by Belva Plain
“I get them at cost. They cost me practically nothing. You know that perfectly well. Why shouldn’t I take advantage of it?”
As her voice rose, his softened. His pique was a balloon, deflating.
“Okay, it that’s true, okay. You did tell me. I guess I forgot. I still think the book is silly, though.”
“I’ll take it back if it will make you happy,” she said, softly now.
“Oh, forget it. Listen. My father wants to celebrate Norma’s birthday tomorrow night. It’ll be kind of a double celebration. I pulled off a great deal today, and he’s proud of me, really tickled. It’s a farm way out where the highway is going to be extended. Probably will be another five years till they get around to it, but in the meantime, I’ve got a tenant. Rich guy who wants to raise buffalo.”
Really tickled. L.B.—in her private thoughts, Amanda had named him so—had of late been visibly mellowing. He seemed to be seeking their company, buying tickets with them to sports events, inviting them to family gatherings with cousins, who varied from young and lively to old and dull, or taking them to expensive restaurants.
“Dress up, Amanda,” he would say, “and show off.”
She remembered his first cool inspection of her four years ago. She could never have imagined then that such words would come from L.B.
“We’re going to dine Français out past Cagney Falls. Costs an arm and a leg, as I’ve told you fifty times, but it’s worth it, and anyway, the old man likes being a sport.”
This description was totally inaccurate. L.B. was no old man; you would never believe he was old enough to be the father of this particular son or that particular daughter, both of whom appeared to be older than they really were. L.B. was also not a “sport”; regardless of the mellowing, he was still too remote and he still had too much hauteur to be one.
“I wish Norma had a guy to invite,” Larry complained as always. “Isn’t there somebody at that school for her to like, for Pete’s sake?”
Someone for her to like? Very likely there was more than one. There was, for instance, Lester Cole, assistant to the headmaster. In one way or another, Norma seemed to drop his name whenever she talked about events at the school.
“I think there is someone she likes.”
“So?”
“It’s a two-way street, isn’t it?”
Larry sighed. “She’s such a good gal. It’s a pity.”
Yes, it is. Somehow, being a “good gal” is never quite good enough.
Cecile looked about and was satisfied. A medley of poinsettias, the familiar red interspersed with her favorite pale green, framed the fireplace in the dining room. On the table at Norma’s place was a birthday gift for her, crystal bookends, a copy of Lincoln in the Memorial. It was said that he had been homely, but that was not true; his gentle, grave face was singularly beautiful in Cecile’s eyes, and surely, too, Norma would see it that way.
It was a lovely winter day, one of those when the air is cold but without wind, so that every twig is drawn against a scrim of sky as pens draw lines of ink on paper. From any window in the house you could look out upon this scene. Through every window there came light; there was never a dark room in the whole house. And walking through it now, she felt satisfied with everything.
They had made great headway in these three months. Two of the four bedrooms were complete. The nursery furniture had come just yesterday as the last wallpaper, scenes from Winnie-the-Pooh, had been hung. The shelves were filled with stuffed animals and books, for these days people knew that it is important to read to infants. As soon as Norma and Amanda arrived for lunch, she would rush them upstairs to look at everything.
It was too bad, though, that she wasn’t feeling quite right. In fact, for the last few days she had been slightly feverish. There were colds going around in the neighborhood, as they always seemed to do when holidays were approaching. And her back had really been aching; you might say from time to time it was more a pain than an ache. The weight in her enormous belly had begun to hurt, too. At times it almost seemed as if she were about to burst apart.
Downstairs again, passing the hall mirror, she turned her profile to it. She looked like an elephant! Peter had fun with her, gauging her growth almost day by day. He liked to feel the twins turn and jump. For the last few days, though, they had been very quiet. Probably eating, he said. Greedy already. They’ll eat us out of house and home.
Oh, it was going to be such a happy home. It was that already, for Peter was so glad they had done this, almost more glad about it after his deep doubts than she was. His room, the workroom that she had wanted for him, looked out upon what would be a garden. No doubt her father would help them with that. Roses would be perfect against the fence; there would be plenty of sun for them there. Peter’s desk was at the window on the shady side; there he would be able to draw away from the direct glare. And for evenings when he wanted to work, she had found a perfect double student lamp.
For a minute she stood there with these pleasing thoughts in her head. He was doing really well, restoring an old wooden church and turning a hosiery mill into condominiums. And he was also giving serious thought to Amos’s proposal.
She sat down suddenly. Here again was the pain in her back, the one that had been so sharp during these last few days. But now it was something else! It was an attack. And she cried out, clutching the arms of the chair. After a minute or two, it subsided. After another minute or two, it went away. And then, still trembling from the shock of it, she stood up.
Comes with the package, she thought. For Heaven’s sake, this wasn’t the first muscular pain she had ever felt! In any kind of athletics, and she had done practically every kind, you were bound to bear some pretty bad, needle-sharp pains.
It was almost twelve-thirty, and the two musketeers were always prompt. Still, there was time to take the harvest wreath from the front door and put on the Christmas wreath. She was hanging it up when her neighbor Judy Miller drove past and lowered the window of her car to call out.
