his bag from the trunk, as she watched him walk quickly to her door, a smile crystallizing on his face as soon as he saw her. She opened the door and he stepped inside, dropping his bag on the kitchen floor and pulling her into him. It was full of his schoolbooks, the bag. And under the yellow fluorescent light, his unshaven cheek catching on her hair, his hand firm on her back, he held her, as if she were something vital and life-giving. As if she were air.
She stood there facing him, letting him run his hands over and over her body, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the counter. She had changed much in the years since they were first together. She was younger than he knew then and was so still. But she had come into herself.
He and Mary had sex on the living-room floor while Hannah slept in the bedroom. Then they lay together, their limbs intertwined on the worn brown carpet, listening to the clatter of pots and pans and the lilting conversation that carried through the thin walls from the apartment next door. When Stefan was around, the apartment felt like a charming pied-à-terre rather than a shitty one-bedroom that smelled constantly of cigarette smoke and mold.
“Can I ask you something?” Mary said, her face against his chest.
“Hmmm?” said Stefan. As his fingertips circled Mary’s shoulder, she could have asked him anything.
“Did you come back? To Sandy Bank? When we first met?”
Stefan drew in a long unhurried breath and pulled her closer. “I did,” he said sleepily. “You weren’t there. There was a sign on the motel saying, CLOSED FOR THE SEASON.”
And Mary knew that everything she had done to bring them back together had been worth it.
Mary soon became not only a fixture in Stefan’s life but also in the Kellys’, Martina embracing nearly anything adored by her son. Beth had been disposed of quickly without discussion. Only once, when Martina had thought Mary was out of earshot, did Mary hear Martina say, “Steffie, you should really call to check in on Beth. You two have known each other since you were little. There’s no reason that you can’t still be friendly.” It seemed that whatever fledgling romance there had been in Beth and Stefan’s relationship had been extinguished the moment Mary arrived.
But despite her concern for Beth, Mary knew that Martina loved that Stefan had taken up with her—the lovely girl with the interesting past. And sometimes Martina would ask about the man Mary said was her father.
“Do you think your father will come for a visit?” Martina asked one day, as she and Mary stood at the sink cleaning up after brunch. She was running a plate under the water streaming from the faucet.
Mary adopted a wounded expression. “I don’t think so,” she said, as she set a glass in the rack of the dishwasher. “We don’t really communicate much.” And not for the first time, Mary wished she hadn’t made mention of Robert Mondasian.
Martina turned to Mary and, with a damp hand, reached for one of hers. “I’m so sorry, sweetie . . . ,” she said, always looking to help, always looking to heal. And in those moments, the affection that Mary felt toward Martina was genuine.
It was Patrick Kelly who expressed wariness toward Mary. She noticed it in the slowness of his smile as he greeted her, in the glances he’d give her when no one was watching. Mary suspected Patrick would have preferred a more conventional match for Stefan. A girl with a similar upbringing. A girl who would join the Junior League and decorate with chintz. Though Stefan was younger than his brother by five years, it was clear that he was the favorite son. Stefan was a better debater than his brother—quicker and more agile. And when Stefan and Teddy would circle the ring over politics and policy, it was Stefan who landed more hits.
“The country’s already starting to see the benefits of fiscal discipline,” Teddy would say, Claire, his wife, resting her hand encouragingly on his knee.
Stefan would lean back in his seat. “Discipline? As a percentage of GDP, the national debt is higher now than it ever was under Carter!”
Patrick would force a smile and wipe his mouth with a white cloth napkin, seemingly amused by his sons’ rivalry. “Will the gentlemen cede the floor?” he would say—a distinguished call for conclusion. Then he’d drop his napkin back on the table, giving Stefan a final glance, acknowledging the victor. It was Stefan, of course, who should have been granted the keys to the kingdom. Patrick had known this since they were small. He had also known that it was the traits he found most admirable in Stefan that would keep him from joining him in business. And Patrick Kelly, above all else, was lauded for his instincts.
“Did you ever figure out how you girls got that flat tire?” Patrick had once asked, not long after Mary and Hannah had first arrived at the Kellys’ door.
He held Mary’s gaze before tilting a bottle of cabernet and filling his glass. Mary shook her head. “You know what?” she said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I didn’t.”
The memory of that conversation would return to Mary unbidden from time to time. It did so now, as Stefan sat on the floor in front of her, his back resting against the tweed sofa that the last tenants had left, his head reclined against the cushion. He had arrived last night and stayed until his eyes started to drift shut. Then he gathered himself up and went to his parents’ to sleep. He hadn’t ever stayed the night with Mary and Hannah. Mary let her finger slowly twirl through his lion-colored hair as he held his book elevated and open. Hannah was playing Barbies on the floor next to Stefan, whispering a scene quietly enough that no one could make out the words except for her.
Mary let her fingertips trace their way down his neck. Stefan took a breath and closed his eyes. “We should really get you packed,” he said.
It had been decided that the apartment on Boosk Avenue was unsuitable for the Chase girls. And no sooner was it deemed so than Martina Kelly spoke to someone who spoke to someone who happened to have a nice little condominium in a recently construction development. They would love to rent it to Mary and Hannah. And when the question of the rent came up, Martina named an impossibly low sum. They’re just glad to have nice tenants, sweetie. And just like that, it was done. Such was the ease that came with being close to the Kellys. In their new condo, the Chase girls would have a dishwasher and a laundry room. They would have new carpeting and a bathroom mirror surrounded by globelike bulbs. The Chase girls would even have two bedrooms, but for Mary, the idea of sleeping separately from her sister was unthinkable. She decided that maybe they could use the second bedroom as Stefan’s office, so he could have a place to study when he was down from Boston.
