The Last Original Wife

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Love you, Gammy,” she said. “Don’t go.”

  I didn’t want to leave her either, but the only way Charlotte was ever going to be the kind of mother Holly needed was if she had to.

  “It’s okay, Holly Doodle, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  They followed me to the garage, watched me squeeze through the narrow space between my car and the wall to get in my car, because Wes insisted on the better one, and only then did they realize that I wasn’t taking the Benz.

  “Hey!” Charlotte said. “I thought you were taking Dad’s car!”

  “Nah,” I said. “I decided to get a Benz of my own when I get to Charleston. You can tell that to your father too if you want.”

  “Righteous,” Bertie said and smiled.

  “Oh, shut up, Bertie,” Charlotte said. “You’ve never even surfed one day in your whole life.”

  “Bye, y’all!” I said, raised my window, and backed out of the garage. Wes was in my rearview mirror, dressed for the day and holding The Wall Street Journal. I stopped and rolled down my window again.

  “Les? Can you turn the car off? I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instinctively, I knew Wes had something up his sleeve. Had he already discovered the missing checks? And that I had taken the title to the Audi?

  “Sure,” I said and put the car in park.

  “Want to get out so we can go sit on the porch?”

  “Okay,” I said, turned the car off, and got out. “What’s going on, Wes?”

  “I’ve been thinking, that’s all, and I just want to talk to you about something.”

  I sat on one of the wrought-iron benches that stood on either side of our front door, and he sat on the other.

  “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever sat on these at the same time,” I said, and it was true. They were awfully nice, but mostly decorative.

  “You’re probably right. So, Les, I’ve been thinking. We can’t do this like this.”

  “Do what how?” I said.

  “Almost thirty years together and boom? It’s not right. I think we owe each other more than this, you know, to at least try and figure out what we’re doing here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, remember I told you that I got the name of someone I wanted us to go and see? They’re these supershrinks who manage to rehab all kinds of relationships, and I think we ought to go and see them. You know, give it a stab? In fact, I’ve already set up a couple of crisis sessions with them for the week after next. Normally, it takes weeks to get in, but I convinced them . . .”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah, I did. I knew you wanted to go see your brother and all that, which is fine. So go see him, have fun, but please if you can, come back next Sunday so we can make our Monday appointments?”

  I thought about it and came to a quick conclusion that it was hopeless.

  “I don’t know, Wes. I don’t know.”

  “Look, I never asked you for much,” he said. “I think this is critical.”

  I just looked at him and cocked my head to one side. Was he kidding? Never asked me for much? He saw it on my face.

  “Okay,” he said, “maybe I asked for a lot. But you’re walking out of here and busting up our family like this? I just think you owe it to me and to all of us to make sure this is the right thing to do.”

  Now what was I supposed to say to that? Frankly, I didn’t feel like I owed him a damn thing. It was quite the other way around. But he had gone to the trouble of trying to get us to at least talk it out with a professional. Maybe that meant something. Maybe his experience with cancer had made him reconsider his behavior.

  “Okay, Wes. I’ll go to one session for you, but that’s it.”

  “Well, I booked more than one, but we’ll see. Thanks, Leslie. I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  “I’ll see you Sunday,” I said and started the car. “E-mail me the information, okay?”

  “Sure. Drive safe.”

  Wes was really going to lose his mind when he discovered the missing checks. He was going to need CPR. I smiled the whole way out of Atlanta. I knew the only reason he wanted to see those psychiatrists was because he didn’t want to give up one dime he had to his name. It had nothing to do with love. But what if it did? It was true that different people loved in different ways and that they showed it differently. What if all the nice things Wes had been saying to me were his way of trying to show me how much he cared? It was easy to leave Wes when I was convinced he didn’t give a damn, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone. That wasn’t the woman I’d ever been. But they all made me so angry! What would life be if I went back to Wes? Horrible! It gave me chest pain to even consider it. But was I ready to walk away from all of it? My children? Holly?

