I took a bite of my pancakes, trying to chew as slowly as possible.
“You probably don’t know this yet,” Forrest said, “but you’re going to be a beauty someday.” Simple as his words were, I felt warmth come over me, as real as if I’d stepped out of the shade into a patch of sunlight.
We finished our breakfast. Still no sign of Regina. In the den, I could make out the sound of the television. The children were up. I started to clear away the dishes, but Forrest waved me away from the job.
“Prudence takes care of that,” he told me. “I thought I’d bring you down to the club. The kids take tennis lessons over there three days a week. Then there’s sailing and golf practice. I can’t even keep all the things straight that Regina signs them up for. Basically, all you need to do is drop them off and make sure nobody gets arrested.”
6
Such a Good Husband
The Lake Catherine Country Club sat at the end of a long private road landscaped with alternating colors of begonias (red, white, red, white) and a statue of the club founder at the entrance—a great-grandfather of Regina’s, it turned out. Along one edge was the golf course—rows of carts lined up, men in pastel shirts and plaid pants out on the links, some of them accompanied by younger men carrying their bags.
“Welcome to the club,” Forrest said, as we pulled into his parking space.Reserved for Staff. Forrest was never one to pay attention to rules.
“They’ve got a Jacuzzi and a sauna and a great pool,” he said to me as we toured the building. “There’s sure to be plenty of kids your age.”
For a moment then, I let myself imagine I could be one of them. I pictured myself in my faded one-piece swimsuit, sitting around with a group of girls in bikinis. I had no idea what they’d talk about. Boys maybe. Makeup. Parties. Shopping.
“I might not fit in,” I suggested.
“Who wouldn’t want to be your friend?” Forrest said. “And if they don’t, screw them all.”
A girl about my age was just coming in as we entered the clubhouse. She had a tennis outfit on—white, with pink piping along the hem, and a matching shirt and visor. A few steps behind, a woman who must have been her mother carried a bag that contained the girl’s racquet—several racquets, from the looks of it.
The mother knew Forrest. She smiled when she spotted him.
“You devil,” she called out. “You didn’t even let me know you were back! I wasn’t expecting you until the Fourth.”
“We wanted to get a jump on the summer,” Forrest told her. “It’s always too short.”
“You’re looking good,” the woman said. Phyllis was her name, evidently. She had on a necklace that spelled it out.
“You could stop by for a drink later,” she went on. “Terry’s out of town, and Olivia’s having a sleepover. I’ll be all by my lonesome.”
Was my imagination taking over—when did it not?—or did she turn her body very slightly at this moment, in a way that made her breasts appear more prominent?
“Regina needs me at the house,” he said.
“God, why do you have to be such a good husband all the time?” she said. “Maybe you’ll give Terry a few lessons.”
“I want to introduce Olivia to Frances,” Forrest said, gesturing in the direction of the girl my age wearing the tennis outfit. “She’ll be spending the summer with us.”
I was grateful that he had not presented me as their family’s mother’s helper. For all either one of them knew, I could have been a relative, with a cute tennis outfit of my own back at the house and a bagful of racquets.
Olivia looked me over.Not likely.
There was something about the look of a girl who grew up going to a country club, and something about that of the one who didn’t. You could pore over the pages ofSeventeenmagazine all day. It wouldn’t help. When a girl came from the place I did, she brought it with her wherever she went.
“Maybe Olivia could show Frances the ropes around here,” Forrest said.
“You never know,” Phyllis told him. “But she’s pretty busy with her tennis these days.”
Forrest put an arm on my shoulder. I felt its warmth. This was what it must be like having a father who looked out for you. A father, or a boyfriend.
“Stop by if you can,” Phyllis called out after him. “There’ll be a Manhattan waiting with your name on it.”
I studied Forrest’s face as he watched her head toward the tennis courts. They were red clay, not asphalt, like tennis courts in public parks, if you even lived in a place where there were parks. I watched as a couple of men in white uniforms moved up and down along the length of the courts, rolling out the clay for the players.
