Second Nature by Alice Hoffman Page A

the latest gossip with half an ear, not paying much attention until she realized that the girl everyone was talking about was her daughter Lydia. Lydia was madly in love, that’s what they were saying. She was sneaking out at night, when her parents were already in bed asleep, down to one of the shacks on the beach. One rainy morning, she had walked over the bridge and taken the bus to Great Neck and gotten herself a prescription for the pill, then hitchhiked back home before anyone knew she’d been gone. Michelle locked herself in her office and canceled all her appointments. Lydia was just seventeen. She never had to be reminded to wash the breakfast dishes; her grades were straight A’s. Was this the sort of girl who would lie to her parents, hitchhike, pull off her underpants in a cold shack the fishermen had abandoned when Richard Aaron bought the island, start off so early in ruining her life? Of course she was not, and that was why Michelle did exactly what she always cautioned parents about. She assumed she knew where to place the blame.
    That evening at dinner, everyone knew to avoid Michelle. She didn’t take a single bite of the Boston cream pie she’d bought at the bakery. She slammed the clean dishes into the cabinets after supper, chipping the edges of the plates.
    “Uh-oh,” Jenny whispered to her sister. “Watch out for Mom. Red alert.”
    But the explosion never came, and as darkness fell, they all thought they were safe. Paul went into the den and turned on the TV; Jenny trooped upstairs, flopped on her bed, and f inished her homework. While Lydia carefully chose her clothes for the next day, Michelle put on a sweater and walked down Mansfield Terrace to Robin’s house.
    “Oh, boy,” Robin said as soon as she opened the door. “Who are you mad at? Paul?”
    Michelle went into the kitchen, but she was too fired up to sit at the table or have a cup of tea.
    “Lydia’s sleeping with someone,” Michelle said.
    Connor and the student they had living with them were playing chess in the living room, so Michelle kept her voice down, but her face was getting more and more puckered.
    “Lydia?” Robin said. “No. She’s much too young.”
    “Really?” Michelle said. “How old were you when you started with Roy?”
    “That was different,” Robin said. “I was stupid. And look where it got me.”
    “Precisely,” Michelle said. “Lydia has been talked into it. That’s what’s happened. She’s been tricked.”
    In the living room, Connor was looking at his watch, missing the opportunity to put Stephen in check. Clearly he wasn’t paying attention, but Stephen had already learned this was a game without mercy, so he made his best move. They were playing by candlelight, and one moth hovered above the flame. Michelle watched them through the doorway; she had her back to Robin, she didn’t want her to see there were tears in her eyes.
    “I have to find out who it is,” Michelle said. “Then Paul will talk to the boy. God, will he talk to him.”
    “You want my advice?” Robin said. “Stay out of it.”
    Michelle turned to her then. “Easy for you to say. Isn’t it? Your son’s in there playing chess. Why should you worry?”
    “You’re right,” Robin said. “Don’t listen to me. I’m an idiot about these things.”
    Robin smiled, but she was looking past Michelle. In the living room, where he’d just put Connor in check, Stephen was looking right back at her. When Robin finally turned away, she laughed, for no reason at all. Michelle buttoned her sweater; there were chills up and down her arms. She was in her best friend’s kitchen, and yet she had the sense that she was unwelcome. What is happening here? she thought. As she walked home in the dark, it suddenly seemed as if Mansfield Terrace was the very end of the earth. One step, and there was the edge. What did we know about those closest to us, really? No one ever dared to speak plainly about desire; no one said the word out