That was good, right?
Despicable Me 2 played on as Tyler cuddled next to her. In the distance the sound of the shower continued. She closed her eyes and told herself it was good. She had to look on the bright side and a few other clichés. Because as far as she could tell, selling the screenplay might have put money in their checking account but it hadn’t changed anything else.
Eric was still gone all the time. He had meetings. Actually he was taking meetings. He had a rewrite due and was working on that. He was still surfing most mornings.
The sound of the shower turned off and she opened her eyes. For a second she wanted to hide her cell phone, which was ridiculous. Why would Eric care that she’d called the bank? He would probably think it was funny. It wasn’t like he knew she’d been worried he would simply disappear with his windfall.
“Are we going to the park tomorrow, Mommy?” Tyler asked.
“We are. I get home at noon, then we’re going to have lunch and go out all afternoon.”
Her son smiled up at her. “I like the park.”
“Me, too. After we’re done with the park I thought we’d go see Auntie Pam and Lulu.” Because she and Shannon were starting their plan of visiting their friend regularly.
So far Pam hadn’t returned to class. She also wasn’t very talkative whenever Nicole phoned to check in on her. Not a surprise— How could you get over losing a husband of over thirty years? Nicole was sure Pam couldn’t remember what life was like without him.
Eric walked into the living room. He’d dressed casually—new jeans and a shirt she didn’t remember seeing. Both looked expensive. Not that she was going to ask.
“What’s the meeting tonight?” she asked.
“Jacob.”
She nodded, although she had no idea who Jacob was. There were too many new people in her husband’s life these days.
“I shouldn’t be late,” he added, then smiled at Tyler before returning his attention to her. “Can we talk in the kitchen for a second?”
“Sure.” She kissed Tyler’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded as he watched the minions having fun on what looked like a tropical island.
Nicole followed Eric into their small kitchen.
It was clean for once, mostly because she’d spent an hour after dinner scrubbing it. Since selling his screenplay Eric hadn’t bothered with any of the household chores. Something she was going to have to discuss with him. But she saw him so rarely these days and fighting about chores seemed…
She couldn’t say what. Uncomfortable wasn’t right. She had a bad feeling that because he’d scored such a huge paycheck, she felt she didn’t have the right to bug him about stuff around the house. A ridiculous concept that suggested contribution was only valued if it was monetary. Applying that theory, then before he’d sold the screenplay, he should have been doing everything. And he hadn’t. Nor had she expected him to.
“About Tyler,” he began, then checked his watch. It was gold and she couldn’t remember seeing it before. “I’m going to be busy with my rewrites and meetings. There’s no way I can be taking him to day care and picking him up.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Let me finish.”
“All right.” She folded her arms across her chest and told herself she wasn’t going to give in to anger. That the pissy feeling would pass.
“I want us to get some help around here. Like I said, I’m going to be busy and you have responsibilities with your business. Now that we have the money, it’s ridiculous not to use it to make things easier. I think we should get a nanny to pick up Tyler and a cleaning service to come in once a week.”
Talk about reasonable, she thought, oddly resentful and not sure why. “That would help a lot.”
“Good. Do you want me to ask around for suggestions? Maybe we could get a housekeeper who is also a nanny. It would be nice if you didn’t have to always be scrambling to cook dinner.”
“I, ah, okay. I wouldn’t know where to start with something like that,” she admitted. A part-time housekeeper-slash-nanny-slash-cook? In her world? Was this really happening?
“I’ll get some names and you can interview them.”
“Thank you.” She drew in a breath. “Eric, I appreciate that you’re concerned about the logistics of our life. Thanks for that. But what about us?”
He stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”
“You’re gone a lot, which is fine. You have to be right now. We both have responsibilities. But you and I never spend any time together. We never talk. I’m worried about us.”
Several emotions chased across his face. They were too quick for her to catch and read, so she was left wondering what he was thinking.
“I know,” he said. “You’re right. We need to find some time. And we will.” He kissed her. “I gotta run. I’ll see you later.”
And with that, he was gone. Nicole stood in her kitchen and hoped he meant what he said. That he was paying more than lip service to the cracked vessel that was their marriage. Because if they weren’t careful, it was going to shatter and fall apart completely.
* * *
Pam wasn’t sure when the house had become the enemy. She would have said she knew every inch of it. She’d lived through remodels, understood the idiosyncrasies of the various systems. She was at peace in her house. Or she had been.
Now it was a torture chamber, a prison filled with memories. A mocking, living creature that held her captive with the simple reality that she had nowhere else to go.
