“That’s the idea.”
“Are you going to be mean forever?” Fern asked.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Natalie said, laughing.
Miri would have hugged her for old times’ sake, but Natalie kept her distance, turning once, halfway out the tarmac to the plane, to wave to her. “So long, cowgirl,” she called. “I’ll see you in my dreams.”
“Not if I see you first,” Miri called back.
Dr. O was accompanying the girls to Birmingham. They’d have to change planes and he didn’t think they were experienced enough travelers to do it on their own. Natalie disagreed.
Rusty was teary-eyed saying goodbye to him.
“I’ll be back in five days,” he promised.
“That’s five days too many,” Rusty said.
When Dr. O kissed Rusty goodbye, Miri looked away. Getting used to her mother in love was going to take time. Getting used to her mother pregnant—that was a whole different story.
The plane’s engines revved up. It taxied to the runway, then picked up speed until it rose into the air. Into the air, Junior Birdman, she imagined Fern singing, her hands making upside-down goggles over her eyes.
Miri waved at the plane even though the passengers couldn’t see her. Inside her head she said a little prayer to keep them safe, to return Dr. O to Rusty, and the girls to Corinne.
Rusty took a cracker from her pocket, put it in her mouth and chewed. “I think I’m starting to feel better,” she said to Miri.
“I’m glad.”
They stood together, mother and daughter, their hair blowing back in the wind.
“I think I’ll learn to ride a horse,” Miri said.
Rusty didn’t miss a beat. “I think I’ll learn to drive a car.”
“We can learn together because you can get a license here at fifteen.”
“Fifteen? Who told you that?”
“This girl I met at the Flamingo.”
“You made a friend?”
“It’s too soon to call her a friend.”
Rusty drew her close. “We’re going to be okay. This is all going to work out. I can feel it in my bones.”
Miri wished she could feel it, too. Until she could, she hoped Rusty was right.
The flight attendant gently nudges Miri. They’re coming into Newark and her seat back has to be returned to its upright position. She’s still a nervous flier, still digs her fingernails into the fabric of her seat cushion for landings. She could have waited until tonight and come with Christina and Jack on the company plane but she wanted to do this on her own.
It’s not the first time she’s flown into Newark Airport. The flight path no longer brings planes in or out over residential Elizabeth. Not since the airport reopened in November 1952. But that doesn’t stop her from thinking about it every time. It doesn’t stop her from rushing to the doctor before a flight, sure she has a sinus infection, hoping to be told it’s not safe for her to fly. She closes her eyes, sings a little song inside her head until they’re safely on the ground. Then she’s up and on her way with all the other passengers.
Outside, she grabs a taxi to the old Elizabeth Carteret hotel, the hotel where Joseph Fluet stayed during the investigations, where Mr. Foster stayed while Betsy and Mrs. Foster were in the hospital, where Ben Sapphire stayed when he wasn’t sleeping on Irene’s couch. And where Dr. O went when Corinne kicked him out of the house. Miri had been inside the hotel just once, for a bar mitzvah party back in seventh grade. She can still remember the dress she wore, one of Charlotte Whitten’s, though she didn’t know it at the time. Black velvet top, sweetheart neckline, white net skirt. She tries to imagine Eliza wearing a party dress and gets a picture in her mind of her fifteen-year-old daughter, named for the city she’s returning to, galloping on her beloved horse in one of Charlotte Whitten’s dresses from Bonwit’s. She laughs out loud. When is the last time she wore a cocktail dress? No, wait—she remembers—Frank Sinatra’s opening at the Sands, where they celebrated Rusty’s sixty-fifth birthday. He’d dedicated “Fly Me to the Moon” to Rusty, which made her night.
Miri didn’t want a big bash for her fiftieth. She made Andy promise, no surprise party. She hated surprise parties. Christina threw a barbecue at the ranch anyway, but at least it wasn’t a surprise. She and Andy danced the Hustle, the Bump, the Funky Chicken, to prove to their sons, Malcolm and Kenny, both college students, and to teenage Eliza, how young they were, how hip, never mind that their kids had moved on to new dance fads. Andy is a great dancer, much better than she is. He’s still trying to get her to loosen up on the dance floor. He’s a skier, a mountain biker, an easygoing, well-liked guy. He’s made a name for himself in forensic dentistry. She fought him on that one. She had enough disasters in her life. But he won, promising not to bring the details of his work to the dinner table.
