The Best of Crimes Page 6

  Lost in our thoughts, we watched the clock’s minute hand, preparing to kiss at midnight. But sitting at the table, we saw Amanda throw open her window. She leaned out and yelled, ‘Happy New Year, Everyone!’

  We got the middle window open and yelled back. ‘Happy New Year, Amanda!’ but received no sign that she had heard us.

  I then danced Sterling around to ‘Equinox,’ until she flopped onto the stairs. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water but, feeling a stirring sensation, looked at Amanda’s window. Something was happening in her room and I stepped outside to observe. Gazing up, I saw her feet. She was jumping on the bed.

  Sterling called, begging me to carry her upstairs. ‘That is, if you can carry me. Don’t hurt yourself.’ I slid one arm under her legs and the other under her back—and managed. She laughed, thanking God I was so strong because she got heavier every year. ‘You don’t mind, though, do you?’

  No, but I didn’t want to carry her upstairs again. After settling her on the bed, I whispered in her ear that it didn’t matter if she was heavier because her proportions were the same, maybe even sexier. She liked that, and we had ourselves a time.

  *

  Kevin returned from Maine with ideas for period floor-to-ceiling window frames. He and Sterling spent almost every weekday visiting estate sales. On Sunday, while Sterling was discussing architectural details with Kevin on the phone, Olivia burst in, asking, ‘Where has Amanda been? I haven’t seen her since Christmas!’

  Sterling told Kevin she couldn’t talk and hung up. She then told Olivia, ‘You were mean to her on Christmas.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. But if I was, she wouldn’t care. Look at how mean her mother is.’

  Sterling and I learned that Olivia rarely saw Amanda anymore because in seventh grade the students were assigned to different tracks: advanced, average, or at risk. Amanda was in the average track and Olivia was advanced. ‘Average is basic,’ she said. ‘So basically, Amanda’s just basic.’ Using her thumbs, she rolled up her upper lids, a scary new face. ‘Ha-ha. We go to school to learn how to be snobs.’

  Later in the week, Olivia stomped into the living room, claiming she was so jealous of Amanda she could scream. Seventh grade average or not, Amanda had just been promoted to associate editor of the school newspaper.

  ‘You should be happy for her, not jealous,’ I said. ‘It sounds like you’re being mean to her again.’

  ‘Daddy, I don’t see her enough to be mean. Besides, she has tons of new friends. Luckily, one of them is Madison.’

  When we were alone, Sterling mocked me for taking Olivia too seriously. She claimed I had overreacted to what was ordinary give-and-take. ‘You’re an alarmist,’ she said. ‘When it comes to the girls, I suggest you mind your own business.’

  ‘I’m Olivia’s father. I can take an interest in her relationships.’

  Sterling said, ‘I have a hunch that your interest is more like an obsession.’

  ‘Really. Well, your hunch sounds like an accusation.’ I didn’t say what I really thought: that perhaps her hunch sprang from a guilty conscience. She and Kevin Dalton were adding significant mileage to the Volvo.

  Another man would have demanded answers. But I didn’t want Sterling to lie. Even if they were having an affair (which I more or less believed they were), it wouldn’t last long.

  In hindsight, however, I recognize another reason for remaining silent. It wasn’t a conscious thing, and it shames me now. But because I was working fourteen-hour days, I was glad Sterling came to bed stimulated from being with Kevin Dalton. I appreciated how ready she already was. I liked the expediency.

  February 2014

  Sterling showed me a glossy catalog filled with antique moldings and chandeliers, mosaics and stained glass. Kevin Dalton would be attending an auction in Albany. She pointed out the items Kevin said were rare, possibly even one of a kind. I crossed out items I disliked, such as mosaics and windows that belonged in a museum. No statuary, no gimcrack, no cupolas, no monolithic pier mirrors.

  ‘Will you come with us? Olivia can come, too, if she doesn’t find a friend to take her in.’

  ‘That’s an unpleasant way of putting it—a friend to take her in? I’ll pass. A three-day weekend with Olivia sounds great. And honestly, you don’t want me there.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘You, Kevin, and me? No, thanks.’