John had lived in this house. John had talked and laughed and slept and made love and ultimately died in this house. She wandered from room to room, searching for something. Him, most likely, because even though her head knew the truth, her heart was still waiting to hear his footsteps, his voice. Her body longed to be held, to be comforted. Because only he could understand how she grieved.
The phone rang. Pam ignored it. She didn’t want to take any calls, didn’t want to hear the platitudes. Time did not heal. The gray skies were not going to turn blue. She wouldn’t find closure. What the hell was closure? How could there be closure? She wasn’t recovering from something small. Something simple. Every time she woke up, she remembered that the very essence of her being had been ripped from her. She was like one of those people who accidentally survived a horrific accident. She was parts, not a person, and she should have been left by the side of the road to die.
But no matter how she wished that to be true, she lived. She breathed, she walked through her house and knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
She stood in the center of her kitchen and shivered. Not from cold, but from a lack of warmth. A lack of comfort. She shivered with the realization that there was no deal to be made, there was nothing she could sell or offer. No authority would listen to her begging and respond with compassion. John was dead. He was never coming back.
She heard the click of Lulu’s nails as her dog circled her anxiously. She reached down and gathered the small animal in her arms. For the past three weeks Lulu had been her silent companion. Except for the funeral, Pam hadn’t left the house and Lulu hadn’t left her side. At night, when Pam curled up in John’s old recliner, Lulu curled up with her.
Her cell phone rang. Strains of “Footloose” filled the kitchen, which meant she could ignore the call. When her kids called, the phone ringtone was Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Not that she loved the s
ong so much, but they all claimed it made them crazy, so it was a family joke that she’d chosen it.
She’d been careful to always take their calls so they wouldn’t worry. She was able to do that much, at least. Let her children believe that she was healing. A ridiculous thought, but one they seemed to think was important.
John would have wanted that, she thought, still holding Lulu close and letting the dog’s small body warm her. They would have discussed how well Brandon was doing in medical school and how he didn’t need more to worry about. That Steven was struggling to fill his father’s shoes at the business. And Jen had to stay calm because of the baby. So many reasons that none of her children could know how she woke every morning only to watch her heart bleed out yet again.
Her stomach rumbled. She looked at the clock. It was nearly four in the afternoon. She wasn’t sure of the day. Time had started blurring. She knew at some point she had to eat, but the thought of food made her want to vomit. It didn’t matter how hungry she was, she simply couldn’t stand to chew and swallow. Every few days she threw out the casseroles that were in the refrigerator and pulled a few more out of the freezer. She fed Lulu when the dog told her it was time. She let her out in the yard, collected the mail every day, paid the bills that arrived and when she thought she might have been in the same clothes for several days, she showered and changed them.
The first week had been different. People had been with her all the time. They had guided the rhythm of her now broken life. But one by one they’d left. There were other things to be tended to, other places to be. Jen had stayed the longest, but after four or five days, she, too, had returned home.
Pam didn’t mind the solitude. She bled whether someone was here or not. The nights didn’t bother her, mostly because there was little sleep to be had. When she was alone, she could cry or scream or simply stand in the middle of the room and do nothing.
The doorbell rang. Lulu barked and struggled to get down. Pam put her on the floor and the little dog took off to announce that someone had arrived.
Pam followed more slowly. She wasn’t completely sure of the day, so didn’t know if her visitor was as simple as the UPS man or as complicated as anyone else.
She opened the door and saw Shannon standing there. Nicole and Tyler were beside her.
“You’re not answering your phone,” Shannon said by way of greeting. “That’s going to get people to worrying.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Pam admitted, trying to remember if she’d invited the three of them over. She didn’t think so. “Why are you here?”
“Because we love you. Now let us in.”
Pam stepped aside because it was easier. Tyler rushed toward her and Pam instinctively bent down to hug the small boy. For that brief second when she held him, she could breathe. Then she straightened and the hell returned.
Nicole smiled sympathetically. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’re all here for you.”
Pam nodded, knowing she meant well, but that no company, no words, could possibly help. Shannon walked in, a large pizza box in her hand. The smell of cheese and tomato sauce made her stomach growl again. This time it cramped, as well, and she swayed a little on her feet.
“Are you okay?” Shannon asked. She closed the door behind herself and set the pizza box on the foyer table. After hanging her purse and jacket, she scooped up Lulu. “Hey, pretty girl. How’s your mom?”
“I’m all right.” Pam spoke deliberately, thinking about each word. Planning them so they came out in the right sequence. Normal conversation seemed impossible right now. How did people know what to say next?
“I’m going to get Tyler settled in the family room,” Nicole said. “We brought movies.”
