Milk Glass Moon

by Adriana Trigiani

“Well, at the end of the week, we’ll have a rising crescent moon, which is a bright moon because it’s lit by the sun. Plus, it gets a dose of earthshine, which is sunlight reflected off of the earth and onto the moon.”

  “Where did you learn that?” I sit up and look at my daughter with newfound respect.

  “In books. Plus, Mr. Zander lets me stay after school and study his maps. ’Course, he told me that I could study the constellations for the rest of my life and not even make a dent in understanding what’s out there.”

  “You used to stand in your crib to look out the window at night. I could never figure out what you were looking at. Now I know.” I nudge Etta, and she laughs.

  “I like the constellations because they’re fixed. Like tonight. You can’t see any stars because of the clouds. And when the moon is full and there’s a lot of light, it overpowers the sparkle of the stars, so you think they’re gone. But they’re there. In science, the only concept you can prove is that things always change. But the truth is, they also stay the same.”

  “Now, that’s a philosophy,” Jack says as he looks up at the sky.

  “It means that, like the stars, we have a fixed place. A destiny. There are facts and then there is fate, which is out of our control.”

  The clouds shift overhead, and in the exact spot Etta pointed to, the moon emerges, a white half-smile covered by a filmy veil of clouds.

  “All right, my little scientist,” Jack begins. “What do you call that moon?”

  Etta looks up. “A quarter-moon?”

  “Nope, although that’s probably the right measurement. My grandpap called it a milk glass moon, because the clouds give it a smoky haze like milk in a glass after you’ve drunk it. And he said that meant it would rain the next day.”

  “That’s nice, Dad, but I don’t think it’s very scientific.”

  Jack and I laugh; this is the best moment to be a parent, when you see that your child is going to surpass you, that her curiosity will take her places and teach her things you never even thought about. As for Etta’s idea that the stories of our lives have already been written, well, this is one I’ll have to think about. It makes me feel better to think the things in this world that have no explanation or cause pain (like Iva Lou’s cancer) are part of a bigger picture; it makes them seem manageable and less overwhelming. But it’s hard for me to accept that notion and cling tightly to everything I love. When the clouds come, I’m not so sure the stars are behind them.

  Fleeta, Pearl, and I decide to drive over to Kingsport to see Iva Lou after visiting hours at the hospital. Between the staff of the county library, Iva Lou’s old Bookmobile customers, and a round of old boyfriends, she has not lacked for company. I checked in three times today by phone, and each time she told me of another floral tribute delivered to her room. “It’s a shame I ain’t dyin’,” she told me, “ ’cause these flowers would fill the sacristy at Freewill Baptist.” The most stunning flowers come from Theodore Tipton, who ordered a spray of yellow roses edged in gold glitter. Iva Lou calls them her “Viva Las Vegas” bouquet.

  On the drive there, Pearl sits in the back so she can put her feet up (a must for pregnant women) while Fleeta fidgets in the front seat. She keeps pressing the nicotine patch on her arm like it’s a call button. “Fleeta, it’s not like a morphine drip. Pressing it won’t send more nicotine into your bloodstream,” I inform her.

  “To hell it don’t. I press on this thang every few minutes, and it gives me a jolt.”

  “I think that’s in your imagination.”

  “I guess the fact that I got the shakes twenty-four-seven is imaginary too.”

  “You’re doing great,” I tell her. And she is, she’s down to one cigarette a day.

  “Fleeta, have you been keeping a secret from us?” Pearl wants to know.

  “What sort of a secret?” Fleeta hacks.

  “A boyfriend secret,” Pearl says softly.

  “Hell noooo.” Fleeta looks out the window.

  “I heard you’re dating Otto Olinger.” I can’t believe Pearl came out with it, just like that!

  “Where’d you hear that?” Fleeta coughs.

  “Folks have seen you around. Arby’s in Kingsport. The Galley up in Norton. You know, around.” Pearl shrugs nonchalantly.

  “I saw you in a horse and buggy over in Abingdon,” I chime in.

  “When?”

  “Awhile back.”

  “Why didn’t you say hello?”

  “You and Otto looked like you wanted your privacy.”

  “You were right about that. So let’s drop it.” Fleeta smoothes the creases on her new jeans.