“How are you? Any more aches or pains?”
“Oh, not many, though I had a pretty bad one just now.”
“You really should see your doctor, Cele. At least call up and ask some questions.”
“He’s away this week, and I’ve never even met the man who’s covering for him. I’ll wait till he gets back. Anyway, it’s nothing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I hate being a hypochondriac, one of those pregnant women who make their husbands get up in the middle of the night to fetch strawberries or ice cream or something.”
“That’s utterly stupid. Have you told Peter?”
“No. Why bother him with a few pains? Look at me, I’m big as an elephant. It isn’t surprising, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, and neither are you. If you don’t tell Peter, I will.”
“All right, all right. You probably make sense. I’ll tell him this afternoon. He may be home early.”
“I wouldn’t wait. Don’t be foolish, I tell you.”
“All right. I will. I will.”
For a few moments Cecile stood watching the car drive away out of sight. Maybe Judy was right. But still, you can’t expect to go for nine months without some aches and pains. On the other hand, maybe the doctor would know whether or not she ought—oh, God! Here it was again.
It tore at her back. No, not her back, but the huge mound where the babies lay. It tore, it wrenched. It was inhuman; she heard herself scream; the screams bounced back and echoed.
And leaving the front door wide open, pressing that huge mound between her two hands, racing up the stairs, weeping and pleading as she ran, frantic and terrified, crashing into the bathroom, crashing her head against the basin, with everything gone black and dark, Cecile fell.
Norma, waiting in her car not far from Amanda’s shop, was wondering why she sometimes felt vaguely sorry for Amanda. The reason was truly unfathomable. You had only to think about Amanda’s f
irst arrival at the Balsan house, carrying her old suitcase, and then to think of her now, married with a house of her own, a man who was insanely in love with her, and a job that she enjoyed. So why feel sorry?
Possessing a defect that she considered almost a disability, Norma had become extraordinarily aware of nuances that many other people would not notice. Standing in front of a classroom, even while concentrating on Latin grammar, there was a fragment of her mind that could detect hidden laughter or possible signs of trouble. For a long time, for instance, she had been puzzled by the unkempt appearance of a lonely girl named Jessie, who could certainly afford to look kempt. Then one day when the mother came to school looking like a fashion model, it all came clear; she understood that Jessie was a pathetic, unloved daughter.
Well, what troubles could Amanda have? Here she came with a smile and wave, with an independent stride and beautiful, thick curls grazing a cashmere collar.
“I’m starved for something sweet,” she announced in her lively way. “Cecile will be sure to have a marvelous cake for your birthday. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. Did you really like my present?”
“I told you I did. I’m wearing it.” And Norma unbuttoned her jacket to show a fine embroidered blouse.
“I told Cecile to put one away to wear after the babies come, but—can you believe it?—she said it was too expensive.”
“Well, maybe it is for her right now.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. As if there’s anything that could ever be too expensive for her. The Newmans must have millions locked away. I don’t mean that I envy them—”
But of course she did, and had done from the moment she had seen their rural mansion. How far we have come from the innocent days in the dormitory, from the laundry scattered on the bathroom floor and the pizza crumbs on the table!
“She’s living within Peter’s means. I think she deserves credit.”
“Well, I think it’s nonsense. They can be a little tight, the two of them. Haven’t you noticed?”
Without responding, Norma concentrated on the road. They had never used to talk about each other, even in a harmless way. But lately she had noticed these prickly little innuendoes, far more of them on Amanda’s side than on Cecile’s, or perhaps never on Cecile’s. Anyway, it was a bad precedent. Real friends didn’t gossip about each other.
Her silence might have spoken for her because Amanda said quickly, “Of course, it’s none of my business and you know how I adore Cecile. I only meant, she’s so considerate of people’s feelings—she shouldn’t deprive herself of a single thing.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t.”
They rode on quietly, which was unusual for them. On either side lay pleasant houses with cars in the driveways; there came a skating rink with children in bright woolen hats; here came a young couple walking a pair of golden retrievers. And suddenly a window seemed to open in Norma’s mind.
It is the green monster, of course, as simple as that. Now that Amanda has more than she ever had before, she wants more. Poor Amanda! Well, poor me, too. Do I really like visiting Cecile’s house where in every room there is something, whether it is Peter’s picture or the new baby furniture, to make me think of what I have not got? We are all, in our different ways, hungry. Maybe Peter and Cecile are not because life goes so smoothly for them, but most of us are.
“She’s been waiting for us,” Amanda said as the car slowed. “Look, she’s left the front door open.”
“In this weather?”
They went inside, shut the door, and called, “We’re here. Only five minutes late, too.”
There was no answer.
“Are you in the kitchen?”
They walked through the first floor, calling without answer, and stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“Cecile? Cele? Where are you?” There was no answer, and they stood there looking at each other.
“Robbers?” Norma whispered.
“They wouldn’t leave the front door open.”