  ‘Do I detect a smidgen of jealousy?’

  I looked at her closely. ‘Be careful, Sterling.’

  ‘Can you go two nights without me?’

  ‘Probably. Now that I’m past thirty.’

  ‘You’re above jealousy.’

  ‘Don’t say that. I dread it so much that I’m practically certain it’ll ruin me one day.’

  ‘But you’re above jealousy involving me.’

  ‘If you think jealousy is romantic, it’s not. When I was at Harvard, I saw people with extraordinary minds lose their careers because of jealousy over a smartass kid.’

  ‘So you’re too smart to do that.’

  ‘Stop it, Sterling. We can be good for each other or not. And if not, we won’t last.’

  The next morning, Friday, after I ran and showered, I was hurrying to get dressed. And Sterling called me back to bed. I declined, saying that I’d be late. She said, just come quick. And I did, very hard and very fast, with a tinge of guilt.

  While she lay in bed watching me put on my suit and tie, I told her she’d never find another man like me. Then I kissed her until she insisted I stop.

  ‘All right, but don’t forget—I’m rich.’

  She rolled over and sighed. ‘Oh, yeah. Rich is important.’

  That evening, I arrived home after Sterling and Kevin had left for Albany. Olivia pounced from a corner, frantic from trying to reach me. Madison had invited her snowboarding for the long weekend. Her family had a time-share in Okemo, Vermont. She mimed speeding sideways. ‘Please, Daddy.’

  ‘Let me call Madison’s parents. Do you have their number?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t say I’ve never gone snowboarding. Madison’s been doing it since she was three.’

  ‘Olivia, if you want to go, you must take lessons.’

  ‘God, all right!’ She’d do anything rather than be cooped up with me.

  ‘Try again, unless you can pay your own way.’

  So, she smiled and apologized. She threw her arms around me. I was the best daddy.

  ‘Okay, sweetheart. Let me make that phone call.’

  *

  Saturday, with both Olivia and Sterling away, I stretched in near-record cold and jogged downhill, preparing for my run. It was then that I saw Amanda pedaling hard up the incline, brown bags strapped to an older, more unwieldy bike than I remembered. Her breath white in the sharp air, she panted ‘hello’ but didn’t stop.

  ‘You could walk the bike.’

  She shook her head as she pushed forward. She wore canvas sneakers, no laces—and no socks. The skin of her slender ankles looked blue with cold. Reaching the flat of her driveway, she lifted her head and tossed back her long tawny hair. It flew, bright and alive, across the dreary dead sky.

  *

  The next morning, I woke early to run the full long loop around Rockefeller Park. Returning, I saw Amanda attempting handstands on the asphalt.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Mitchell.’

  ‘Amanda, either you start calling me “Walter,” or I’ll have to call you “Ms. Jonette.’’’

  Her bare hands smoothed her long sheaf of hair and held it away from her face. A faint gleam of pink surfaced along her wide cheekbones.

  ‘Let me get cleaned up,’ I said. ‘And then, if you’re not busy, I wonder if you would accompany me to the mall?’

  She stared at her canvas-clad toe tracing a circle on the ground between us. ‘But you hate the mall.’

  ‘Usually, that’s true. But I’m hungry and in the mood for the chicken satay at that Thai place.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I
could use the company. Sterling and Olivia are away this weekend.’

  Half an hour later, I coaxed her into the Mazda. She strapped the seatbelt over her navy pea coat.

  Out of the car, in the underground parking lot, she smoothed her hair again and her breath formed white plumes in the dank miasma. I opened the heavy metal door to the escalator area and said, ‘After we eat, I’ll read my book and you can shop for trendy clothes.’

  She looked up at me, giggling. ‘Trendy clothes?’

  ‘Isn’t that what they’re called? Skinny jeans, someone told me. And you need boots. Also, warm shirts or sweaters.’

  She shook her head. ‘Too expensive.’

  ‘Not on my charge card, they’re not. When I was a kid, one cool shirt and the right pair of Nikes made all the difference.’

  ‘But it’ll take me forever to pay you back.’

  ‘I don’t want you to. In fact, I won’t allow it. You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.’