Tyler went with her obediently. Because he was still at an age when being around Mom and Dad was the best part of the day. Pam remembered what that had been like—when all three kids had competed for her attention. That had been nice. Of course, John had still been with her.
Shannon put down the dog and picked up the box. “Come on. Let’s eat. I’m starving. I missed lunch. Usually my department is a well-oiled machine but every now and then we screw up as much as everyone else. It’s so discouraging. All is well now. I’ve chastised the ones who made the mistake and they are suitably afraid of me once again. Order is restored.”
Pam listened to the words and wondered if any of them were funny. Should she laugh? Was that the right thing to do? She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
Following Shannon seemed like the easiest course of action, so she did. Once in the kitchen, her friend set the box from The Slice Is Right on the kitchen table and got out four plates.
“Have you been eating at all?” Shannon asked as she moved around the kitchen.
Pam thought about lying, but what was the point? Did it matter if anyone other than her children knew the truth? “No.”
“I didn’t think so. You’ve lost weight. Come on. Have a seat.”
Pam walked over to the chair Shannon had pulled out and sat down. Her friend put a slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza—Pam’s favorite—on a plate.
“What about Lulu?”
Pam stared at the melted cheese, the roasted vegetables, and her mouth watered. In that moment, she could see herself biting, chewing, then swallowing. In that moment, there wasn’t the knowledge that her throat had sealed so tight she could never eat anything again.
“I feed her when she says it’s time.”
“I’ll take care of her dinner,” Shannon said. “Just take a bite. It’s delicious.”
Nicole walked into the kitchen. “Tyler says the cheese side only, please.”
“I’ve already put his slice on a plate.” Shannon pointed to a plate on the counter.
They continued to talk. Pam listened, but much of the time, their words didn’t make sense. They came from far away—almost as if from under water.
She reached for her own pizza slice. It was heavy. Substantial. She took a small bite. It was still hot, but not burning. Flavors exploded on her tongue. The slight bite of the sauce, the hint of sweetness in the dough, the smooth, creamy tang of the cheese. The grilled vegetables offered a subtle counterpoint of tastes, with the peppers adding crunch.
Shannon set down a glass of orange juice. The small TV in the corner clicked on and channels switched. The sound of a shopping show chased away the quiet of the afternoon.
Pam chewed carefully and swallowed. She waited for her body to revolt, as it had every time she’d tried to eat since…
Her mind shied away from the ugliness, so she thought only of the pizza. She took another bite as carefully as she had the first, chewed and swallowed.
Behind her came the sound of Shannon feeding Lulu and Nicole’s quiet conversation. Pam didn’t bother to turn around or participate. She focused only on the food and her careful, deliberate eating.
Every time she swallowed, her stomach ached a little less. Her head cleared and she wasn’t quite so cold. She tried the juice and was surprised at how good it tasted. She finished the glass, then got up to get more. She was surprised to find herself alone in the kitchen. Had her friends left?
Lulu had finished her canned food and now chomped on her special extrasoft kibble. She looked up at Pam and wagged her tail. Pam’s face pulled in way that made her uncomfortable. She touched her cheek and realized she’d smiled.
Horror washed through her. She clutched her stomach and waited to t
hrow up all she’d eaten. Only she didn’t. Her stomach grumbled for more food while her parched throat begged for juice.
She’d smiled! How could she have done that? She was never going to smile again. Never laugh, never not ache. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t allowed.
The room dipped and swayed as she struggled to breathe, to understand what was happening to her. The phone began to ring.
She wanted to ignore it, the way she always did. But with friends in the house—and where had the women gone?—she couldn’t. She picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Eiland?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Altman’s office. I’m calling to confirm your consultation tomorrow at three thirty.”
Pam shook her head. “What? I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your consultation. For your face-lift.”
The cold returned. A face-lift? “No,” Pam said clearly. “I’m not getting a face-lift. My husband died. John is dead and who cares if I look old or not? How ridiculous.” She started to cry. “How could it matter now?”
“I’ve got it,” Nicole said gently, taking the phone from her. “Hello? I’m Pam’s friend. Yes, it’s all right. You had no way of knowing. It was sudden. Just a few weeks ago. Please cancel the appointment. Thank you.”
Pam leaned against the island as tears poured down her cheeks. She wanted to vomit, to empty herself of anything that would sustain life, but her body refused to cooperate. Nicole put the phone on the counter, then returned to her side.
“Hey,” she said gently. “Come here.”
Warm arms held on tight. Pam clung to her, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t John. It would never be John.
She wasn’t sure how long she cried. Eventually she straightened and reached for the box of tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
The Girls of Mischief Bay Page 20