  I drove for several hours and finally began to sense the Lowcountry. I passed over the Edisto and other smaller bodies of water, over which hung the enormous branches of live oaks and long sheers of Spanish moss. Those haunted trees had graced the banks of these same rivers and streams from the days the Catawbas, the Sewees, and the very first fathers and mothers of our country walked the land. At one point in South Carolina’s history over twenty tribes of Native Americans lived here. In my mind’s eye, I could almost see them silently moving down the water in canoes or making their way through the woods. The water, glassy and pristine, reflected every dock and boat and tree in a perfect mirror image. How did I always forget how powerful the Lowcountry was? Because I had lived the past thirty-plus years of my life in Atlanta, lost in the needs of Wes and the children when Wes had never cared about mine. It was so beautiful here you could lose yourself in the landscape.

  Actually, I thought to myself, that’s kind of a funny point because what were my needs? I’d been so consumed by Wes and the children I’d never had time to develop any personal desires. I gardened, true, but mostly out of a sense of duty to the house. Okay, I’ll admit I got some pleasure out of the results, and the work itself was a great way to relieve stress. But the only passion I really ever had, my love of chamber music, had been squelched by Wes’s aversion to it. Well, things are going to be very different from now on, I told myself. Very different. Maybe I’d indulge myself in endless concerts, learn all about it. Maybe I’d grow fruit trees and wire gorgeous music into the garden of wherever I wound up living.

  As soon as I passed Orangeburg and changed counties, I opened my windows and let the edges of the Lowcountry rush inside. It’s just a fact of life that the air around Charleston is sweeter and thick. I wanted to drink it. I called Jonathan when I was about thirty miles outside of the city. He didn’t pick up, so I just left a message that I’d be home soon.

  Just as I was coming into the business area on the outskirts of Charleston, my cell phone rang. It was Harlan calling from Milan. I pulled into a gas station to talk to him.

  “Ciao, bella! Come stai?”

  “Tutto bene!” I said, using all my Italian in one exchange. “When are you getting home? I have so much to tell you!” I pulled over into a filling station.

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine.”

  “Where are you? Do I hear the roar of traffic?”

  “Yes, you do. I’m in an Exxon station. As you know, it’s against the law to hold a phone and drive an old beat-up car at the same time. I’m just coming back from Atlanta.”

  “It’s a bad idea anyway, never mind the law. Why did you go to Atlanta? A conjugal visit?”

  “Heavens, no! No, this is terrible, but Wes found out that he had testicular cancer, so I went to Atlanta to get him through the surgery.”

  “Testicular cancer? Holy Mother Church! That’s terrible! Is he all right?”

  “He’s totally fine. They don’t think he’ll even need chemo.”

  “Well, good, I guess. Now, more important, how’s my Miss Jo?”

  I giggled. I couldn’t blame Harla
n for not caring too much about Wes’s well-being.

  “She’s been staying with her uncle Jonathan while I was away, and I fear he’s spoiled her rotten.”

  “Impossible. She couldn’t be any more rotten than she is.”

  “Well, we’re all in love with her. That’s a fact.”

  “I brought her something she’s going to love,” he said, in a voice that told me whatever the gift was that it was something ridiculous.

  “Okay, tell me,” I said. “What extravagance did you manage to find?”

  “Matching father/daughter Prada raincoats and hats.” He started to laugh. “You know Leonard adored anything Prada.”

  “Oh, Harlan, there’s no excuse for you!”

  “And a great handbag for her auntie too! You’ll love it!”

  “Oh, Harlan! You are too much, brother. I’m going to make a feast for you!”

  “If you’ll just throw away all the catalogs and junk mail, that will be sufficient, thanks. Hey, how’s Jonathan?”

  “Jonathan’s great. He’s probably the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds lukewarm to me. Don’t settle for lukewarm, Les.”

  “Hey, Harlan? I’m not settling ever again. Don’t worry about that. See you tomorrow. Safe flight!”

