Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For a while, Lee’s hair was the exact shade of Jamie’s.
As she grew older, her hair became lighter while Jamie’s deepened to an espresso.
As Lee generally worshipped Jamie, in the manner that older siblings are worshipped, she often requested to wear his old clothes.
Thus Joan began to purchase all of Jamie’s shirts and sweaters in neutral colors, gray and navy and white, and the children appeared as slightly different versions of each other, like two sizes of a matryoshka doll.
By now Joan was used to being mistaken for their nanny. She was occasionally approached downtown by mothers impressed with her handling of two charges—and she was so engaged! She didn’t loaf around; she didn’t just stand and speak to the other nannies.
“There’s this one park,” a mother said. “The Chinese nannies there are always gossiping. It’s fine, of course, to talk. But you also have a job to do.”
Which park? Joan wanted to ask. What Chinese nannies?
One of their favorite spots to visit downtown was a bookstore.
What was particularly nice about this shop was the child’s section, which had lots of cozy corners to read in—it had been designed so that even little children could reach any title which might interest them.
Once a week there would be a performance of some kind, a magician or balloon artist. Afterward, Joan would allow Jamie and Lee to each choose a book.
While the kids browsed, Joan would chat with the manager, Trish, who was in her late thirties with striking red hair.
When not at the register, Trish could be found reading for story hour or reshelving books.
Joan thought it wonderful that a beautiful person worked at a bookstore, as she knew how much young children prefer a pretty face.
“Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” Joan asked when Bill came with them once.
“Who?”
“Over there.”
Bill studied her. “That’s quite a pronouncement,” he finally said.
“She could be a movie star.”
“Oh yeah? What sort of a movie?”
“She’s just nice-looking. And young.”
“She’s not that young. And you think everyone is nice-looking,” Bill said, nuzzling her cheek.
Trish looked over, and Joan waved. Joan still thought Trish was stunning, but maybe Bill was right that she was no one special; perhaps Joan only thought so because Trish was white and young, and Joan did seem to find many young white people beautiful.
There were young Chinese people as well, of course, and Black and Mexican and Pakistani and Peruvian, but when Joan encountered such individuals, they often averted their gaze, as Joan did.
On the street they appeared distracted, as if concentrating on a problem or some physical pain.
She’d once tried to explain this to Bill, but he didn’t understand.
“It’s in your head,” he’d said. “We’re all the same. ”
Joan knew they were not all the same, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you can explain to your sixty-year-old husband, not when he’s convinced otherwise.
Besides, everyone treated Bill the same—as in they treated him nicely.
He was trim and handsome in that way of certain older men when they dress well and have kept most of their hair.
He was confident and had pleasant manners.
Though it was Joan who brought the children to and from school each day, it was Bill whom the teachers spoke to at parents’ night.
The following month, Joan brought Lee and Jamie to Los Angeles, where they visited Disneyland before stopping in Ojai to see Misty, who was housesitting for a friend.
The Spanish-style compound had a pool and a tennis court, and Lee and Jamie, who were five and seven now, ran outside day and night.
After they returned, both children had to stay home from school for a week to recover from bad colds.
So when Joan finally did make her way back to the bookshop, nearly two months had elapsed from her last visit.
She’d come to buy a present for a birthday party—these damned birthday parties!
Joan could not recall any such parties in Taiwan; her parents had never held a celebration for even her brothers, besides some cake at home.
But in America, at least Joan’s America, there were lavish events with petting zoos and waterslides seemingly every weekend.
Each party also required a gift—the perfect gift, Joan was learning, as there would often be a public unveiling.
When Joan and Lee and Jamie arrived at the bookstore, it was already late afternoon. Joan looked at her watch and said they could browse only a short while.
“But there’s a magic show,” Jamie said, reading from a flyer. “At five.”
“We can’t make that.”
“We never get to see magic,” Lee complained. She was in a phase Joan didn’t like, a whiny phase.
“Maybe we can watch the first five minutes,” Joan said, which both she and the children knew meant at least twenty.
While the children browsed, Joan selected a C.
