Family Pictures Page 9

  The shrill ring of the phone interrupts her thoughts. Glancing down, she sees it’s Angie and pulls over to the side of the road to pick up.

  “So I just left yoga, and the latest on Caroline and Bill is she’s definitely leaving town. House is going on the market tomorrow. Bill told Don he was having affairs because Caroline hates sex. No surprise there, then.”

  “True,” murmurs Sylvie. “I can’t imagine Caroline getting down and dirty with anyone. Least of all Bill. Even though he is rather … large.”

  Angie barks with laughter. “What are you doing? Come over. I’ve got a million cupcakes left over from the library meeting. If you don’t come stop me, I may have put on three hundred pounds by the end of today.”

  Sylvie checks her watch. “I have to be home in five minutes. The guy’s coming to fix the dishwasher, and I have to make sure Eve goes to visit her grandmother today. Come to me instead. And bring the cupcakes.”

  * * *

  Pushing the back door open, Sylvie walks into a quiet kitchen, the only evidence that Eve is home a trail of teenage belongings, rather like the bread crumbs left by Hansel and Gretel, that eventually will surely lead to Eve.

  A backpack dumped in the middle of the floor outside the kitchen, a binder in the doorway, a felt hat on the kitchen table. A carton of milk on the kitchen counter, the cookie jar not in its usual place on the shelf.

  “Eve?” Sylvie puts her bag down, pausing only to pick up one of the candles and smell, amazed still that she managed to create this wonderful fragrance. “Are you here?”

  She moves through the house, picking up Eve’s stuff as she does so, eventually finding her in the office, hand in the cookie jar resting on her lap as she gazes fixedly on the screen, suddenly bursting out into laughter.

  “You jerk!” Eve grins at the screen before realizing at that moment that Sylvie is in the room. “Oh hey, Mom!” She pushes the cookie jar down, attempting to hide it, embarrassed.

  “Caught you!” Sylvie says as Eve blushes.

  “Guilty as charged.” Eve tries to laugh, although she looks embarrassed. “Say hi to my mom,” she says to the screen, swiveling it round. “Mom? This is Olivia. She’s in New York?”

  Sylvie waves at the tiny picture of the pretty teenager, wishing Eve would stop with this upspeak she’s noticing in everyone, all their sentences going up at the end as if they are asking a question.

  “Hi, Eve’s Mom!” Olivia waves back. “Wow! You’re so pretty! And so young!”

  Sylvie shakes her head and laughs. “Your screen must be soft focus, or you’ve been taking some lessons at charm school.”

  “She totally has.” Eve drapes an arm around her mother’s neck so they are both on-screen together. “Isn’t she cute?” She looks at her mother affectionately as Sylvie makes a face at her.

  “I’m your mother, not a kitten.”

  “I know”—Eve pouts—“but you are cute. Isn’t she cute?” She looks at Olivia on-screen, who nods and gives a thumbs-up.

  “Okay.” Sylvie disengages and turns to Eve. “You want something. What do you want?”

  “Well…,” Eve starts, as Sylvie remembers what she needs to do. “You know what? I need to use the computer in here. Can you give me five minutes? Is that okay?”

  “Then will you say yes to whatever I’m about to ask you?”

  “Then I’ll say maybe and I’ll definitely think about it. How’s that?”

  “Good enough.” Eve skips out the room.

  * * *

  Sylvie takes a deep breath as she clicks Outlook open. She is breaking the rules; snooping means you will find things you don’t want to know about; you won’t be able to request an explanation without revealing you have been snooping, which, as everyone knows, is the lowest of the low.

  First the in-box. She scrolls down, looking for women’s names, looking for addresses that don’t make sense, that could be masking a secret liaison. She finds two addresses that seem ominous, which turn out to be merely from executive assistants at other companies and entirely innocent.

  There are numerous mailboxes. Sylvie moves down the list, clicking each one open, finally growing bored with reading sales figures, projections, inventory lists.

  There is no evidence whatsoever, other than a slight disquiet, a fear her mother may be right, but she has to ignore it, for her mother is not the woman she once was, and her instincts, though once sharp, are not what they were.

