Page 49

“Have fun!” said George as she waved the girls off for the evening.

Not a double date, because Ruth and Ivy ran in different social circles.

This was a good thing, she told herself.

They were separate people, each with her own taste.

Still, she wished Ivy would go out with boys a little more like Patrick Healy, and that Ruth would find some who reminded her a little less of Mel Carson.

Surely there must be some version of boy in between those two extremes.

The girls barely waved goodbye to each other, which made her sad.

Not that they cared what she thought. To them, she was just a housewife.

Well, she had only herself to blame for that.

Wasn’t a housewife exactly what she’d tried so hard to be when they were younger?

She’d thought they might find her more interesting when she started flying again.

But her daughters didn’t take her flying seriously.

Sometimes she felt like a child with a precocious hobby.

The phone rang—Tom’s nightly check-in—and she hurried inside to answer. It was a quick call—he only had a minute—but it lifted her mood.

“Tom’s coming home,” she announced to her mother.

Adele lowered her Popular Mechanics and said, “Is that so?” in the bland voice she used whenever the subject of her son-in-law arose.

“For a month. Probably more,” said George. Tom hadn’t committed to any specific length of stay, but George had sensed from the sleepy way he said he missed her that this time things might be different.

The morning after Vivian’s last awful visit, while the girls and Adele slept, while she listened to Vivian creeping out of the house and into a waiting cab, George had watched from the bed as Tom packed his satchel with more than the usual single change of clothes.

He’d turned, and seeing her awake, said, “Who else knows?”

Was he leaving her? Leaving them? What would she tell the girls?

“George. Who else?”

“Vivian.”

“Of course Vivian. Because one of them is Vivian’s—I figured that much out. But not which one. I know I asked last night, but don’t you ever tell me. I mean it. Never.”

She swore she wouldn’t. But she didn’t apologize. She would never apologize for having two daughters rather than one. She wasn’t sorry. She would do it again a thousand times over.

“Who else?” he persisted.

“Probably Mother.”

“Your mother never misses a trick. She’s probably known since you brought them home.”

George shook her head, remembering the pink curtains in the nursery windows. The rocking chair and cushion. Her mother’s unexpected tenderness toward her granddaughters. Adele hadn’t known. Not that day. George couldn’t say for certain when she’d found out.

“Who else?”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you. She was just a baby, and Vivian couldn’t—if you knew, you’d understand why—”

“But I didn’t know. And why not? Did you think you couldn’t tell me? Did you think I’d say no?”

Yes, she thought. I did.

“You kept it from me. But other people know, don’t they? Who else?”

George kept silent.

“Frank?”

George kept silent.

“Does Frank know?”

She closed her eyes.

“George.”

“No. Why would he?”

“I’m not an idiot, Georgeanne.”

He’d left the house and not returned for two months.

When he finally called her, he said, “I know it’s not just real estate with you and Frank.”

“Come home,” said George. “Come home, and it will be. Just real estate. I swear.”

She’d wanted her husband back. Wanted a father for her daughters. Wanted to move forward. To be the kind of wife and mother she was supposed to be. To have the family that she was supposed to have. So when Tom finally came home and unpacked, she’d been happy.

Frank Bridlemile had stayed away. They only saw the Bridlemiles as a quartet. Or on joint family outings. Because it was important to demonstrate—to others as well as themselves—that all was well. Nothing was compromised. The danger, the smoke, had cleared.

Tom never spoke of the girls’ parentage again. That he hadn’t demanded to know which girl was his allowed her to believe they could be a normal family. Because deep down he knew he was meant to be a father to both girls. That they were, in every respect except biology, really his twin daughters.

But normal only lasted so long. The two of them bickered about little things, then bigger things.

Tom talked of nothing but work. Would he get the prime routes?

The promotion? The bigger jets? Marrying him had been the smart choice, she reminded herself daily.

He was a handsome man, a responsible man, a man with some solidity. And Frank was taken, after all.

Then, one afternoon, Frank showed up at her door.

Tom was flying. Adele was out. The girls were at school.

She hadn’t heard from Vivian in ages. But there stood Frank, with his easy smile and his midnight eyes, and what was the harm of asking him in for coffee?

Just coffee. Coffee and conversation with one of her oldest friends.

As she scooped crystals from the Folgers can, he put his hands on her waist, and she didn’t tense and she didn’t say no.

She dropped the scoop and turned to face him.

They stood like that a long time, testing waters they already intended to swim in.

Her blood raced, so fast and hot in her veins it dizzied her.

She hadn’t moved, yet her body somehow fitted itself against his. And everything began again.

For months at a time, Tom stayed away and George dreamed of someday—once the girls grew up and left—flying off with Frank. To ... it didn’t matter where. Someplace with an airfield. Someplace they could start the life they always should have had together.

Then Tom would come home and she’d plant her feet back on solid ground, do her best to make her marriage work. This was easier when Helen tugged hard on Frank’s leash and he didn’t come around for a while.

Tonight, with Ruth and Ivy out and Frank at home with Helen, George missed her husband. She flipped open her Redbook . Maybe she’d cool things off with Frank for good. Maybe things would go differently this time.