One night we sat on the couch together and watched an old film my mother used to love, The Major and the Minor. I took in only art that wouldn’t fell me. I watched only romantic comedies and read books only about subjects that didn’t mirror anything in my own life.
On the coffee table my phone began to buzz.
Nobody called anymore. I reached for the phone, hoping it might be Alice. Even Big Sky, though that was a ludicrous idea. I prayed to my parents for it to be the man I thought I loved. But before I could pick up the phone, the ringing stopped and a message came through.
Is my daughter there? TELL ME IF SHE IS TELL ME Her name is ELEANOR
I showed the message to Eleanor, who looked utterly nonplussed.
—Don’t you think you should call her? I asked.
—She’s lucky I don’t call the police, she said.
—I understand. But. She’s been through a lot.
—It’s her fucking fault. All of it. Will you please block her number?
I blocked the number and we sat on the couch and drank our tea and took our drugs and Eleanor passed out and I watched the movie straight through to the end.
* * *
ONCE IT HAD REACHED THE one-month mark, I thought about killing her. It got to the point that there was nobody I didn’t want to kill. I was finally showing, and even though I tried to cover it up with loose dresses, I could see Eleanor staring at my belly, co-opting it with her eyes. I felt bonded to my child. I didn’t need anyone anymore.
I was throwing up every morning. I would do it outside like an animal to avoid Eleanor waking too soon and stealing my morning hours. I wanted to kill everyone.
One day River came by, acting as though we’d never fucked. I opened the door to his knock and shut it quickly behind me so that he wouldn’t see Eleanor inside. She was having one of her spells during which she cried and shook on the floor. The same as the ones I’d had. I watched her during these spells. From several feet away I said comforting things. I never touched her, even though I knew how badly she wanted me to.
River stood in a white tee and cargo shorts, his blond hair catching the sunlight. Kurt was with him. The day was bright but not hot. They were going on a hike and River asked if I wanted to come. I pictured us high up on the mountain on one of those dry trails, fucking amid the monkey flower, my back getting scratched by the ragweed. I imagined it would turn him on to know I was pregnant. It turned me on. It also made me feel hopeful that I might pretend the child inside of me was River’s and not the man in Marfa’s.
I was about to say yes, I was about to say I would just run inside and get my boots, when the door opened. There stood Eleanor, her face a mess.
—Oh, River said, you have company.
—This is Eleanor, I said, about to cry.
—Oh hey, he said, extending his strong arm.
She looked jealous. She lightly took my arm. I felt her pulling me inside. I felt the threat and the pain in her touch.
—Maybe some other time, he said, smiling as though he’d seen something untoward, something a little gross.
I nodded and smiled and told him to have fun and closed the door.
—That’s the guy who lives in the circus tent?
—The yurt, I said, feeling faint.
She asked me if we could go for a walk, just the two of us. She was crying. I began to cry, too.
* * *
FOLLOWING OUR DAY AT THE pier, I heard from Alice even more sparingly. Twice a week at most. I considered going to one of her classes, but shame stopped me. I missed her like I hadn’t missed anyone since Gosia. I understood I’d become a seedy figure to her, but I couldn’t accept that Eleanor’s presence was the end of Alice and me.
Then one afternoon, one of those perfect days that can make you feel lonely, I heard the light engine of a car, but it never came up the hill. It parked at the bottom, almost inside the start of the trail, under a tree that would scrape its hood. The car was Alice’s Prius. My heart leaped.
Thankfully, Eleanor was at work. I watched out my window and saw Alice’s long legs in a pair of tiny spandex yoga shorts, climbing the hill, crossing the big ravine, until she was out of my eyeline. From the window I couldn’t see the door of River’s yurt. When I found the courage to step outside, I saw no one. She hadn’t come for me.
Back inside I waited, trembling, for several hours. I thought to leave the house, but I needed to see her, to confirm where she’d been. At dusk, when I saw her finally descend the hill, I noticed that her previously ponytailed hair was undone.
I left to pick up Eleanor from work. Alice’s car was now at the studio. She taught a seven p.m. Ashtanga class.
Over the next two weeks, as my stomach grew and Eleanor’s need expanded throughout the house, stifling me more than the heat ever could, I observed Alice come to River’s yurt six times in total. There may have been more visits while I was at work. The first time she stayed overnight, I vomited into the toilet of the tiny bathroom, where the smell of Eleanor’s menstrual blood filled the air. I’d bought her dog waste bags and told her to triple-bag her large, thick pads but, like the child that she was, she forgot.
I was devastated, jealous on many levels. For one, the fact that they seemed to never go on dates, leave the house, like all each wanted and needed was the other’s young and perfect body. I couldn’t get it out of my head that it could have been me in there with him had Eleanor not blocked me that time he came to my door. That, even though he was immature, his body and his energy were a great salve. But, more than anything, I was crushed that Alice had left me so cruelly and substituted this boy for me. The feeling of wanting to be her, of wanting to possess her body and her strength—but mostly her past—intensified to a point where I couldn’t bear it. I felt again the urge to kill her, to kill myself. I knew I was going to kill something.
What had begun to torture me most was the idea that she didn’t care that I saw her. Yes, she parked down below, hidden partly by trees. But it was a half-assed gesture.
The fifth week of Eleanor’s stay and Alice’s withdrawal from my life, I made a decision. I returned home from work and cut Lenny off at the pass as he approached. He asked about Eleanor and I told him she had a bad cold. I told him I was feeling ill, too, and I didn’t want to give him something that might lead to pneumonia. He asked me if I hated him. There is no need to tell people you hate them. No need to confront them. I would advise you to lie in wait until you take your revenge.
But he placed his hand on my arm softly. The expression on his face was plaintive.
—Joan, he said, I have been waiting to finish my story.
I noticed he was wearing the watch. I tried not to look at it. I told him to wait a moment, then I went inside to get a carafe of water. I told Eleanor to stay. She hated it when I did that. She hated to feel separate from me.
I returned to Lenny. It served me to know more.
—Thank you, Joan. There isn’t anyone else.
It was a role I was used to. Last woman standing. Lenny poured himself some more vodka. I placed my hand over my glass with fanned fingers, as my mother used to do. Lenny placed the vodka down.
—Go on. I remember where you left off. I was appalled.
—After that day, he continued, I was filled with self-recrimination. The rage had cooled, and in its place an awesome guilt took root. Lenore had grown despondent over the most recent failed conception. I refused to take responsibility. I didn’t say a word. Like a child, I sulked. It was the summer, with nothing to do. I reread Goodbye, Columbus in the café where you work. I ate anchovy filets from the can. That day at Sandstone I’d been as ugly as I think anyone can be. I’d taken the love of this beautiful woman and just—