Before Hannah even spoke, Mary sensed that she was about to. She looked first to Mary, but then addressed Stefan. “Stefan,” she said, her eyes concerned and determined. “I don’t want to move.”
Stefan put his book down. “What?” he said, reaching over to tickle her belly. “Hannah Banana, your new place is going to be great!”
Hannah squirmed away from his touch.
“Bunny,” said Mary. And Hannah’s eyes found her sister’s. “You didn’t tell me you didn’t want to move.”
Hannah’s face remained serious; she didn’t like to cause trouble. “I like it here.”
“I like it here, too, Bunny,” replied Mary, realizing that Hannah’s attachment to place was one of the very many marked differences between the Chase girls. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t even think you were related, Diane had once said, while looking at a picture of a toddler Hannah and a teenage Mary. “But we’re not going far. You’ll be at the same school. You’ll even ride the same bus.”
“But it’ll be a different house.”
Mary was silent for a moment. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she said, shaking her head. “We can stay right here. We don’t have to move.”
Stefan cocked his head but remained silent. Mary remained focused on Hannah.
Hannah held Mary’s gaze for a moment, then she dropped her chin. “No,” said Hannah. “It’s okay. We can go.”
“I think,” said Stefan, straining to stand up from the floor, “that moving will sound a lot better after a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” He didn’t realize that Mary meant it when she said they didn’t have to go. He didn’t yet know the lengths Mary would go to for Hannah. Mary watched his calves as he walked to the kitchen. They were a sailor’s calves: strong, sinewy, and tanned. “Hannah Banana!” he called, as Mary heard the cupboards in her shabby little kitchen open, then bang shut. “You want grape or strawberry?”
And later, as Mary stood at the sink washing the plates they had eaten on, she heard Stefan and Hannah in the living room. She knew that they were lying where she had left them: with their heads at opposite ends of the small couch, Hannah’s socked foot pressed against Stefan’s bare one. Hannah liked him more than she had ever liked a man before. He bought her books and showed her maps. And there was a steadiness to him. A constancy. “You’re gonna be happy at your new place, Banana,” Mary heard him say. “There’s a great big yard for you to play in.”
“And it’s not far, right?”
Stefan shook his head. “Nah,” he said. Mary pictured him lifting Hannah’s foot higher using his own. “It’s not far.”
“And we’re just going to move once. It’s not going to be like before,” she said, letting herself find comfort in Stefan’s reassurances. Letting herself believe him. “It’s not going to be like after the swamp.”
Mary shut off the water. She was in the doorway as Stefan asked, his eyes narrow with amusement, “What swamp?”
And before another sound could be uttered, Mary said, her expression as smooth as stone, “So, should we start packing?”
That night, after Stefan had gone home, Mary climbed into bed next to Hannah.
“Bunny,” she whispered, stroking Hannah’s hair away from her forehead. “Wake up.”
Hannah’s eyes opened for a second and then slipped shut again, as if her lids couldn’t manage under the weight of sleep.
“Bunny,” said Mary again. “I just want to tell you that I meant what I said.” Mary looked around the dark room. The Chase girls’ few things had been put into cardboard boxes and stacked in the corner. In black marker Mary had written the contents on each. TOYS. CLOTHES. BOOKS. It was comforting to Mary to see how little they had accumulated. “We don’t have to move if you don’t want to.”
Hannah’s eyes opened and stayed that way this time. Then she propped herself up on one elbow and seemed to think for a moment, the wheels of her mind starting to turn slowly after slumber. She looked at Mary. “Why does Stefan think we should?”
“He cares about us,” answered Mary. “He wants us to have a nice place to live.”
Hannah let her head fall back onto her pillow, and she stared at the ceiling, her arms at her sides atop the white sheets. She watched as lights from a passing car moved like a spotlight through the room. “I remember where we used to live.” It was the first time Hannah had mentioned the Water’s Edge in months and months. “With Mom.”
“I do, too,” said Mary.
“Do you think we’ll ever go back there?”
Mary studied the curve of Hannah’s profile. “I don’t think so, Bunny,” she finally said.
“We never go back to places once we leave. We stay there for a while and then we never go back.” Mary knew that Hannah was talking about their time on the road.
“We’re not going to do that anymore.”
“Promise?”
Mary paused for a moment, realizing the gravity of what she was about to do. Hannah is the only person for whom she would try to hold to her word. “I promise,” she said, nodding.
Hannah watched her sister, then took a breath and seemed to settle down deeper into their mattress, letting her eyes slip shut. “Hey, Bunny, one more thing,” said Mary. And Hannah’s gaze was once again on her. “You know some stories are just for us, right?”
Hannah’s nod was slow and small.
Mary leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I know it can be hard sometimes. To remember what’s what,” she said. “But it’s going to get easier. We’re not going to have to tell so many stories. We’re just going to have to remember the important ones.”
“Mary?” asked Hannah.
Mary pulled back to find Hannah’s eyes. “Will you tell me about Princess Mary and Princess Hannah? Until I fall asleep?”
So Mary did. She took the princesses to a castle on a mountain with a spire that rose through the clouds, where the evil queen couldn’t find them. Where they could hide forever if they wanted. And when Stefan asked Mary about what Hannah meant when she was talking about the swamp, Mary smiled knowingly. “Sometimes Hannah just makes things up. She’s at that age, I guess.”