  Eve appears in the doorway. “Are you done yet?”

  Sylvie nods. “Who’s Olivia, by the way? She seems nice.”

  “She is. Really nice. She’s a friend of Claudia’s from camp. We met on Facebook.”

  Sylvie gives her a hard look. “Make sure your father doesn’t find out. If he knew you were becoming friends with strangers on Facebook, he’d go nuts.”

  “She’s not a stranger, Mom. She’s a friend of Claudia’s. Anyway, you just met her. Isn’t she so nice?”

  “She is. She seems adorable. Just make sure—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. But can I just tell you? She has this ridiculously awesome apartment in New York, and she’s really mature and sensible. And … she’s going to Columbia.” Eve gives her mother a stare.

  “And your point?”

  “That’s where I should be going. Columbia. Or NYU. The Eastern schools attract really great people. I really do want to look at NYU again. Please will you talk to Dad? Please?”

  “I’ll try again, but I can’t promise anything,” sighs Sylvie. “You know how stubborn he can be.”

  “When I’m eighteen, I can make my own choice.” Eve pouts defiantly.

  “You can, but who’s going to pay for it?”

  “I’ll get a job.”

  “You’ll need ten jobs to pay for it. Let me talk to him some more. I know you need to make a decision very soon.”

  They both turn at the sound of gravel crunching outside, Angie’s vintage blue Bug swinging underneath the window as Angie and her daughter, Claudia, climb out of the car.

  Sylvie and Eve go to meet them, Sylvie trying to put those earlier, unsettling thoughts out of her mind.

  16

  Sylvie

  Angie moans as she licks her fingers, savoring every last dollop of icing she can find. “Sometimes,” she announces, leaning back satisfied, “there’s just nothing like a cupcake to make a girl happy.”

  “Or three.” Sylvie grins. “To make a girl delirious with joy.”

  “Was it just three?” Angie says. “I’m sure I had three and a half. As yummy as they were, I have a horrible feeling I may suffer later.”

  Sylvie’s smile disappears. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I heard Eve vomiting the other night.”

  Angie sits up. “You mean purging? After food?”

  Sylvie nods. “I passed the bathroom the other night after she’d just eaten a ton of cookies. I’m pretty sure the noise I heard was of her vomiting it up.”

  “Was that the only time you’ve heard it?”

  Sylvie shakes her head, explaining about the ice cream that Eve confessed to eating too fast.

  “Does she leave the table right after the meal and go to the bathroom?” asks Angie.

  Sylvie, not having noticed anything in particular, shakes her head again.

  Angie sighs. “She is really thin and she’s always bundled up in something. I binged and purged when I was modeling, but it wasn’t as serious as it is for some people. As awful as it sounds to say it, I did it to stay thin for the work, not because I had a serious eating disorder.”

  “But you must have had an eating disorder. It isn’t normal to make yourself throw up after eating.”

  Angie frowns. “I know that’s true, but as soon as I stopped modeling, I stopped doing it. It never felt like a problem; I wasn’t cold, or … furry, my teeth didn’t turn black and fall out. Maybe I didn’t do it enough. Or I just wasn’t very good at it. I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re looking to me for answers, but I re
ally think you should take her to see someone.”

  “Does Claudia know anything?”

  “She says Eve always has an excuse as to why she won’t eat—she’s just eaten, you’ve got a big meal planned, but she won’t admit to having a problem, and Claudia doesn’t want to push her.”

  Sylvie nods. “She freaked out last time I mentioned going to see someone. She’s so moody lately, I’m scared of doing anything to disturb the peace, even though I know we’re probably reaching the point where we’ll have no choice.”

  “Don’t wait to reach that point,” insists Angie. “You’re so much better off intervening now before it’s really serious, before she goes away to school. Did she accept USC yet?”

  Once more, Sylvie shakes her head. “She still has it in her head she’s going to NYU. For whatever reason, she’s obsessed with New York. I think she thinks it’s all Gossip Girl.”

