by Mary Campisi
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t you see, Jenny? Don’t you really see?” she asked, choking on her words. “I can be so strong for everybody else, forgive them their mistakes and shortcomings. But not myself. I know I should go in there right now and tell her about Grant. Tell her everything. But I won’t because I’m a coward. I want her to go on believing he was perfect, my life was perfect, everything was perfect.”
“You’d rather fake it all than tell her the truth and be done with it?”
She met Jenny’s gaze, her eyes red and swollen. “I’ve been faking it since the day I found out about his first affair.” She sniffed. “I’m actually quite good at it.”
“But,” Jenny hesitated, “it’s all a lie, Grace. You’re just living a lie.”
She smiled then, a pathetic half-tilt of the lips. “But it’s the perfect lie. And it’s all I have left.”
* * *
In seven days, Jenny was heading back to LA. Joe had called and said he needed her in Seattle to photograph a priest-turned-techie. He said it was big stuff and it was her last chance. She’d told him she’d be there. She’d also called Stefan and Gerald, told them she was coming back and was dying for a bowl of Gerald’s bouillabaisse.
“You don’t sound very excited,” Stefan said, the night she called him. “Actually, you sound kind of…down.”
“Why wouldn’t I be excited to come back to the best neighbors in L.A., not to mention best friends, best decorator, and best chef? Huh? You just have Gerald start cooking and I’ll be there.” Her words might have been upbeat, but her tone sounded flat, even to her own ears.
“Jenny?”
“Yes?”
“What is it?” Stefan prided himself on picking up telepathic waves—“getting vibes from people,” as he called it.
“There’s a lot going on here.” That much was the truth. “Grace is having a tough time,” she paused, added, “and my mother is still here.”
“Ahh. Have you been using the lavender and chamomile oil?”
“Yes, but actually, I know someone who grows lavender and chamomile, so I’ve been picking it fresh and practically burying my face in the smell.”
“Something else is bothering you. I can tell. Is it that brute Joe Feltzer, bullying you back before you’re ready?”
“No.” Should she tell him about Elliot, tell him she was leaving in seven days and he hadn’t even once asked her to stay? Or to write, or visit, or whatever it was romantically involved people did who lived thousands of miles away.
When she’d told Elliot about Joe’s phone call, they’d been lying on a comforter in Elliot’s backyard, the scent of the garden drifting over them, the moon and stars covering them from above. He’d been stroking her arm, slow, gentle, driving her wild with wanting. And when the words were out, there’d been a half-second hesitation as his fingers paused, and then he began stroking again, telling her it sounded like a good opportunity and he was confident she’d do a great job. She’d waited, actually hoped he would take off his horn-rimmed glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose like he did when he was thinking, and then look at her with those soulful brown eyes and ask her to stay. But he didn’t. He hadn’t even said he’d call.
Grace was another story. When Jenny told her she was leaving in seven days, the Arctic freeze between them melted a few degrees. But not much. They hadn’t really talked since the day she’d told Jenny her life was a lie and she knew it, and there wasn’t a damn thing she was going to do about it.
Their mother must have sensed the tension between them, because she was actually civil to Jenny. Hard to believe, shocking, but true.
Three days before Jenny was scheduled to leave, she and Grace were folding clothes on the kitchen table. Jenny was in charge of socks and underwear, Grace, shirts and shorts. They both did the towels. Their mother was ironing Natalie’s cotton sundress with the big daisies on the border.
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Natalie tore into the kitchen with Danielle at her heels. Their faces were pink with excitement, their breathing coming in quick, shallow gulps. “Guess what we found under your bed!” She held out her small hand, balled into a fist.
Grace smiled, a faint, tolerant smile that only another mother can understand. “What did you find under my bed?” she ventured, cocking her head to one side.
“Guess?” This came from Danielle, who seemed equally enthralled in the mystery.
“Hmm,” Grace said, picking up one of Danielle’s powder-blue tank tops. “Dust bunnies?”
The girls shook their heads and said, “Nope.”
“A monster?”
“No!” Their giggles filled the room and made Jenny smile, probably only the fourth in as many days. But how was a person supposed to smile when her sister was on the outs with her? When the man she was crazy about was letting her go two thousand miles away without a word to try and keep her? When her mother was taking every opportunity to laud her dead son-in-law’s attributes in the hope that one day Jenny, too, might find such a wonderful man?
“Look, Mommy! Look!” Natalie squealed as she turned her hand, palm up, and uncurled her fingers.
Three objects sparkled in the middle of her tiny palm. Two rings, sprinkled with diamonds. Grace’s wedding rings. And a bracelet, gold, covered with rubies and diamonds.
Their mother moved in for a closer inspection. “Where on earth did you find those?”
“Under the bed, Grandma,” Natalie said.
