Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney - The Nest

“You don’t have to do that,” Tommy said. “Sit.”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

“Why don’t you get some furniture that actually fits in here?” Maggie said. “We could go look for a new sofa today if you want. We could help you pick something out.” She was right. The sofa he’d kept was meant for a much larger room, not the narrow proportions of a brownstone parlor.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not expecting Better Homes and Gardens to drop by and take photos.”

“Why is this locked?” Val was standing now in front of the built-in china cabinet in the dining room. The top half was meant for display and Tommy had put a few pieces of their wedding china on the shelves, his one attempt at “decorating.” The bottom half of the cabinet was meant for storage. He’d removed the interior shelves and the bottom baseboard but left the doors in place to conceal the cavernous interior, which neatly fit the statue on its dolly. He could wheel it in and out when he wanted. The doors were padlocked now.

“It’s nothing. A few valuables.”

“Mom’s stuff?” Maggie had an edge to her voice.

“Everything that belonged to Mom is in the boxes I gave you. Like I’ve told you.”

She was staring at the cabinet. “Is this neighborhood that bad? You need to padlock valuables?”

He didn’t know how to answer (the neighborhood was fine), so he just made a dismissive sound and tried to move everyone back to the living room.

“Oh my God,” Maggie said. She grabbed his arm and spoke quietly so the kids wouldn’t hear. “Do you have a gun in there?”

“What?”

“You look as guilty as sin. You have a goddamn gun in this house, the house where we bring your grandchildren.”

“There’s no gun. Calm down. And I don’t like your tone, young lady. I’m still your father.” Tommy was desperate to distract her from the cabinet.

“What else do you own that you need to keep under lock and key in an empty dining room?”

Maggie’s youngest son (Ron, named for the grandmother he’d never met) was clinging to his mother’s leg and whimpering.

“What?” she asked, bending down and making her voice bright. “What’s wrong, peanut?”

“I don’t like it here.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “This is Grandpa’s house.”

“I like his old house better.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say so he just watched Maggie stroking the child’s head, comforting him. “Let’s have some lunch and then we’ll go for a nice walk,” she said. “There’s a park nearby with a playground. Right, Dad?”

But Ron couldn’t be soothed. “This house isn’t friendly,” he said, crying in earnest now. He whispered something into Maggie’s ear, and she shook her head and hugged him tight. “No, no, baby. That’s not true. Everything here is friendly.”

Val took the kids into the kitchen to make lunch, and Maggie pulled Tommy aside. “Dad, I’ve got to tell you. There is something wrong about”—she waved her arm, taking in the surroundings, the misfit furniture, the leftovers from previous tenants, the dust and disorder—“all this. After all this time.”

“I’m one person,” Tommy said. “It’s all I need.”

“I’m not talking about space.” She crossed her arms and he could tell she was steeling herself to say something difficult. She looked so much like her mother he had to stop himself from staring at, touching, her face. “Do you know what Ron said when he was crying? He said this felt like a haunted house. Like there was a ghost here. I mean he’s a kid, but kids pick up on things. It’s dark and dreary and depressing. At least buy some lights. A couple of floor lamps. Up your wattage.” She pointed to the lone living room ceiling fixture.

“Maybe he’s right,” Tommy said, fed up. He never asked for their help, hadn’t invited them to visit. “Maybe it is haunted.”

“Daddy,” Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip. He felt bad, but he felt worse not talking about Ronnie, trying to ignore the ghost they all carried with them.

“It just breaks my heart,” she finally said, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand.

“You think my heart isn’t broken, too?” he asked.

“I’m not talking about Mom. I know she’s at peace. I know it. I’m talking about you, Dad. You break my heart. If there’s a ghost in here. it’s you .”

Melody believed in battle plans; she believed in analysis and strategy and contingencies, and that was a good thing because she and Walter were most definitely at war. He was advancing on two fronts: mortgage and college tuition. Melody was truly out of her mind at the thought of losing their house. It wasn’t even like they were selling to cash out since their mortgage was still significant.

“It’s not about equity,” Walt said over and over. “We have to reduce our monthly nut. Especially with college coming. It’s that simple. Unless you can think of a way to bring in more money every month, we have no choice.”

She wouldn’t let him “officially” list the house. She would not see a picture of her house in the window at Rubin Realty in the center of town for everyone to see and speculate over. Vivienne agreed to show the house “quietly,” a pocket listing.

“We’re just testing the waters,” Walter explained. “Just seeing what might happen.”

Walter also wanted to sit Nora and Louisa down immediately and discuss the financial realities of the coming years and what it meant for college — in his opinion, state schools only. Melody refused. Some families took summer vacations; Melody loaded the girls into the car and they went on college tours. They’d go out for a nice lunch afterward, check out the local town, compare notes on what they’d seen. They had their list! The reaches and the possibles and the likelys — and every last one was private and required mind-blowing amounts of money.

When Vivienne Rubin called while Walter was at work one day to tell Melody about two good offers, one all cash, Melody didn’t panic. She thought for a minute and then told Vivienne to make a counteroffer. The number she named was ridiculous.

“Are you sure?” Vivienne said. “Walter is on board with this?”

“Absolutely,” Melody said. She wasn’t lying, she told herself, feeling calm and oddly optimistic when she hung up. This was a battlefield. Generals knew when to hold steady and when to deploy a strategic maneuver, when to retreat and when to advance. This was war and she wasn’t surrendering. Not yet. Not until she saw Leo.

After leaving repeated voice mails that Tommy ignored, Jack just showed up at his door one day — as Tommy feared he might.

“You know you could get into a lot of trouble for having that thing,” Jack said when Tommy reluctantly opened his door after Jack waved a computer printout of a news story about the statue in Tommy’s face. Tommy had spent a few minutes denying that the statue in the article was the statue in his house, but then something within him, some resolve that had been slowly eroding over the past decade, gave way. He was tired. He slumped onto the folding chair in his front hall, despondent.

“Who did you say gave this to you?” Jack asked.

“My wife,” Tommy said, staring at the floor. “My wife gave it to me—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jack said. “I seriously don’t care how you obtained the object in question. If you or your wife or one of your many fellow heroes took it as a prank or to sell or—”

Tommy moved so fast and with such strength Jack didn’t understand what was happening until he was pinned against the wall with Tommy’s forearm jammed under his chin. He couldn’t speak. It was hard to breathe.