The Life She Wanted: A Novel(7)

Owen and Pandora won every set, and afterward Archie brought out a pitcher of lemonade. Pandora was about to clean up the glasses and change her clothes before she helped Esther prepare dinner when Owen pulled her aside.

“Don’t go yet,” Owen suggested. “It’s the first warm day. Why don’t we walk by the river?”

Owen had always been friendly, but he had never asked to spend time with her alone. It was at moments like this that she missed having a mother to guide her. Pandora didn’t want to do anything improper. But it was the middle of the day, and anyone could see them from the house. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong.

They strolled through Maude Van Luyen’s rose garden down to the dock. The sky was a pale blue, and the sun reflected off the grand mansions that lined the riverbank.

“You’re wonderful on the tennis court,” Owen said when they reached the shore.

“I got in a few lucky serves,” Pandora said with a shrug.

“I wasn’t talking about your tennis game exactly.” Owen turned to her. “It’s more about how you carry yourself. You have so much confidence.”

It was true, she was a confident player. She had practically grown up on a tennis court. But that wasn’t the way she wanted Owen to see her. She wanted him to think of her as someone special, a girl he wanted to spend more time with.

“I don’t want to be a tennis player; my dream is to be a fashion designer,” she replied. “I’ve always loved beautiful clothes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be good at that too.” Owen studied her appreciatively. “Archie said you were special. Now I see that he was right. I hope we get to know each other better this summer. Perhaps you can visit me at Princeton in the fall.”

Pandora was so taken aback she found it hard to swallow. She didn’t know much about men or dating, but Owen wouldn’t say something like this if he didn’t mean it.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she replied.

Owen smiled, and he had never looked so handsome. The sun caught the golden glints in his light brown hair, and his eyes radiated warmth.

“I’m glad that’s settled.” He nodded. “Perhaps we can do this again after our lesson next week.”

The tennis lesson the following week was canceled because Archie had an engagement, and Owen and Pandora didn’t meet up again. But she felt as if everything changed between them, and she had been sure Owen felt the same. But had Owen said those things only because he wanted help with his serve?

She couldn’t let herself believe that. Pandora was as pretty as the other girls at the party and just as intelligent. Even if she didn’t have Lillian’s father’s millions and hadn’t traveled to Italy and France, she had enough good qualities for Owen to be interested in her. Is this what her mother had felt before she left? That without a certain pedigree, she would never amount to anything?

If only Pandora could offer Owen something other than tennis lessons: a sailboat they could take on the river, a ride in a sporty car. Even if she could ask him to be her date at a dinner party, she might have a chance. But Pandora didn’t receive social invitations of her own. Pandora was only invited this weekend because Owen knew her through Archie and Virginia.

The lace wrap didn’t keep her warm, and she regretted spending so much time on it. No one cared that she had sewn the flowers with silver thread to make them twinkle under the lights. The women in the Winthrops’ social circle purchased their wardrobes in Paris and London. They weren’t interested in what the Van Luyens’ tennis instructor’s daughter wore.

Pandora had made her first dress when she was fifteen. She’d been clearing out a closet in her father’s bedroom and discovered a rack of her mother’s dresses. She and her father rarely talked about her mother, Laura, who had left when she was ten. Pandora’s memories of her were unclear, but she still missed her very much. She missed the way her mother had smelled when she gave Pandora a bath when she was small, and she missed the way her blond hair bounced at her shoulders. Once, Pandora heard a man on a bus comment that Pandora’s mother was very pretty. Pandora had only been nine, but she privately agreed. Her mother was the loveliest woman she knew.

Laura hadn’t been the kind of mother who spent time with Pandora when she was young. Her father did most of the parenting. Laura preferred working as a saleswoman at a department store, being surrounded by pretty clothes and makeup, instead of staying at home with Pandora. In the evenings, she often ate with other women in the store’s cafeteria, and Willie made soup or stew for him and Pandora.

Pandora blamed herself for her mother’s departure. She knew from the limited conversations she had with her father on the matter that Laura had thought Willie was going to be a famous tennis star. She thought all the things she craved—social standing, a beautiful home, enough money to give parties and travel to Europe—would be hers after they were married. When Willie was injured and stopped competing, Laura lost interest in Pandora and her father.

Surely that wouldn’t have been the case if Pandora had been worth staying for—if Pandora was a beautiful singer or was a talented dancer. But Pandora wasn’t either of those things. It must have been something lacking in Pandora herself that made her mother leave.

After Laura left, Pandora made up scenes in her head. Pandora and her mother going to the movies, spending rainy afternoons creating new recipes. Visiting fashion boutiques together and trying on pretty dresses. She berated herself for not paying more attention to her mother. She could have tried to engage her in conversation. She could have complimented her hairstyle or her choice in lipstick and asked about her customers.