Leave Me

“And,” Todd asked. “If you haven’t been e-mailing with him, who have you been e-mailing with?”

That one she could answer.

“My husband,” she said.

59

Dear Liv and Oscar,

When I left home, I did not bring very many things with me. Mostly clothes and medicine. I left in a hurry, which is what people do when they are running away.

I did take a photograph of you. Maybe you noticed the empty frame? It was from last summer right around your birthdays, when that man took our picture. Do you remember that day?

The man had been a famous photographer, known for his portraits of celebrities’ kids. Elizabeth had thought it would be great to show how he did with “real” families and Maribeth volunteered because Elizabeth said it would only be a small photo in the spread and she’d get a $10,000 family portrait out of the deal.

The photographer had wanted to shoot them in Battery Park, in the afternoon light, on a stool, with the Manhattan skyline behind them. “Nice and easy,” he’d said. Famous last words.

Oscar had misunderstood the phrase shoot a photo for getting shot with a gun and had been hysterical. Liv had missed her nap and had been tyrannical. In order to get the kids to calm down, Jason had started doing handstands on the grass and Maribeth had attempted her first cartwheel in two decades. Oscar stopped crying. Liv stopped ranting. They’d started doing somersaults. The photographer halfheartedly shot a few frames of their acrobatics before the light died.

“Nothing we can use here,” the photo editor had scrawled over the few prints she’d put in Maribeth’s inbox. Maribeth got it. The photos were chaotic. Oscar’s suit was dirty, Liv’s underwear was showing. It was not a Frap kind of picture.

I think that picture of you two doing somersaults might be my favorite family photo ever. Which might be a strange thing to say because it’s not the whole family, only the two of you. But somehow, it really is the four of us. I can see me and Daddy off to the side, walking on our hands. That’s the funny thing about pictures. Sometimes what you see only tells some of the story.

I love you both.

—Mommy

60

At Maribeth’s next swimming lesson, Janice made two important announcements. The birth narrative was ready and they might have it by tonight. Monday latest. And with almost equal gravitas, she proclaimed Maribeth ready to graduate from the kickboard. “It’s time to put all the pieces together,” she said.

At first, it had seemed like another disaster. Maribeth’s arms windmilled one way, out of sync with her breath. Her legs went too fast, then too slow, her knees bent. She couldn’t get the air fast enough or then she gulped too quickly and wound up hyperventilating. It felt like she was attempting to sew a dress from many different patterns. Nothing fit right, and she was certain she looked ridiculous.

“It’s not working,” she told Janice.

“Keep trying.”

She did. Again and again. It got no better. The school-aged kids having a lesson were swimming circles around her. She watched them in a sort of awe. Swimming sometimes felt as complicated as landing an airplane in a snowstorm. Not that she had any experience with that.

“I’ve had enough,” Maribeth said.

“Give it five more minutes,” Janice said.

It was in those last few minutes that it happened. She didn’t know whether it was because she’d stopped working so hard or because she knew her time was almost up. But all of a sudden, she wasn’t thinking. She was just listening to the sound of her breath and the gurgle of the water; there was something so womblike about it that she zoned out. And then, she was no longer fighting the water. She was gliding on top of it. There was effort here, exertion, there must’ve been, but she didn’t feel it. It wasn’t hard. Not at all.

When she stopped, Janice was watching her, beaming.

“You just swam four lengths,” she said.

“Really?” Maribeth replied.

Janice nodded.

Maribeth was elated. The vaunted endorphins flooding her.

“I lost track of it,” she said. “I lost track of everything.”

Janice nodded, as if Maribeth had discovered a secret.

As they dressed, Maribeth was giddy. She couldn’t believe it. She knew it was silly to get this goofy about swimming four lengths, but she’d thought swimming was meant to be hard, harder than running. That was why it was good for you.

Janice laughed when Maribeth told her this. “It’s only hard when you do it wrong.”

ON THE WAY out of the club, the manager intercepted them at the front desk.

“I heard from Dr. Grant,” he said, smiling. “He sent over his blessing to use the steam room.”

“Did he now?”

The manager was almost obsequious. “I didn’t realize you were a friend of the Grants’. Well, I suppose it’s just Dr. Grant now.”

“Yes. He’s my cardiologist.”

“Right, of course,” the manager said. “We don’t see him often these days. His wife was one of our favorite regulars and she is much missed. Tell me, will you be joining us as a member?”

“I don’t know,” she said. Janice had given Maribeth her five guest passes. They were enough to get through the year. Janice had offered her passes for next year. Stephen said he was going to cancel his membership, though he also said he’d been threatening that for a while.

“Now is an excellent time to join. We have a new member’s special. Joining fee is waived. First month is free.”

“I really don’t know how long I’ll be here.”