  Was my relationship with Jonathan lukewarm? Hardly. His kindness is what brought me back to life and made me feel like a woman again. Harlan would see that when he got home. But Harlan would also see that I wasn’t ready to jump into another committed relationship with anyone. Besides, Jonathan kept talking about moving across country in perhaps as soon as a year.

  By the time I pulled into Harlan’s driveway, I had spoken to Jonathan. He had a plan. He was picking me up at six, we were driving out to the beach, and he was making dinner for me.

  “Nothing fancy,” he’d said, “but at least you won’t have to cook on your first night home.”

  I’d told him I’d be ready and I was. I brought all my things inside and placed the pictures I’d brought all around my bedroom and the sitting room. I put a small one of Holly right by my bed. I was excited to see Jonathan. God forgive me, but the few hundred miles between me and Wes felt so good. I’m sorry to say it, but it just did. I was already dreading going back for the wedding.

  I had this crazy fluttering in my chest, and the closer it got to six o’clock my pulse picked up speed. But true to his punctual habits, six o’clock rolled around and the doorbell rang.

  “Hey!” I said. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in a month!”

  It was true.

  “Hey, yourself!” He gave me a great big hug and a bunch of silly, noisy smooches all over my face that made me laugh. “I missed you!”

  “I missed you too. You’ve got Miss JP in the car?”

  “She’s out at the beach. I can tell you with authority that she doesn’t like the sand at all.”

  “Well, of course not. She’s got tender little princess paws. That mean old sand gets very hot.”

  “I can’t believe Harlan doesn’t have little sandals for her,” he said. “In eight colors.”

  “I know. It’s abusive. He’ll be home tomorrow. I’ll bring it up with him.”

  “Tomorrow? Great! I hate to admit it, but I’m not cut out for dogs,” he said.

  “Really? I thought you loved Miss Jo.”

  “I do. If you could potty train her, I’d love her a lot more. Come on, let’s get going. I’m too old to pick up poop.”

  He held open my car door, and I slipped in the car next to him.

  “Potty train a dog?” I said. “I know they can potty train cats, but I’m too old to share a bathroom with anyone.”

  We got to Jonathan’s house and pulled up in the yard. I could hear Miss Jo yipping on the other side of the door. She was excited, and when we opened the door, she literally jumped with joy.

  “Come here, you darling little girl!” I said, and she flew into my arms, licking my face in a frenzy of dog kisses. “My goodness!”

  “Can you imagine what she’s going to do when she sees Harlan?”

  “She’ll pass out cold!” We laughed. Miss Jo was now on the floor, on her back, tongue hanging out with happiness while I rubbed her tummy.

  “Feel like a glass of wine?”

  “Are you kidding? You cannot believe the week I’ve just had.”

  He poured me a goblet of wine, and he had one for himself.

  “I’ll bet. Come on outside and let’s catch the breeze.”

  We walked out to the porch, and the breeze blew my hair all around. It felt like a baptism then, as though the damp salty air cleansed me of all my sins. It was telling me I was home and I was safe. I inhaled, exhaled, took a sip of my wine, and looked at Jonathan with the sparkling ocean and the white dunes and the crazy sky shot with so many colors, all behind him in a panorama of what heaven must look like.

  “I love the way you look,” I said. “I love the way your eyebrows grow and the shape of your nose and how you listen with your eyes and ears. You’re just wonderful. Do you know that?”

  “Where have you been all my life?”

  “Darlin’? I’ve been in the wrong church, in the wrong pew, at the wrong service. The air smells so good out here.”

  “Yes, it does. So tell me how it went.”

  “Where to start? Wes’s surgery was textbook and he’s fine, still waiting for the lab report but we’re pretty sure he’s rid of the cancer, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t high drama. My daughter and son? They’re another story. They almost drove me insane, and for the first time in forever, I gave them both a piece of my mind.”

  “What’s the matter with them?”

  “My daughter just has this awful attitude. She thinks I live to wait on her like a personal maid. And she’s pushy. And she’s lazy. My God, she’s lazy! She can’t even wash a spoon! Can’t support her child. And she drinks too much. Only to be outdone by her brother, who looks like a shepherd from the days of Moses. He can’t earn a living either. And he smells.”

