The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

  Her husband was a handsome man, Ann again realized as she studied him from the short distance between them. His full head of attractively graying black hair was a source of vanity for him, especially since many of his friends were losing theirs. Paula’s husband was just about bald. Mike had a well-defined angular chin that reminded Ann of the old movie stars like Rock Hudson and Cary Grant. Like them, Mike was always clean shaven, even on the weekends. He thought men with facial hair were lazy. His blue eyes were filled with color, intensity, energy, and light. When he looked at Ann, there was absolutely no doubt he was looking at her, giving her his complete attention. His gaze could be too intense, actually, and Ann had sometimes wondered what it would be like to give a report or present an argument to a man with that kind of electricity coming from his eyes. He was not looking at her now, though, apparently unaware of her scrutiny. Instead, his attention was focused on Lauren, who had just rolled an improbable three to land on Park Place, which, if she could find the cash, would give her a valuable monopoly. He grinned at her good fortune. Meeting his happy eyes, she grinned back, his grin. Her husband and her daughter were not in the habit of interacting much with each other, and it pleased Ann to witness this. Lauren had his thick hair, as well as a softer, more feminine version of his chin. And like him, she was attracted to and fueled by success.

  The doorbell rang and Nate jumped out of his chair. “I’ll get it!” he called on the way to the door.

  “There’s some money on the kitchen counter,” shouted Eileen, getting up to follow him.

  “Okay,” said Nate, passing the kitchen.

  Eileen rushed up behind him in the hallway. “Honey, you forgot the money.”

  “That’s okay, Gran,” Nate said in a whisper. He took his wallet out of his pocket, paid the deliveryman, and took the two warm boxes from his outstretched arms.

  “Nate,” said Eileen gently, putting her hand on her grandson’s shoulder. “I wanted to pay for the pizza. That was part of the deal.”

  “It’s my treat,” said Nate, smiling. He carried the boxes into the living room, where Mike and Lauren were picking up the game. Ann sat down on the couch, next to her father.

  “What do you have there, my boy?” Sam asked. “A school project?”

  “A dinner project,” said Nate. “And you’re my guinea pig.” Sam frowned. Nate set the boxes down on the coffee table, and then whispered in his grandfather’s ear, “You’ll love this. I got extra cheese and sausage, just for you.”

  “That’s my boy,” said Sam, rubbing his hands together.

  Eileen appeared from the kitchen with a salad bowl full of colorful greens and set it down on the coffee table next to the pizza.

  “You promised not to fuss, Gran,” said Lauren.

  “And I didn’t,” she said. “I knew you and your brother would be heartbroken without some kind of vegetable.”

  “Beyond heartbroken,” said Nate.

  “Now all we need are plates,” said Eileen, turning to go back to the kitchen.

  “Stay right there,” said Lauren, reaching behind her for a brown paper bag. Inside were heavy-duty paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils. She quickly interpreted the surprised expression on her grandmother’s face. “One night,” she said. “We can be wasteful for one night. And no dishes! Sit down and eat, Gran.”

  Resigned, Eileen sat back down in her chair, next to the couch, next to Ann, whose silence was becoming noticeable. “Are you okay?” Eileen asked her daughter softly, putting her hand on Ann’s knee.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” said Ann. “Just a bit tired.”

  “Eat something, honey,” said Eileen. “I always feel better with a little something in my stomach.”

  “I will,” said Ann, even though she wouldn’t touch the pizza. No one else seemed to notice Ann, however. They all drew large slices of sausage-and-mozzarella-laden pizza from the boxes and commented, again and again, at how fabulous it tasted. Even Eileen, who politely cut her slice into bite-size pieces with her plastic fork and knife, remarked on its surprising goodness. She hadn’t had pizza in years. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time they’d eaten it. Sam was the one who reminded her they’d eaten it at an Italian roadhouse on their way from Pennsylvania to Florida, when Eileen was pregnant with Ann.

  “That was the one trip we took as a married couple,” said Eileen. “Your grandfather rarely took time off from the farm.”