  We ride in silence for a few moments. Finally, Pearl says, “I think it’s nice.”

  Fleeta turns to face Pearl. “Now, don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s a vurry vurry casual thing. I resisted as long as I could. Menfolk are nothin’ but a brand of rash—they have this way of gittin’ under yer skin and makin’ it itch. Now, I know for a fact that April Zirkle had the hots fer Otto fer quite a spell. Her husband’s been gone about three year’, ’course he ain’t dead, just missin’, but still. And I told him that ole April would love to go with him and she’s still got all her breath, she don’t git winded like me goin’ from here to there, she’s a nonsmoker, I think. So I tole him call her up and take her out.”

  “But he likes you!” I interject.

  “I know that. I’m not an idiot. Otto Olinger’s been chasin’ my tarred ass since we lowered Portly into the ground over at Glencoe Cemetery.” Fleeta settles back into her seat and folds her arms across her chest like a little girl.

  “That long? No way!” Pearl leans forward in her seat.

  “Yes ma’am. And I done tried everything to deter him. But he likes what he sees.” Fleeta inhales deeply through her nose and sticks out her chest. “But I don’t need it.”

  “You’re not attracted to him?”

  “Now, Ave. Honestly.”

  “It’s okay if you are.”

  “If I’m gonna make a move, I don’t want me an old man. I know, you look at me and you say, Fleets, you’re old yourself. I know I am. But I never liked me old men, not when I was young and not now. I don’t like lookin’ at stick legs and a saggy bottom in my bedroom. I’m sorry. I see a Pierce Brosnan or somebody like ’at in my mind’s eye when I let my mind’s eye roll in that direction. I certainly don’t see some ole hilljack with a beer gut, a flat ass, and a set of fake choppers from Doc Polly.”

  “You’ve always been particular, Fleeta,” I tell her.

  “I’m glad you noticed.” Fleeta sniffs.

  “It’s very sweet,” Pearl says softly.

  “You’re so gullible. You’d believe anything a man told you, wouldn’t you?”

  “If I respected him, I would.”

  “You can respect a man and he’ll still tell you a pack o’ lies. Trust me on that one.”

  I can’t hold it any longer, and I begin to laugh. Soon Pearl joins me, and we laugh so hard, we cry. Finally, Fleeta joins us, and as we pull into the lot at Holston Valley Hospital, you’d think we were going to the circus.

  Hospitals are lonely places at night. I’m glad the girls are with me as we make our way down the corridor.

  “She’s in 602,” Fleeta announces, looking at a scrap of paper from her pocket.

  Iva Lou is in a corner room, and as we approach, we hear her crying. We don’t bother to knock, we just barge right in. Iva Lou lies in the bed, a box of Kleenex in her lap.

  “Hey, girls,” she says, and blows her nose.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her gently. Iva Lou nods that she’s all right.

  “Brought you some divinity.” Fleeta gives Iva Lou the tin, plopping down on the foot of the bed.

  Pearl gives Iva Lou a kiss on the cheek and places her gift on the nightstand. “I know you like hand cream.” I go to embrace Iva Lou, but I can’t; she’s wrapped in bandages and obviously in pain.

  Fleeta sneezes. “Must be the lilies.�
� She points to the wall of flowers. “So, how are ye, girl?”

  “I feel odd,” Iva Lou says simply. “Is this medieval or what? My coat of armor,” she says, pointing to the bandages that bind her from her neck to her waist. “Now, girls, don’t look at me like that. I’m not sorry ’bout my decision. Just sometimes it all hits me at once and I git sad.”

  “Where’s Lyle?”

  “My aunt Shirley Jackowski from over in Johnson City came to see me, and I made Lyle take her out for something to eat. I’ll really owe him one for that—she’s a handful.”

  “The doctor said the surgery went well,” Pearl says, offering support.

  “It did. I’m gonna be all right. I do a little chemo, you know, and then I’ll be good as new,” Iva Lou promises. “Otto and Worley came over earlier with Spec.”

  “Did they bring you something nice?” I ask her.

  “Two dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. They ate about three quarters of them, and I gave the rest to the nurses.” Iva Lou winks at Fleeta. “You got something to tell me?”