  “Look, my kids gave me a run for my money too, but you can never give up on them. Ever hear the old saying, every flower blooms in its own time? They just haven’t bloomed yet.”

  “Well, my two are sure taking their sweet time.”

  “Hmmm. Listen, just remember; don’t give up on them. How old are they?”

  “Old enough to act like adults.”

  “Maybe now they will. You put the fear of God in them and walked out? I’m sure you gave them a lot to think about.”

  “Honestly? I think they were more insulted than put in their place. I hope you’re right. I guess a lot remains to be seen.”

  “Always. Be thankful that life’s long. You hungry? I’ve got a bowl of steamed shrimp in the refrigerator. And some kind of avocado, tomato, mozzarella salad they were selling at Whole Foods.”

  “That sounds like exactly what I want.”

  He had set the table in his dining room, but in the end we decided to eat at the table on the porch. The air was too delicious to ignore and peeling shrimp was a messy business anyway. We talked and ate until the island was covered in darkness, and then we lit some hurricane-covered candles and talked some more.

  “So I promised him I’d go to this therapy with him, which I’m sure will be a complete waste of time and money.”

  “Most therapy is a narcissistic exercise,” Jonathan said.

  “Honey? You think Wes Carter is in this to justify his exemplary behavior and have a professional agree with him? Heck, no. He’s trying to keep control of every single asset. It’s all about control. He thinks a therapist can make me see the error of my ways, as though this will help me calm down and spend the rest of my life making Wes’s breakfast. Ain’t happening. You should’ve heard him. He said he set this all up for me so I wouldn’t have any regrets.”

  “Good grief. The subtle manipulation. I hate head games.”

  “Me too. The only regret I have is that I agreed to go back.�
�

  “Well, a few sessions with a shrink are one thing. But I can’t imagine you going back to that life. I mean, it’s your decision. You have to do what you think is the best thing for you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m never going back. This visit convinced me of that more than ever.”

  “You’re not stringing me along, are you, Leslie?”

  “Why in the world would you say that?”

  “Therapy makes me nervous. A clever therapist can make you believe a lot of things.”

  “I’ll be on guard.”

  In the morning, Jonathan dropped me and Miss Jo off at Harlan’s and then went on to work. It was so easy to be with him. As much as I proclaimed that I wasn’t going to get into a serious relationship with anyone, I could slide right into Jonathan’s life like a hand slips into the perfect-fitting kid glove. We both knew it. The truth was that Jonathan was as much a friend as he was a lover and maybe at this point in my life, that was what I needed. Maybe as you aged, what you wanted from a relationship changed too. Yes, I could see that. It wasn’t so terrible to get older if you could be with someone who had a good sense of how much you wanted and if how much you were willing to give was enough for them. No, Jonathan and I were in a comfortable groove.

  I thought about this as I rushed around, tidying up all the rooms, putting fresh flowers in the dining room and a small vase of roses right from the garden next to Harlan’s bed, but there was already one there. This house was making me a wreck. I lifted the vase and inhaled. They smelled delicious enough to eat. His e-mail said he was arriving at three, and I still had tons to do to prepare for his homecoming. I fluffed his pillows and changed his towels, which were probably dusty from sitting there for a month, and I checked the liquor cabinet, making a list of what to replenish. Then I shopped, deciding to make rack of lamb for dinner with mashed potatoes and those little French string beans. Comfort food. And I made an apple tart. Harlan loved apples. Okay, I used a premade crust, but the house smelled fantastic and I knew Harlan would be so happy.

  All the while I flitted from room to room, Miss Jo was on my heels, following me everywhere. Every time I said, Daddy’s coming home, she wagged her tail and barked. It was as though she knew Harlan was on his way back to her. Finally, at around three, she sat in front of her wardrobe closet and barked like mad. She wanted a new outfit. I didn’t blame her. She’d most likely been wearing the same dress all week.