  “I’m a working man,” exclaimed Sam, arching his eyebrows. “We don’t need much time off.”

  “Well, that was a wonderful vacation in Florida,” said Eileen, setting her utensils down on her plate. “I’m so glad you made time to do it.”

  “I don’t know why you say that,” said Sam. “We had absolutely no money and had no business taking a vacation in the first place.”

  “The money didn’t matter,” said Eileen.

  Lauren finished chewing a bite of pizza. “Why didn’t you have any money?”

  Eileen served Sam some salad. “Things were different back then,” said Eileen to her granddaughter. “None of our friends had money. No one we knew had money. We were all just young couples starting out. We didn’t really need anything, except each other.”

  “Ha!” said Sam, animated, his eyes alive with light. “You say that now! You weren’t so accommodating in Daytona Beach when we didn’t have two nickels to rub together that morning for breakfast.”

  “What’d you do, Gramps?” asked Nate, reaching for another slice of pizza.

  Sam sat farther back into the couch. “It’s rather embarrassing,” he said, scratching his head.

  “Oh Sam,” said Eileen. “No one cares. It was years ago.” Sam smiled at his wife and then told the story. He had awoken early that day in their tiny motel room by the highway. His bride, as he called her, was still asleep. Sam quietly dressed and stole out the door, closing it behind him. Where he was headed, he didn’t know. What he did know was this: It was his job to provide his wife with some breakfast and he had no money. Of course, he had the fifty dollars he had calculated it would take to get them back to Pennsylvania, but he vowed not to touch it until they left later that day. Across the street from the motel was an orange grove. Sam crossed the highway, barely avoiding getting struck by a speeding truck going too fast for his peripheral vision, and climbed over the fence into the grove. In the trees, hanging just out of his reach, were the most luscious oranges he’d ever seen. Sam climbed a tree and was about to pick his first piece of fruit when he heard a man’s voice telling him to stay put, unless he wanted to meet his Maker sooner than he’d planned.

  “What did you do?” asked Lauren, wide-eyed.

  “I froze,” said Sam. “Not only was I caught red-handed, I also had the distinct feeling the fellow below me was not in a joking frame of mind.”

  “Then what?” asked Nate, fascinated with both the story and his grandfather’s clear recollection of events that happened close to fifty years ago.

  “I told him my story,” said Sam. “I apologized first, then told him I’d run out of money and needed some breakfast for my wife, who was pregnant. Well, darned if that didn’t soften his heart.”

  “He gave you an orange?” asked Lauren.

  “He gave me a crate of oranges,” said Sam. “And, to this day, they are absolutely the best oranges I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Sweet and juicy,” said Eileen. “We ate those oranges all the way home.”

  “Of course, when things are hard to come by, they always taste good,” said Sam. “Ask your parents. They know what it’s like. Every marriage takes a while to get on the right track. Everyone struggles.”

  Nate smiled. “Tell us, Mom and Dad, about the deprivation days.”

  Ann blushed. “We have been blessed,” she said quietly.

  “By who?” asked Nate. “The money god?”

  “That’s enough,” said Mike, putting another piece of pizza on his plate.

  “Everyone’s had hardships,” said Ann. “Jus
t because your father and I have always had enough money doesn’t mean we didn’t struggle in other ways.”

  “With what?” asked Nate, with a laugh. “What to wear to the charity ball?”

  “I said that’s enough,” said Mike, looking sternly at his son. “Looking back on being poor can be romantic, but living a life of true poverty is far from that.”

  “I didn’t mean to stir up the pot,” said Eileen, clearing paper plates from the table. “We were just reminiscing.”

  “I know you were, Eileen,” said Mike. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Of course it is,” said Sam, hands on his chest. “Take the people we’re staying with now. They’ve got enough money to buy a small country. That doesn’t mean, however, they know their ass from their elbow. Most rich people don’t have a clue about real life.” Nate laughed out loud. “What’s so funny?” demanded Sam.