  “Jesus Christmas. You too?” Fleeta gives the patch on her arm a slight pressing.

  “Otto Olinger is quite smitten with you, young lady,” Iva Lou tells her.

  “Well, that’s his problem.” Fleeta picks a piece of lint off the blanket.

  “Fleeta’s a little annoyed at us because we talked about her love affair on the way over,” I say.

  “It ain’t a love affair!”

  “What do you call ridin’ in a horse carriage under an autumn moon in Abingdon?” Iva Lou asks.

  “A goddamn hayride to the pumpkin patch!” Fleeta says defensively. “Look. Love ain’t on my radar screen. A surf and turf at Scoby’s is. I like to go out once in a while, and it’s nice to have company. That’s the extent of it. God a-mighty, it’s dry in here.” Fleeta stands and reaches over to crack the window open.

  “Okay, okay, we’ve tortured Fleeta enough. Who wants a Coke? I’ll run down to the cafeteria.” I take their drink orders.

  The elevator is on the far side of the floor, so I loop around the hallway. As I’m following the arrows, I bump into a woman.

  “Excuse me,” I tell her.

  “That’s all right,” she says.

  I look into her eyes and am about to say something else when I realize that I know this woman: eerily tanned in November—it can be only one person. “Hi,” I say as my mind connects a series of facts quickly.

  “Hi,” she says. “You’re . . .”

  “Ave Maria MacChesney,” I tell her. How happy am I that I put on lipstick, changed into a new pair of jeans and a sweater, and lost the ten pounds that were hanging on my thighs like fat wallets. “And you’re . . .”

  “Karen. Yeah. I didn’t know if you’d remember me,” she says as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Remember you? I think to myself. You almost stole my husband, left my kid fatherless, and made a fool out of me from the pit of the Cumberland Gap to the tip-top of Cracker’s Neck Holler. Remember? I’ll never forget you. I wish my husband were here to see you in this green fluorescent light, so he could see what happens to “cute” as it ages. Four years have made quite a difference in my husband’s paramour.

  “Karen, honey?” A man emerges from a patient’s room. He’s around sixty. He has the biggest head I’ve ever seen (including Spec Broadwater’s), gray hair combed a little too neatly, a pug nose (odd on a man this size and a sign of lack of wisdom in Chinese face reading, though I need to look that up, as I’m not sure what the combo of big head and small nose means), and low ears (this man would have trouble working a simple crossword puzzle).

  “This is my boyfriend, Randy Collier.”

  “Hi!” I say so loudly that a passing nurse turns around to look at me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ave Maria.”

  “Hello.” Randy smiles.

  “His daddy just had surgery. They took out about six feet of his intestines. He’s gonna be all right, though,” Karen offers, filling up the silence. “How’s your family?” She and I both know what she means; she doesn’t mean my family, she means my husband.

  “Oh, we’re great. Just great. I’m here visiting a friend. Well, I hate to keep you.”

  Pearl comes around the corner. “Here you are. I came to help out.”

  “I just ran into Karen Bell and her boyfriend, Randy,” I tell her.

  Pearl’s mouth falls open, and then she forces a smile. “Hello.”

  “Nice meetin’ you,” Randy says.

  “I hope your dad feels better soon,” I tell him.

  “This hospital is something,” Randy says to his girlfriend, “we’re always running into folks you know.” He puts his arm around her and looks at us. “Yep, she’s popular, my girl.”

  “Oh, yes. Very,” Pearl pipes up at last.

  We get in the elevator and Pearl leans against the railing. “What are the chances of you running into her?”

  “Just my luck.”

  “She changed!” Pearl laughs.

  We fill up a tray with cups of Coke quickly. I can’t wait to get back to Iva Lou’s room and tell her the news. She got me through the most difficult time in my marriage by giving me solid advice about how to handle Karen Bell. I don’t know what I would have done without her. Iva Lou is one of the few people who deal honestly with everyone; she never holds a grudge, and if she gets angry, there’s a reason. She taught me how to handle my feelings, to stay cool and think things through. Iva Lou has as clean an emotional slate as anyone I have ever met.

  “Guess who we ran into?” I announce over the tray of Cokes.