  ‘Oh, man!’ She promised, and I promised, and we forgot about the Thai place, even though I had been dizzy with hunger.

  Facing the water flowing over the bronze wall, I studied a new collection of Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches until Amanda returned, laden with shopping bags and skipping before me. She was wearing form-fitting pale blue jeans, with frayed rips on each leg, a swirling oversized pink and orange cap, and a matching hoodie. On her feet were thick short motorcycle boots. Setting the bags on a bench, she smiled and her shyness opened into real happiness, followed too soon by worry.

  ‘I overdid it,’ she said. ‘My mother will kill me. Women have to be independent, especially financially.’

  ‘Hold on. This has nothing to do with independent women and their finances. We made a pact. Based on you choosing some clothes, with no payback. If you break your promise, you’ll hurt my feelings.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Yes. A secret pact is an oath.’

  ‘I know, but I thought the promise was to keep it secret. I don’t remember promising not to pay you back.’

  ‘Yes, you do. I told you I can’t allow it.’

  ‘But if my mother finds out—’

  ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’

  She swung around and sat beside me, as bright and happy as I’d ever seen her. Her cap, she said, was beehive-style, and she’d gotten matching mittens. Two thermal-knit long-sleeve shirts, a cardigan, and another pair of jeans, no rips.

  ‘Socks?’

  ‘Three pairs. Two from Hot Sox and the other pair at the shoe store.’ She handed me the credit card and pawed through the bags for the receipts. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘I believe the U.S. Army supplies more clothing for recruits going to boot camp.’

  She laughed. ‘The army?’ She shook her head and caught her cap before it fell off. She adjusted it on top of her head, angled slightly back. ‘The army doesn’t have pink- and persimmon-colored sweaters and black, patterned over-the-knee socks.’

  ‘We don’t know that. Maybe they use them for special missions.’

  In the car, she asked if I thought ripped jeans were silly. ‘They last just as long as regular new jeans. The rips are just there to look cool.’

  ‘Well, they do look cool, Amanda. Very cool.’

  I turned into the enclave and drove slowly uphill. When I pulled into her driveway, the garage door was open, which wasn’t unusual. She thanked me again and although I was suffused with tenderness for her, I forced myself to look straight ahead.

  I remained in her driveway long enough to enjoy her elation as she twirled through the garage’s empty space in her heavy boots, the outstretched bags adding ballast. Setting the bags down, she slid back to me and stopped. I lowered the window and she whispered, ‘You and I are nothing like my mother, Walter.’

  I squeezed her shoulder. ‘Maybe not. All I know is that for me, giving gifts is often more fun than getting them.’

  ‘I know! My favorite thing this Christmas was being able to give you a real present.’ She jumped and turned in the air.

  Shifting into reverse, I saw Sterling in the rearview mirror. Home a full day early, she leaned against the Volvo’s bumper in our garage. Even at a distance, inside my car, I could feel her anger skewering me.

  I parked the Mazda beside the Volvo. And then, inside our double garage, Sterling shoved me hard through the door into the kitchen.

  ‘Walter, have you lost your mind? You are not that girl’s father.’

  ‘True. But I care about her and whoever her father is, does not.’

  In the hallway, she yanked my arm. ‘Are you really oblivious to how totally over the top this is? I mean, honestly, how could you?’

  ‘What—buy her warm clothes? It’s not a crime.’

  ‘Juicy Couture and Bloomingdale’s. Pray to God Olivia never finds out.’ She stomped upstairs and yelled down to me, ‘I swear, ever since Jimmy Quinn died, you’ve forgotten where one person ends and another begins. Find the boundaries!’

  Sterling, I soon learned, had returned home early because of a bitter argument with Kevin Dalton. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said. ‘I’m in a terrible mood.’

  Perhaps her terrible mood explained her outrage over me taking Amanda shopping. I made the mistake of wondering this aloud. And Sterling lit up, almost aloft with righteous indignation—the terrific moral certainty that cheaters so easily summon.