  Nate smiled and looked at his grandfather. “Your accuracy,” said Nate. “You’re a very wise man.”

  “Thank you,” said Sam.

  Nate glanced at his father, who raised his eyebrows in return.

  “Well,” said Ann, slowly getting up. “I’m ready to head back.”

  “Me too,” said Mike, taking another bite of pizza and leaving the other half of the slice on his plate.

  “But you haven’t eaten anything,” said Eileen, looking at her daughter.

  “I’m more tired than hungry,” said Ann.

  “But I’ve made a special dessert.”

  “Gran,” said Lauren, “you weren’t supposed to make anything. That was part of the deal.”

  Eileen smiled at Lauren. “Old habits die hard,” she said. “Plus, it’s just a pie.”

  “Pie?” said Nate. “Did someone say pie?”

  “She did,” said Sam, pointing at his wife. “I’ll have a big slice, ma’am.”

  “Make that two,” said Nate.

  “Mike?” Eileen asked.

  Mike looked at Ann, who was putting on her coat. “I’ll take a rain check, Eileen,” he said, standing. “Thanks for having me tonight. The pizza and Monopoly were fun.”

  “It was Lauren’s idea,” said Eileen. “I think she liked spending some time with you.”

  Mike kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek, and then bent down and kissed Lauren’s forehead. He and Ann then walked out of the room and out the door, Mike calling his good-bye on the way.

  “Where’s my pie?” shouted Sam from the living room.

  “It’s coming,” said Eileen, heading into the kitchen. “But I will serve patient people first.”

  “I can be patient,” said Sam, folding his hands in his lap like a child in Sunday school.

  Lauren got up to help her grandmother. Eileen cut small wedges from her Mile-High Lemon Meringue Pie and Lauren took them into the living room. Sam brought his plate directly to his mouth and was about to take a bite, when Nate stopped him and told him they needed to wait for his bride. When Sam gave him a quizzical look, Nate simply repeated his command. Slowly, Sam set his plate on the table, still appearing mystified. Nate patted his grandfather’s hand and assured him they would eat soon. Moments later, Lauren and Eileen, holding plates with smaller pieces of pie, joined them. Eileen took the first bite, closing her eyes to concentrate on the texture. It was perfect. Opening her eyes, she saw Nate helping Sam with his fork and Lauren looking at her. “You are an amazing woman,” said Lauren, smiling.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Eileen, taken aback.

  “You’re an unbelievable cook,” said Lauren. “You’re an unbelievable wife. And you’re an unbelievable person.”

  Eileen, fiddling with the paper napkin on her lap, said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome,” said Lauren, lifting her fork.

  Eileen swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump that had just formed in her throat. She didn’t know how to say what she knew she must. She had been unable to say it all evening. “I have some news,” she said, looking at Sam.

  “What’s that?” asked Nate, forking another bite of pie into his mouth.

  “Meadowbrook has an apartment for us,” said Eileen, looking down at her plate.

  Nate stopped chewing.

  “What?” asked Lauren.

  “Meadowbrook, the assisted-living facility in Pennsylvania,” said Eileen, who then coughed in an attempt to clear her throat. “They called this morning. They have space for us now.”

  Lauren put her untouched pie on the side table next to her seat. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  “It means,” said Eileen, looking at Sam again because she was unable to meet Lauren’s gaze, “that your grandfather and I can go home.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The next week was a busy one. Eileen made several phone calls to Meadowbrook: for occupancy confirmation, apartment size, meal plan options, and medical service information. She sent checks to secure everything she talked about on the phone. She called Charlene Dennis, the real estate agent, telling her she and Sam would return shortly for the few pieces of furniture they had tagged before they left, and then Charlene could sell the house, as is, to the people currently renting it. With Selma’s help, she washed and ironed all their clothing and neatly packed it into the suitcases and duffel bags that had lain dormant, holding nothing but dust in the back of the master bedroom closet for more than four months. Ann squeezed two early morning appointments out of her dentist’s receptionist so Eileen and Sam could have their teeth checked and cleaned before they hit the road, and a coveted afternoon slot out of her stylist. Eileen refused to have her hair colored, which Ann gently suggested would take ten years off her appearance, but she did indulge herself with a blow-dry. She sat in the padded chair with her eyes closed, allowing the warm air swirling around her head to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. Her list of things to do stretched from the top line of her legal pad to the bottom, and Sam, of course, could not help in any significant way.