  “That’s my daughter’s influence, I’m afraid. She’s going this weekend, and I’m just crossing my fingers they don’t get into too much trouble. I spoke to the mother, and the kids are being chaperoned in their apartment during some party.” She shrugs. “I just have to hope it’s not going to be too wild. When I think New York and partying, I’m remembering Studio 54 and lines of white powder.”

  “Oh, the good old days,” Sylvie laughs.

  “You got it. And I was truly a kid from nowhere. I had no clue. She’s a different child. She’s going to be fine.”

  “Who’s going to be fine?” The girls appear on the porch, their socked feet silent through the house.

  “Exactly.” Angie nods her head sagely as the girls roll their eyes, moving automatically to the large cake box on the counter, as if bees to honey.

  “We need to ask you something.” Eve pulls her friend’s attention away from the cake box. “Claudia’s going to New York this weekend for her friend Olivia’s party, and Claudia and Olivia both think I should be there too. Before you say no,” she rushes, “I know what Dad would say, but he’s not even here this weekend so he wouldn’t even have to know. And it’s much safer for Claudia if we’re together, and then I could actually visit NYU as well. Please say I can go. Pleeeeeaaassseeee.”

  The two girls are almost bouncing with eagerness as Sylvie, feeling somewhat ambushed, looks at Angie for help.

  Angie grimaces back. “Are you asking for my opinion?”

  Sylvie nods as Angie shrugs apologetically. “I think it’s a good idea. Eve should see NYU. Claudia’s already been, so she can show her round. Selfishly, I’d be far more comfortable if Claudia was flying with someone else, even though I know that’s not exactly relevant.”

  “Yes!” squeal the girls.

  “Hold on,” Sylvie warns. “I haven’t said yes. I think it’s lovely that she’s invited you, but I’m not sure how I feel about you being in New York by yourself with people I don’t know.”

  “You should call Olivia’s mom, Mrs. Adamson, and talk to her,” Claudia offers quickly. “She’s really nice and she’s planning stuff for the out-of-towners.”

  Angie frowns at her daughter. “How many out-of-towners are there? I thought this was a small party in the apartment.”

  “It is! But four girls from camp are going, and some of us aren’t from New York, so her mom’s taking us to see Wicked on Sunday.”

  Sylvie looks at Eve. “You wouldn’t feel out of place with all these kids you don’t know?”

  “I do know them, Mom,” says Eve. “We’re on iChat and Facebook all the time. They’ve become really good friends of mine.”

  “Let me think about it,” Sylvie begs for time. “I’ll get the details from Angie and I’ll think about it. I also have to talk to your father about it.”

  “No, Mom!” Eve commands softly. “You can’t. You know he’ll say no, that New York’s too dangerous. Please don’t tell him. You can’t.”

  Angie is surprised. “Mark thinks New York is dangerous? I thought he spends most of his work there.”

  “That’s the point,” Sylvie sighs. “He says he knows what it’s really like. That’s why he won’t let Eve even consider NYU or Columbia.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Angie says. “Mark knows better than that.”

  “I know. It’s this thing he has.” Sylvie shrugs. “Completely irrational, but he would not be happy about Eve flying to New York.”

  “First of all, he’s not my dad,” Eve interjects, something she rarely says, rarely thinks about, uses only when Mark is saying no to something she really wants to do. Mark is the only father she has ever known, and certainly someone always referred to as “Papa,” other than when he is putting his foot down.

  “He’s my stepdad. I love him, Mom, but even you know how he can be completely irrational some of the time.”

  “Like the Facebook fear,” Angie points out.

  “And it isn’t his decision to make.” Eve is fortified by Angie’s agreement. “I’m your daughter, therefore you’re the only person who gets to decide what I can and cannot do.”

  Sylvie sighs. “What about when I say no, you can’t buy that leather jacket, then you get Mark to buy it for you? Who gets to decide then? Then it’s fine for Mark to step in and overrule me with his decision. It doesn’t cut both ways, you know.”

  “That’s different,” Eve says. “That’s a teenage girl exercising her daddy–daughter rights.”

