A Cup of Tea - Amy Ephron [39]
“That’s not true. I’ve had a life. You’ve never chosen to be part of it. You only let me in to your part.”
“Do I owe you an apology, Jane? Perhaps I do. But I don’t want to hear this other part.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” said Jane. “She has a child. I’m sorry,” she said, as if an apology could make any of this fine again. “I thought you should know.”
In that moment, Rosemary seemed nearly implacable. She retreated, into her manners and breeding, and became so remote and distant and formal that it was impossible for Jane to do anything except excuse herself and leave the room.
“I’ve had the oddest talk with Jane,” said Rosemary that night when Philip was lying in bed. She was sitting at the vanity with her back to him but she could see him in the mirror. He didn’t answer her.
“In a way, she’s the most alone person I know,” said Rosemary as she continued to brush her hair.
“Is she, Rose?” asked Philip.
“Well, she doesn’t have anyone except her mother and who knows how long that will last.” She got up and sat beside Philip on the bed. “If something happened to Papa,” she said, “I don’t know what I’d do.” She looked at him waiting for some response. “Of course, I have my own family now.” She put a hand lightly on his forehead. “If something were to happen to you…”
“You?” said Philip. “You’d be fine.”
“Would I, Philip? You just think I’d be fine.” Did she want him to reassure her? Did she want him to tell her that he’d never leave her…She leaned in and kissed him as if in that moment she could shut out the world.
Eleanor was sitting on the grass in Central Park, a Victorian picture of sorts, her long skirt spread about her, all her attention focussed on Tess, who was lying on a blanket, playing with an ivory and silver teething toy in the shape of a bell.
“Yes,” said Eleanor, “that’s good grabbing.” She reached her hand in and helped Tess shake the bell. “See, if you shake it like this,” she said, “it makes a sound.”
The baby’s face broke into a smile as Eleanor reached in and turned her over on her back and began to tickle her. The noonday sun felt warm on her back. And then she was aware of a shadow on the grass, a woman’s form.
Rosemary had shown up first thing that morning at Jane Howard’s door. Jane was still in her dressing gown having stayed up much too late the night before drinking wine. She offered Rose coffee, which she refused. “No, I won’t come in,” she said. “You’re giving me Eleanor Smith’s address.” And Jane complied, writing it on a piece of note-paper from a tawdry midtown hotel where she had recently spent an afternoon with a young woman she had met at the make-up counter at Best & Co.
“I can’t tell you to be gentle with her,” said Jane as she handed her the address, “because I don’t think that’s what she deserves.”
Secretly, she was pleased because she’d expected Rose to fight for this.
Eleanor wasn’t at the apartment. Rosemary was told by Josie Kennedy who answered the door that she had gone to the park. The park. Of course. That’s where you went with a baby. Philip’s baby lying on the quilt.
And then she was aware of a shadow on the grass, a woman’s form.
She looked up and saw Rosemary looking down at her.
“Did I do something to you?” asked Rosemary. “I’m trying to understand this. I brought you home for tea. I gave you money. It was an act of kindness. I thought—it was an act of kindness.”
Eleanor was too startled to answer her.
And then as suddenly as she was there, she was gone, and the shadow on the grass had become sunlight again. Eleanor sat there for a moment alone on the quilt with her baby.
When she got back to the lobby of her building,