  “Who?” Fleeta asks.

  “Karen Bell.”

  “No! What is that old toy doing here? How’d she look?”

  “Bad,” Pearl answers.

  “How bad?” Iva Lou leans in for details.

  “That tanning bed has given her the skin of a crocodile purse,” Pearl tells them.

  “How ’bout the hair?”

  “The worst. I think she uses Frost and Tip from the drugstore,” I tell her.

  “Perox-fried.” Iva Lou shakes her head.

  “Like hay.” Pearl looks at me and smiles.

  “Good thing you dressed up tonight.” Fleeta eyes me from head to toe.

  “That’s exactly what I thought when I was standing there face-to-face with her.”

  “She’ll go home and beat herself up all night over how good you look,” Iva Lou promises.

  “You think?”

  “I know. You’re so lucky. Eye-talians don’t age, it’s like the Greeks or the Africans. Y’all just defy time. But Karen Bell? She has a soufflé face. The kind that caves in at forty and never snaps back.” Iva Lou sips her Coke.

  “We met her boyfriend too,” Pearl adds.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Well, he had a hangdog face, big teeth, and a small nose.”

  “The kind where you can see every nose hair in his head?”

  “His name is Randy Collier,” I tell her.

  “That old buck? Please. I dated him. He’s from Pound. Cheapest man I ever went out with. Took me to Cab’s over in Norton for doughnuts. Doughnuts! And it was nighttime! We sat right there in the car and ate ’em out of a sack. Then he wanted to have sex. I told him, ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it takes more than a shower and shave and a sack of Cab’s fresh-fried doughnuts to get me in the bed.’ He took me home immediately, and I never saw him again.”

  Iva Lou offers us divinity from the tin and takes a piece herself. For a moment, her mind is off her troubles; she is back in the world again.

  “He’s no Lyle Makin, that’s for sure,” I tell her.

  “Don’t I know it? Ladies, I thank God for the man. After the surgery, Lyle climbed up here in the bed with me and wrapped himself around me real gentle-like. He was so happy I made it. I think he thought I’d die in there. I told him that things had come a long way since the days when the doc would come over to your house a
nd do surgery on your kitchen table. You know, his people are from Lee County, and they’re self-sufficient. I think his aunt took out her own appendix back in the forties.”

  “That’s where his strength comes from,” Pearl says.

  “I guess.” Iva Lou shrugs. “We made love right before he brought me over to the hospital. Yeah, we decided to have a formal good-bye to my breasts, and when we were done, we just laughed, because we both realized how little a part they played in our happiness, and yet like any part of a person, they’re important because they’re part of the whole. You don’t realize that till you have to. And, of course, I had to. Lyle got real quiet after a while, and he said, ‘Ivy, I want to get old with you.’ Now, I ask you, how’re you gonna argue with that?”

  “I don’t think you can,” I tell her.

  “No ma’am. You can’t.”

  “So, why were you crying when we got here?” Fleeta lies across the bottom of Iva Lou’s bed, munching on divinity.

  Iva Lou takes a moment to think, looking off to the bare wall as if the answer is there, painted in bold letters.

  “Because I ain’t never gonna be the same. That’s a tough pill to swallow when you like yourself.”

  “We’re so sorry, Iva Lou,” I say. Fleeta and Pearl nod in agreement. And it’s true. I am sorry that this had to happen to one of the best people I know.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to run into that floozy,” Iva Lou says.

  “No, no, it was fine. In fact, I’m kind of glad it happened.”

  Fleeta sits up. “You gonna tell Jack Mac you seen her?”

  “Not a word!”

  “That’s my girl!” Iva Lou pats my hand. “You’re finally getting with the Wade-Makin regimen. Men want women to be adorable and no trouble. Sweet as pie, that’s what they’re lookin’ for. And forgiving. They don’t need to be reminded of past mistakes.

  Fleeta looks at me. “Quickest way to lose a man is to remind him of a weakness. ’Cause when they feel bad about themselves, they go right back to the woman that made ’em feel good.”

  “You make men sound like idiots.” Pearl takes a sip of her Coke.

  We sit in silence for a moment, until Fleeta, Pearl, and I crack up. Then Iva Lou laughs with us, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.