  “Oh, he’s back to being Daddy now?”

  “Depends. Mom, even you have to agree he can be irrational.”

  “Eve, I can’t hide this from him, and if he does say no, I can’t overrule that. It’s too huge. We’re a team, a partnership. I can’t go behind his back.”

  “I disagree,” Angie interjects, immediately apologizing as Sylvie glares at her. “I’m sorry, but I do. It is your decision. If Mark had a rational explanation, that would be something else entirely, but he doesn’t, so in this case you do have the right to overrule him.”

  “Exactly!” Eve smiles. “You don’t have to ask him. He’s not even here. Didn’t you say he’s away until next Wednesday? He doesn’t even have to know.”

  * * *

  Sylvie is in a quandary. Having been brought up on such shaky ground, with so many secrets, the single most important requirement she has always had in relationships is honesty.

  She has never lied, withheld, kept secrets. Until her mother sowed a seed of doubt in her mind, she has always trusted Mark implicitly. Yet she cannot deny Eve has a point. Mark does have these irrational views, a steely refusal even to discuss something he believes absolutely with nothing to back it up.

  So she understands Eve’s frustration, a frustration she sometimes shares. While she frequently talks about honesty being the foundation of trust, if she is absolutely truthful, hasn’t she sometimes avoided revealing the whole truth?

  Sylvie has known about Eve’s secret Facebook account for years, but hasn’t ever discussed it overtly with her.

  Eve often leaves her laptop open, her Facebook home page proudly displayed. Sylvie would have to have been blind not to see it, Eve stupid not to realize, but both were complicit in their unspoken agreement to ignore it.

  As long as Sylvie’s feigned ignorance remains unspoken, Mark need not know. She is bemused by these seemingly random bans; finds it tiring and ridiculous; recognizes her daughter, always popular, will suffer by being banned from this Web site that has become so essential in the lives of these teenagers.

  But New York? How could she hide something so big from him? What would that say about their relationship? What, more important, would it do to their relationship? And was she prepared to find out?

  17

  Eve

  Eve walks up the stairs, anxiety and hope mixing together in her stomach, praying her mother will find a way to say yes, to let her go to the one place she’s always wanted to visit, the one place she has never been allowed to go.

  Even now she holds out hope she’ll be able to go to NYU. She knows it’s the place for he
r, sees herself striding through the streets of Manhattan, mixing with New York intellectuals, the likes of which she knows she won’t find at USC.

  She lies in bed fantasizing about her future life, refusing to acknowledge the fears that accompany those fantasies: being away from home, from all she knows, all that is safe.

  Her mother has always been her one safe place. New York is something she feels she has to do, something she has to accomplish, the place she is supposed to be, and yet even thinking about leaving her mother makes her feel unmoored, alone, vulnerable.

  What a welcome distraction it has been, to focus on food rather than on her anxiety. The more she thinks about food—what she’s eaten, what she will eat, what she won’t eat, what calories she has ingested—the less time there is to think about her vulnerability, her pain, and the better she feels.

  Almost … high. Or numb. She isn’t sure which, but it is infinitely preferable to feeling like a scared little girl, to feeling like her world is about to change, and not having any control over it, a feeling she knows she has had before, even though she can’t remember the details of her father’s death.

  “Are you okay?” Claudia turns to her as they throw themselves down on the bed, the laptop in front of them, Claudia already tapping on the keyboard.

  “I’m good.” Eve nods. “Just nervous. Hopeful. Keeping everything crossed.”

  A pretty blond girl appears, waves at them both with a big smile, Claudia’s friend Grace.

  “I know who you are,” she says to Eve. “I’ve seen millions of pictures of you on Claudia’s Facebook.”

  “I’m trying to get Eve to come this weekend,” Claudia explains. “We’re working on her mom right now.”

  “Why would your mom not want you to come? What’s the big deal?” Grace asks.

  “It’s not my mom,” Eve explains. “It’s my dad. He thinks New York is filled with rapists and murderers and no one gets out of there alive. And this, by the way, is despite the fact that he works there half the time.”