Norma’s heart raced. Questions hung in the air. “Shall we call somebody? Neighbors or police?” “She might be taking a nap. I’ll go look.” “This is too queer. Don’t go up, Amanda.” But Amanda was bold, and Norma had to follow her. At the top of the stairs, the first thing they saw was the open door to the bathroom. The next was Cecile on the floor, unconscious, in a puddle of blood.
It was the worst week. It was a singular stretch of time that Norma would recall and relive perhaps for always, with every detail of faces and voices, even of weather, sharply defined against a blur of fear. It was like the week in which her mother had died, or the week when the family down the street had lost their son in a plane crash over the Atlantic and the whole street had mourned with them.
If school had not been closed for vacation, she would have made any excuse to stay away. Nothing else mattered, not on this continent or anywhere on the globe, except that Cecile should live. Had she really ever been ignorant enough to think that Peter and Cecile had been touched with some golden charm to leave them forever unscathed?
She lay on one of those high, white hospital beds that for some reason always reminded Norma of a stone catafalque on which slept a long-dead queen whose young face asked for pity. Next to her sat Peter, himself almost as frozen as a figure carved in stone. His hand lay on Cecile’s, and his eyes rarely left her.
“I don’t know when he goes home,” a nurse replied to Norma’s question. “When I go off my shift at night, he’s still here, and when the next shift comes on in the morning, he’s already here.”
Once, on her daily visit, he spoke to Norma. “Her blood pressure soars and sinks. Now today I learn that there’s an infection. What is the cause? Talk and talk. It all comes down in the end to some ‘internal malfunction’ that I don’t understand. All I know is terror … Excuse me, I’m not thinking very clearly.” His voice was unnatural, and on his face there was an unnatural alternation of pallor and flush. “What shall I do if she—”
This suffering was perhaps even greater than whatever Cecile was undergoing, for she was mercifully able to sleep, and unaware of Peter’s terror, spoke only of her lost babies.
“She doesn’t seem to realize that she can have more children,” he said. “There’s the difference between us. I don’t care. No, I don’t. I only care about her… my world … from the first day.”
To lose yourself in another human being, thought Norma, to be so united with another, is to open your heart to grief like this; why then do we long for it? And still, if I could once feel it, how willingly I would take the risk! And on tiptoe, she left the room.
In the end, thanks to the miracle of antibiotics, Peter took Cecile home. It was a foggy, wet morning, quite still except for the occasional, dismal call of a crow. Upstairs, while waiting for their car, Norma had tidied things, taken the toys from the nursery shelves and closed the door so that Cecile would not have to see the sad room. What else would musketeers do, she was thinking, but stand by to help when help was needed?
Downstairs, Amanda was preparing a light lunch. “Funny,” she said when Norma came in, “my sister’s having another one that she can’t afford and didn’t want. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
“I wonder whether Cecile will ever have another.” “That’s one more question without an answer. Oh, the car’s turned into the driveway. Here they are.”
Leaning on Peter, Cecile came slowly up the shallow steps at the front door.
“Both here!” she cried. “Oh, how good of you!” “Didn’t you know we would be? We’re the three musketeers.”
CHAPTER TEN
Some days, everything goes wrong. The alarm clock fails and you oversleep. Then the weather, which as Christmas nears ought to be cold and bright, is damp and dark instead, while sleet turns the roadway into a dangerous, greasy slide.
So did Amanda complain to herself as she neared the shop. No doubt it would be crowded with last-minute shoppers, chiefly men who needed a gift in
a hurry and had no idea what they wanted. Naturally, you needed customers, but sometimes they could be a nuisance.
Even when people were as pleasant as can be, their inane chatter could be annoying. There was, for instance, name-dropping: Oh, she doesn’t look like any of her mother’s family, they’re all much taller and thinner—implying an intimate relationship with some prominent family. Or implying the personal possession of old wealth: They made everything they own in the last stock market boom, you know. And then there was the traveler’s one-upmanship: Fiji is delightful, yet you can’t compare it with Bora-Bora.
And the things these women bought, disposed of, and in no time replaced! Another world, that’s what it was. Another world.
How nice it would be to get away for a little while, to go someplace, almost anywhere, over the holiday. Peter had taken Cecile to a Caribbean island for a few weeks. True, Cecile had been very ill and deserved a tranquil rest. Amanda was certainly not comparing herself with Cecile. But Larry was almost always too busy to go anywhere; even the neighborhood movie house was sometimes too far for him. Stick-in-the-mud, he was.
So Christmas would be the same as last year. The Balsan house, according to tradition, would be filled with cousins; Larry’s father would present the usual gift certificates to the local department store; admittedly the food, roast beef and turkey, would be delicious and the house most beautifully adorned with holly and mistletoe, according to tradition. All was tradition in that house, even to the red dress that Norma, on the occasion of Amanda’s first Christmas with the family, had advised her to wear.
Now quite suddenly, and in spite of herself, Amanda had to laugh. The weather and the extra work, along with a vague, nameless boredom, were weighing upon her and put her in a cranky humor. But that was really inexcusable. Why, she had only to think about poor Norma! Another year had gone by, and it had been the same for her as the last one, or the one before that. And a shudder moved Amanda.