  *

  That evening, we ate dinner separately. Olivia was still on her snowboarding trip. I was loading the dishwasher when Gil, Madison’s father, called. Olivia had broken her thumb at the base. A clean break, he said, but still a bad injury.

  While he was talking, Sterling dashed into view, wearing her coat, gloves, and scarf. She shook her car keys in front of my face. Undoubtedly off to see Kevin.

  ‘Excuse me, Gil,’ I moved the phone away. ‘Olivia broke her thumb,’ I said softly to my wife. ‘If you wait a second, you can talk to her.’

  Sterling didn’t have a second.

  Gil regretted not going with the girls, but Madison had said to leave them alone. ‘I should know by now that “leave us alone” means—stay glued to them.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ I said. ‘Olivia does what she wants before anyone can stop her.’

  Gil said the ER doctors had given her painkillers. ‘She’s giddy now. But later tonight and certainly tomorrow she’ll be uncomfortable.’ He expected to have Olivia home midday tomorrow.

  Ninety minutes later, Sterling returned, her mood restored. I watched her in the mirror as she took off her earrings, and her face squinted a reflected warning against any questions.

  The next morning, when I returned from running, Sterling was up, dressed, and leaving to meet Kevin. They were attending another auction. She’d be home after dinner.

  ‘Just so you know,’ I said, ‘when Olivia gets home in a few hours, she’ll be in pain.’

  ‘Well, don’t coddle her. She brought this on herself.’

  That afternoon, ugly sleet poured down. Gil carried in Olivia’s wet bags and removed his boots. Olivia whined and cried when I helped her out of her jacket. I asked her to sit down so I could undo her laces, but she ignored me and clomped into the TV room.

  Gil said, ‘A broken thumb is maddening. It makes everything—washing, getting dressed, even moving around—difficult if not impossible.’

  As he was leaving, Olivia called out, ‘Daddy, take care of me!’

  I couldn’t recall her ever saying anything like that.

  Sterling stormed in after dinner and, seeing our daughter on the couch, said, ‘How does payback for stupidity feel?’

  ‘Sterling—’ I warned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let me show you the X-rays.’

  She ignored me and stood over Olivia, who asked her to move aside. She was blocking The Wizard of Oz.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do! Instead of lying around right now, you should be studying bus schedu
les, young lady. Because I don’t have the time to drive you to the doctor’s.’

  ‘What bus schedules?’ I took Sterling’s arm and, when she shook me loose, I took it again and pulled her into the downstairs study. ‘Olivia needs to see a hand orthopedist. If her thumb isn’t properly aligned, it won’t heal right. Without physical therapy, she could lose mobility.’

  ‘All right, you drive her.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Olivia’s treatment consisted of six weeks in a hard cast. X-rays to check on the healing process. Three weeks in a brace, during which Olivia would go for physical therapy at the hospital.

  Sterling remained furious: furious that Olivia had broken her thumb, furious that she felt sorry for herself, and furious that she exerted herself as little as possible.

  And, in case I was wondering, Sterling hadn’t forgiven my lapse in judgment regarding Amanda.

  ‘Lapse in judgment. What does that mean?’

  ‘It means you shouldn’t have bought her clothes!’

  ‘I’ve apologized to you. If you’re still angry about it, do what you will—to me. Do not speak of it to Amanda or Olivia. And do not ask that Amanda pay us back.’

  ‘Is that what you think? That I’m upset about the cost?’

  ‘Then what?’

  She wouldn’t say.

  March 2014

  When Olivia wasn’t in school, she lounged on the couch, watching movies or TV.

  One night, Sterling yanked her up, saying, ‘You’ll be sorry, you little brat. Six weeks of playing couch potato. See where that gets you.’

  I separated my wife and daughter and pulled Sterling into the study again. ‘You cannot talk to her like that! Whatever your personal frustrations are, all she did was act on her usual overconfidence.’

  ‘You have no idea what my frustrations are.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  Sterling walked away.

  April 2014

  On the first warm weekend, I ran farther south along the aqueduct after my regular Sunday loop and found the winding road to our ‘dream property.’ The structure—which Sterling had called a split-level eyesore—remained untouched, though we’d gotten knockdown permission nearly a year ago.