February
Lindsay loved the nose-biting cold. She loved the snow and the absolute silence and the white-laden branches of the pine-tree forests. She’d become an excellent skier and every weekend she and her friends were at Elk Mountain in Vermont. Strange, but she was no longer as awkward as she had been six months before. She moved smoothly and sleekly, particularly on skis. She felt graceful. She said as much to Gayle Werth, her very best friend, as they rode in the lift to the top of the advanced slope called Moron Mountain by the initiated.
Gayle, a knockout blonde, was fiddling with her braces, which had just been tightened and would hurt her for at least another week. “Of course you’re not clumsy, Lindsay, not anymore. Your hair still looks a fright, but if you’ll just come home with me next weekend, my mom will know what to do with it.”
Lindsay was wearing a red ski cap. She pulled it off and turned to face Gayle. “Stiff friz,” she said, trying to make light of the bane of her life. “She’ll know what to do with this?”
“Yeah, she’ll know. Just come, okay?”
“I don’t have anything else to do. Why not? I’d like to meet your mom, The Wizard.”
“You know, Lind, it isn’t all that frizzy anymore. And all those waves are really nice, and so thick. You don’t know how to tame it down. Mom will fix it.”
“Race you down!” Lindsay yelled as they slipped off the lift chair.
It was that downhill run that ended Lindsay’s skiing for the season. She broke her leg halfway down the slope, a clean break that left her white and shaking and nauseated. The guy who had slammed into her was a beginner who’d lost control. He was quite unhurt, which Gayle said was par for the course. It never occurred to Lindsay to call her parents until the doctor, a young woman with bright turquoise contact lenses, mentioned it.
“Why don’t I do it for you, Lindsay? You’re a bit woozy on the painkiller I gave you, and it might scare them even more. You know how parents are.”
“Nothing scares my father,” Lindsay said.
“Well, then, your mother.”
“Nothing scares my mother either. Don’t bother, Doctor, all right? It isn’t important, really. I’m here and they’re in San Francisco, and I don’t want them told.”
“Nonsense,” Dr. Baines said.
To Lindsay’s astonishment, it was her grandmother, seventy-seven years old and vital, stylishly dressed in a Givenchy pink wool suit with matching cloche hat, who came to see her in her dormitory some three days after her accident.
“You didn’t come home for Christmas,” Gates said as she came to a halt beside Lindsay’s bed. Her casted leg was up on a chair and she’d been laughing with three girlfriends. Gates looked around at the wadded-up Fritos bag, two empty tortilla-chip bags, and more empty soda cans than she could count at a glance. The place was a mess, and after Lindsay had quickly introduced Gates to her friends, the girls were out of the room within fifteen seconds. Gayle grabbed the empty bag of Fritos on her way, her contribution, Gates supposed, to lessening the chaos. She tried to remember if she’d ever acted this way. She couldn’t imagine it. No, she’d always worn a girdle and a slip and nylons. She’d always worn gloves. She’d rarely cursed, but the good Lord knew she’d swallowed many curses in her lifetime.
“Please sit down, Grandmother.”
Gates leaned over and allowed Lindsay to kiss her cheek. As she straightened, she smiled, saying, “I suppose I must have done this once upon a time. My mouth has just started watering. Are there any tortilla chips left in either of those bags?”
“I think so, but they’re kind of old now and ground down to crumbs. I don’t think you’d like them. Let me call Gayle. She can get some more.”
Gates declined the treat, though she gave a little sigh. She consoled herself with the thought that her delicate stomach would probably have heaved and cramped. “I’m here first of all to see that you’re all right. You are, that’s obvious. I’m also here to tell you that your parents are getting a divorce, Lindsay. Your mother is feeling poorly or she would have come to see you herself. I didn’t think something like that should be left to a phone call.”
Lindsay’s heart pounded slow deep strokes. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. She could remember the screaming matches, the hideous things they yelled at each other. She could remember her father saying cutting things about her, always comparing her to Sydney, and Jennifer defending, always defending, but still—“A divorce? But why?”
Gates shrugged. “They’re fools, what else?”
“But I’m not there anymore!”
Gates wasn’t surprised that the girl automatically blamed herself. Children were so vulnerable to adult tantrums. “You aren’t the reason they’re divorcing.” Gates looked briefly away, knowing she was lying in a way, but forging ahead. “You never could be the reason,” she said, her voice very firm. “Listen to me. You’re seventeen now, Lindsay, and not a child anymore. You know your father isn’t a faithful man. He wasn’t faithful to his first wife either. It was her convenient death that kept her from being divorced from him.” She shrugged, thinking of her dead husband, the philandering sod, and said her thought aloud, surprising herself at her candor. “Some men are like that. Your grandfather was the same way. He kept more mistresses than your father could ever dream of. I was just of another generation. I closed my eyes to it. I ignored it. But things are different now. Wives aren’t forced to accept things like that. Your mother just got tired of it, at least that’s what she says. Incidentally, she’s thin now, too thin. Isn’t that strange?”
“She isn’t ill, is she?”
“I don’t know, child. I’m tired, Lindsay, much too old for all this foolishness, but I felt you deserved to hear this in person and not on a telephone. You’ve changed somewhat, I think, you seem more mature, and I’m pleased. I’ve asked your father to leave the mansion. It seems strange to have only him there and not your mother. It’s a pity, really, but I always liked your mother. It’s just that she had no chance with your father, particularly after—But that’s something that doesn’t concern you. Well, anyway, he’s bought an elegant old Victorian up on Broadway, near Steiner, and has imported a gaggle of decorators. Your mother has bought a penthouse condominium on Nob Hill.”
“You’re all alone, Grandmother?”
“Yes, and it feels wonderful. So don’t go thinking I’ll die of loneliness. Your parents were really quite exhausting. I’d like to spend my golden years in blissful quiet.” Gates fell silent, looking out the dorm window at the snow-blanketed landscape. She’d forgotten about snow and cold and frigid winds. God, who could stand it?
Lindsay said abruptly, not meeting her grandmother’s eyes, “Father was here just three weeks ago.”
Gates looked clearly startled. “He came to see you?”
“No, he didn’t see me at all. I saw him quite by accident. I don’t know why he was here, maybe just to check that I wasn’t shaming the Foxe family with failing grades or doing drugs or something.”
“Or something,” Gates said. “He never told me he was coming here, but then again, he’s well over twenty-one and can go where he pleases. Of course, he did buy into a partnership with the academy owners, so perhaps he was simply here to check on his investment. Yes, that makes sense. He would want to discuss the business aspects with his new partners. That’s another reason I’m here as well.”
“I see.” Why hadn’t he at least come to say hello? If only she’d been Sydney, he would have been here in a flash, ready to take her to the best restaurants, ready to give her an expensive gift, ready to laugh at anything she said, ready to hug her. Why had he bought into the academy? She’d overheard one of the secretaries say something about it, but she’d dismissed it. So it was true after all. Was he afraid that she would flunk out and this was his way of protecting the Foxe name? It was embarrassing; she hoped none of the other girls ever found out. Why hadn’t he at least called her? “Mother hasn’t called since Christmas.”