Gates thought again about the endless discord in her home. She wondered how much Lindsay had heard of her parents’ screaming match, not that it mattered. Lindsay wouldn’t let on; she’d keep everything behind that sullen homely face and not let out a single peep, even to her grandmother.
Lindsay stood very quietly in the shadows underneath the grand central staircase. She watched her mother and then her father leave the library. She still didn’t move. A weed, she thought, a weed in their garden. She touched her fingers to her curly hair. It was a mess as usual, frizzed out and oily because if she washed it too often it just looked like dry straw. She wanted to leave this mansion and everyone in it, even more than she’d realized before. She wanted to go to Connecticut to school. She wanted to be free. Just two more weeks and she would be free. Stamford, Connecticut. It sounded really distant. She felt a brief pang for her mother, then dismissed it. Her mother would have to learn to take care of herself. Lindsay left her hiding place after another fifteen minutes and escaped the Foxe mansion, walking downhill on Bayberry toward Union Street.
Dinner at the Foxe mansion was formal and elegant and followed an unvarying routine. The night before Lindsay was to leave was no exception. Dorrey, the cook, was huffing as she came into the dining room, for the two silver-covered trays she balanced on her forearms were heavy and she was stouter than she’d been just the year before. She carefully set the trays before the master. At his nod, she lifted the silver covers, watched him give the braised sirloin a gourmet’s appraisal then turn to the two small bowls of fresh vegetables, small red potatoes and green beans with French almonds and tiny Japanese pearl onions. At his look of approval, she removed the salad plates and lifted the nearly empty tureen of fresh mushroom soup from the table and took herself back to the kitchen. She’d sliced herself a good half-dozen strips of the sirloin, and her mouth watered thinking about it.
Royce sat at the head of the table and Grandmother Gates at the foot. They took turns directing the conversation. Jennifer sat on her husband’s right as she’d done for as long as she’d been in this house. She spoke only after her mother-in-law or her husband had begun a specific topic and invited her opinion. Jennifer looked across the table at her daughter, wondering not for the first time what she was thinking, for her silence was absolute. She even made no noise at all eating. Jennifer wondered if she was wise in allowing Lindsay to come to the dining room with the adults. The girl was terribly thin and at that gawky age. She was just as likely to spill the soup in her lap as to get the spoon in her mouth. She would have to improve in appearance soon; she certainly couldn’t go much further the other way.
“I had a letter from Sydney today,” Royce said after he’d carefully chewed a piece of braised sirloin. He decided it was time to offer Dorrey a raise.
“She is well?” Jennifer asked, wishing Sydney would magically disappear from her life. Milan, Italy, wasn’t far enough away for the girl who’d made Jennifer’s life a misery until she’d left home for Harvard at age seventeen.
“She and her husband will be flying to San Francisco sometime during the fall. We’ll have a dinner party for them, don’t you think, Mother? Small, perhaps only one hundred guests or so.”
“Naturally, that would be appropriate. How is Sydney adapting to Italy and Italians?”
Royce took his time chewing a bite of sirloin. He shrugged then, not looking at his mother directly. “She is happy, of course. She and Alessandro just returned from a month’s honeymoon in Turkey and some of the islands in the Aegean. She mentions that the Contini villa is very old and needs modernizing, which she will undertake very soon. She mentions also that her mother-in-law appears to be reasonable and that her sister-in-law is a slut.”
Gates made appropriate noises as her son continued his panegyric on Sydney. She heard the word “slut” but wasn’t really interested. Gates chanced to look up to see Lindsay staring toward her father. There was hunger in the girl’s eyes and a strange sort of sad acceptance. Gates quickly turned away. It wasn’t right, but then again, she’d never found life particularly right or fair or just. The girls’ school was an excellent idea. Lindsay would make friends there. She’d finally belong. Remaining here would be disastrous for all of them. Sydney had always been the only child he’d loved. Yes, it was better that the girl leave San Francisco, at least until she’d grown enough armor to defend herself against her father—armor that she would need until the day he died.
That evening Jennifer followed Lindsay to her bedroom and looked over the new wardrobe she’d bought her for her school, particularly warm things for the cold Connecticut winters.
“Do you like this, Lindsay?” It was a beautiful cable-knit sweater in pale blue. Lindsay gave her that silent nod that aggravated Jennifer no end.
“If you didn’t like it, then why did you let me buy it for you?”
“I do like it, Mother. It’s just that it makes me look even taller and even skinnier.”
“No it doesn’t.” She paused, knowing Lindsay wouldn’t argue with her. “Are you excited?” she asked finally.
“I think so. I will like the school, I hope.”
“Yes, you should. Your grandmother selected the school for you personally. You will be happy there.”
Lindsay nodded at the ultimatum. Her mother was trying, Lindsay knew. But she was antsy; she wished her mother would leave her and just go to bed. Lindsay was fiddling with a particularly ugly ring on the third finger of her right hand, the kind of thing one would find in a cereal box. It drew her mother’s attention. “Where did you get that thing?”
“A friend gave it to me.”
“What friend? A boy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what’s his name, this boy?”
“Allen.”
“Allen what?”
“Carstairs. His family lives on Filbert. He’s in my class at school.”
“The ring is cheap and disgusting.” Jennifer held out her hand. “Give it to me. I will dispose of it.”
For the first time in all her sixteen years, Lindsay said, “No. It’s mine. It’s a gift and I’m going to keep it.” She whipped her hand behind her back.
Jennifer felt like a fool with her hand stuck out, palm up, expecting to be obeyed. She knew Lindsay wouldn’t give up the foolish ring. God, she hoped the stupid girl hadn’t had sex with this Allen Carstairs. That would be all they’d need, a pregnant Lindsay who couldn’t even coordinate herself walking down the stairs.
Irritated, she said, “Very well. Keep the junky thing, but it makes your knuckles look even bigger. Just see that you don’t allow this Allen Carstairs to get under your dress, any part of him. Your father wouldn’t stand for it if you got pregnant.”
Lindsay stared at her mother, who had, strangely to Lindsay, lost at least five pounds since Sydney’s wedding. “I wouldn’t do that, Mom. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“See that you don’t.” Jennifer realized she was being a bitch and absurd. No boy could possibly be interested in Lindsay for sex. This Allen Carstairs was probably gay and saw Lindsay as a friend, nothing more. She felt guilty. She quickly hugged her daughter. “You’ll enjoy the school, Lindsay, I know you will. You’re a good girl.”