Her hotel room is nothing to write home about, but it’s clean and light, looking out over Jersey Avenue. Christina and Jack are staying in a suite at the Pierre in New York. They offered her an adjoining room, but she opted for Elizabeth, explaining she was having dinner with Henry and Leah, who would also be staying at the Elizabeth Carteret. And she’s been thinking about a story based on the thirties gangland slaying that took place in a suite on the eighth floor of this hotel. She’s never lost her fascination for the Jewish gangsters.
She sits on the edge of the bed and dials Eliza at school. It’s midafternoon there so she’s surprised when Eliza answers in a sleepy voice. “Hullo?” She didn’t expect her to answer at all, thought she’d just leave a message on her machine, the way she had this morning.
“Hi, honey. Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“I expected you to be at class. Or at the stables.” She means to sound soft, maternal, but knows she sounds judgmental. The school, in the mountains of Colorado, was highly recommended by the counselor they’d consulted. It was supposed to do wonders for children like Eliza, bright but unmotivated, who would rather shovel manure than read.
“You’re calling to check up on me?”
“No, I just wanted to tell you I’m at the hotel. In Elizabeth.”
“I can’t believe you actually went.”
“Well, I did.”
“It just seems really stupid to me. It’s not like it’s your high school reunion or anything.”
“No.” Miri resists a laugh. To Eliza a high school reunion must seem like one of life’s major events.
“Well, it’s your dime and your time. Just don’t expect me to tell you to enjoy yourself.”
“No, of course not.” Miri no longer expects anything from her daughter, except to be challenged, berated and humiliated.
“So I’ll see you when I see you,” Eliza says. A statement, not a question.
“President’s Weekend,” Miri reminds her. “Tahoe.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Eliza yawns loudly. “Will everyone be there?”
“I hope so.” Miri doesn’t ask who Eliza means by everyone. Maybe the boys and their friends.
Silence.
“Eliza…are you still there?”
“Where else would I be?”
“Okay, then,” Miri says, trying her best to keep it upbeat, positive. “Take care and I’ll see you soon. Bye, honey.”
Eliza shouts, “You know I don’t like goodbyes!” She slams down the receiver.
How is it that Miri, who longed for a daughter after two sons, has wound up with an angry, sullen child like Eliza? She’s still trying to figure out where it went wrong but can’t put her finger on it.
She unpacks, hanging up her suit for tomorrow, and sets her toiletries on the little shelf above the bathroom sink. She studies herself in the mirror. It’s unsettling how different she looks away from home, away from the familiar reflection in her bathroom mirror. Last time she looked at herself in a mirror in Elizabeth she was fifteen and growing out her Elizabeth Taylor haircut. Now she’s fifty. Jesus, fifty! And her hair is long, lightly permed, with golden highlights. An improvement, she thinks. She’s in good shape, runs five miles a day, but instead of running from someone—Rusty, Mason, Natalie—the way she did that year, she runs to clear her head, to give herself a burst of energy that carries her through the day.
Christina has been trying to prepare her for seeing Mason tomorrow by dishing out small bits of information—his wife, Rebecca, will be visiting her ailing parents in Sarasota, his daughter and twin sons are all at college—but Miri hasn’t been willing to talk about it. “Please…” she said to Christina. “That was so long ago. We were just kids.” She knows Christina doesn’t buy her nonchalance but she lets it go.
Miri can’t admit she’s nervous about seeing him. Come on, who wouldn’t be nervous about seeing her first love? Who wouldn’t want her old boyfriend to find her attractive? If you don’t want that, you don’t go to high school reunions, you don’t go to the thirty-fifth commemoration of the worst year of your life. Besides, she’s not fifteen anymore. She’s not that girl whose heart was broken on a sunny afternoon in May. She’s a woman, married with three children and a career. She’s responsible, dependable, mature. Right? she asks herself. Right, she answers.