  During this time of planning and packing, Eileen had no time for puttering in the kitchen. She didn’t bake a single cookie; she didn’t prepare a single meal. It was Lauren who, wrapped in her grandmother’s apron, rolled out the dough and baked a blueberry pie. It was Lauren who made three dozen chocolate chip cookies and froze them so they would be fresh for the trip east. And it was Lauren who made a lasagna—her father’s and her grandfather’s favorite—for dinner the night before Eileen and Sam were scheduled to get into their car and drive out the Baronses’ long white pea-stone driveway for the last time.

  The afternoon before their departure, Lauren, wearing the scarf her grandmother had given her for Christmas, knocked on the guesthouse door. Eileen, smiling but looking like a person who had too much to do in too little time, let her in. “You don’t need to knock, my dear,” she said, gathering her granddaughter in her arms. “After all, this is your house.”

  “It’s your house,” said Lauren, correcting Eileen. “It always will be.”

  “Come in,” said Eileen, taking Lauren’s hand and leading her into the kitchen. “We haven’t had a moment together all week. I’ve been so darned busy.”

  “Do you have time?” asked Lauren, misty-eyed.

  “Of course I do,” said Eileen, opening the cupboard next to the stove and taking down the teapot. “Sit. Let’s have some tea.”

  “I’ve got some cookies up at the house,” said Lauren. “I’ll run and get them.”

  “Never mind,” said Eileen. “Selma brought some homemade pastries from her sister. You’ll just die when you try them.” Eileen took several pieces out of the large red tin that was usually filled with her cookies and arranged them on a plate. She set the plate down in front of Lauren. “How does that look for an after-school snack?” she asked.

  Lauren, whose efforts at willing her eyes to stop generating water were failing miserably, said nothing. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter behind her and dabbed her right eye. When her bottom lip became to quiver, however, L
auren knew she’d lost the battle for stoicism. She looked up at her grandmother, who had just put the kettle on to boil, and let her tears flow freely. “Don’t go,” she said quietly.

  Determined to stay dry-eyed for Lauren, Eileen sat down at the table and took her granddaughter’s hands in her own. “We have to go, darling,” she said gently. “We were meant to go from the beginning and the time has come.”

  “Tell them no,” sobbed Lauren. “Tell them you want to stay here, with us.”

  Eileen laughed. “Your mother might have other ideas.”

  “I don’t care what my mother, or my father, thinks,” said Lauren. “I want you to stay here with me.”

  Eileen put her hands on Lauren’s face and kissed her nose. “We will come back,” she said, only half-believing it. “For Christmas or Easter, there will be a holiday that brings us back for a visit.”

  “It won’t be the same,” said Lauren, shaking her head. “If you leave now, we’ll lose everything we’ve built together.”

  Suddenly losing her resolve to remain cheerful and upbeat at all times, Eileen frowned. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Listen to me, Lauren,” she said. “We will never, ever lose what we’ve built. You and I have a relationship that can withstand time and distance. We will always be friends.”

  Lauren hugged her grandmother, pressing hard against her small but strong frame. “I love you,” she said.

  “And I love you,” said Eileen.

  Lauren pulled back. “That’s the first time we’ve said that.”

  “Ah,” said Eileen, smiling. “But it’s not the first time I’ve felt it.”

  “Me neither,” said Lauren.

  The teakettle whistled and Eileen got up. She poured the hot water into the pot and set it down in the middle of the table.

  “Where’s Gramps?” asked Lauren, just noticing his absence.