S. Lewis collection and a plastic archery set (the recipient was a reckless blond named Francis, who had once stomped on her tulips; Joan thought likely only the bow and arrows would see any use).
“Oh!” Trish cried when Joan reached the register. “I haven’t seen you!”
“The kids were sick,” Joan said, flattered their absence had been noticed.
She thought Trish looked especially lovely today: she was wearing a lavender sundress, which emphasized the auburn tones in her hair, and a little gold necklace.
She should get a necklace like that, Joan thought.
Last night at dinner, Dina had worn a similar piece, layered with a bold chain of onyx.
“Oh no. I didn’t realize that.”
“They’re fine now,” Joan said, gesturing toward the children. Jamie was throwing a stuffed boa constrictor at Lee while making hissing noises. Lee batted it to get it away.
“Still. It must be so worrying. Those poor darlings.”
Joan smiled. That Trish was distressed was touching, as she had never shown particular interest in the children before.
Trish was slow wrapping the presents, and a line formed. The man directly behind Joan, a businessman type, kept looking at his watch. When Trish finished, Joan zipped her tote and prepared to leave.
“Hold on,” Trish said. “I just thought of something.” She went to the back and returned with a set of fruit-shaped erasers and a metal Slinky. “Some get-well gifts. For the kids.”
“They’re already well,” Joan reminded her. The man behind Joan sighed.
“Then these are for them getting well.” There was something wrong with Trish’s voice; it was all wobbly, as if she were about to cry.
“I’m sorry I’m crying,” Trish said a moment later. She wore powder blush, and her tears left coral tracks as they ran down her cheeks. She met Joan’s gaze for only a second before looking away. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“Sometimes we cry and have no idea why,” Joan said, unzipping her bag and handing Trish a tissue. Although Joan thought she had a pretty good idea.
“I thought we said no more toys after Disneyland,” Bill commented when he came down for dinner. On the table, on his linen place mat, were the gifts from Trish.
“They’re from the bookstore,” Joan said.
“I took Jamie and Lee today.” Joan recalled when the children had been sick.
She’d not been able to sleep and had crept out of bed to check on them throughout the night.
When Lee’s fever went above 103 degrees, Joan wanted to go to the hospital, but Bill had stopped her.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. He was right, naturally. Bill excelled at risk management.
“What’s this, erasers?” Bill examined the box. “Banana-shaped? School supplies are a lot different than I remember, that’s for sure.”
Oh, he’s so calm, Joan thought. He’s so cool and easy.
She reached for the bottle of soy sauce and drizzled a ribbon into the wok.
“They were a gift from the manager. You know, the one I showed you before. Trish. She seemed very affected when she learned the children had been ill. It was almost as if something heavier, more significant, were weighing on her.”
Joan sprinkled on some white pepper and ate one of the noodles as a test. As she stirred, she could feel Bill studying the back of her. She took a deep breath and held it before exhaling. That goddamn cheating bastard !
“Are we going to talk about this?” Bill finally asked.
“Later,” Joan said. She turned off the heat. The noodles were done, but she kept stirring. She couldn’t look at him.
“I wasn’t lying about not finding her attractive,” Bill said once Lee and Jamie were in bed. Joan and Bill had gone up separately to wish the children good night. When Joan came back down, Bill had been waiting at the table in the kitchen.
“Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know.” She saw that Bill was being honest, that he was puzzling through the question himself. “I went once to buy some magazines, while you were volunteering at the school. I suppose I paid closer attention because you said she was so beautiful. And then we got to talking.”
“How many times were you with her?”
“Three.”
“In public?”
“Only once. Lunch because she was hungry. At a diner by the office complex in Santa Clara. It’s over, obviously.”
He was remorseful, she saw; he was usually willing to admit fault. Joan had found it an attractive trait, as she herself could not apologize so easily, but now she realized Bill was this way because he’d always, always been forgiven.
“What if she doesn’t think it’s over?”
“I’m not responsible for how she thinks.” Bill shrugged, as if he could not be held to account for the unpredictability of women.
The phone rang, and Bill reached to pick it up. “Henry. Let me call you back,” he said into the receiver, looking at Joan.