“Oh, nonsense. Did you take these from your mother’s jewelry box?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“You girls both know that God doesn’t want you to fib.”
“No, Grandma. Honest,” Danielle said. “They were under the bed. We were crawling under there with our flashlights and saw them.”
“Yep.” Natalie’s short curls bounced as she nodded. “That’s right. And we knew Mommy would be happy we found them for her.”
“This makes no sense. How could they have gotten under the bed? Grace?” Virginia Romano looked at her daughter and frowned. “These are your wedding rings. And the bracelet looks quite valuable. You told me you couldn’t wear the rings because you lost too much weight. But you didn’t tell me you lost them. And how could you lose the bracelet? Under a bed, no less. I don’t understand.”
No, she wouldn’t, but Jenny did. The night Grace confessed Grant’s infidelity she’d been crouched on the floor in the corner of her bedroom. Jenny didn’t remember if there was anything in her hand, but there could have been. And if Grace had thrown them in a fit of rage, they might have landed under the bed. There was certainly rage that night, enough to explain discarded wedding rings and a diamond-ruby studded bracelet.
“Grace?” It was their mother again, persistent as ever. She was not going to let this go.
Jenny leaned forward and snatched the jewelry from Natalie’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, kiddo. Your mom was looking for these.” She fluffed the top of her niece’s head and Natalie giggled.
“Welcome.” She turned to her mother and her smile faded. “You should be more careful with this kind of stuff, Mom.”
Grace looked at her youngest daughter and merely nodded, her face pasty-white, her eyes fixed and glassy. She hadn’t moved since Natalie opened her hand to reveal the jewelry.
How was she going to explain this one? I was cleaning under the bed and they fell off? I dropped them and they got kicked under there? I lost so much weight they slipped off in my sleep and rolled under the bed? It all sounded untrue. Like the big lie it was.
“Why don’t you kids bring this pie plate back to Mrs. M,” Jenny said. She didn’t want them around when Grace started on another lie.
“Okay,” Danielle said. “Can we stay there and play, Mom?”
“Sure.” One word, faint, distant, forced.
“Okay. Bye.” They each gave Grace a quick hug around the middle, then Danielle snatched the pie plate from Jenny’s hand and bounded out the back door, screen door slamming.
“All right. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Mom,” Jenny said. “Grace just misplaced some jewelry.”
“Just misplaced some jewelry?” Her brow shot up. “They were wedding rings. You don’t just misplace those.”
Jenny shrugged. “Well, she did.”
Their mother’s nostrils flared and she turned to Grace. “What’s going on?”
“I—” Grace started, stopped. “I took them off one night.” She rubbed her forehead with both hands. “And put them on the bedside stand. They must have fallen and rolled or gotten kicked under the bed.”
“When?” Virginia Romano knew how to interrogate.
“I don’t know.” Grace shrugged. “A week ago. Maybe two.”
Their mother let out a grunt that sounded half-snort. “You lost your rings and a bracelet and you don’t even remember when?”
“No.” Grace inched the word from her lips.
“Why did you take them off?” She held up her left hand and displayed the plain, gold band. “I never take this off. Not even when I’m cleaning.”
“The rings were too big. I was afraid I’d lose them.” Grace was a terrible liar.
“So you put them on the nightstand instead of in a jewelry case? Because you didn’t want to lose them? And the bracelet? Was that too big, too?” There was a shrillness in her voice that said she knew Grace was lying.
But there was too much at risk for honesty to shatter Grace’s image or the dreams she’d built in the pre-tide sand, even if she had to guard them with a bucket and the last vestiges of self-respect.
“That’s right,” she said, her gaze darting to Jenny’s right hand.
Jenny clenched her fist around the jewelry, let the stones dig into the soft flesh of her palm. I won’t betray you, Grace.
“This whole situation is ridiculous.” Their mother shook her head and let out a loud breath like she always did when she was too disgusted to put her annoyance into words. The magnified exchange of air usually did the trick. Her daughters heard it, recognized it for what it was: anger and annoyance. And then Grace would try to appease her.
But not this time. Grace remained silent. She picked up a white sock and pulled at a long string on the stitching, head bent, intent on her mission.
“Jenny, give your sister those rings and that bracelet. The least she can do is put them on.” She clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “I swear, is this what happens when you come to stay with your sister? She starts to do crazy things? Behave as irresponsibly as you?”
Jenny bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to taste blood. Do not say anything. Keep your mouth shut.
“Go on, Jenny,” she repeated. “Give them to Grace.”
Jenny hazarded a quick glance at her sister. Grace’s face had changed from white to gray with her mother’s first command. The stones dug deeper into Jenny’s palm.
Now what, Gracie?
“Come on, Jenny. She needs to get them back on. You know it’s very bad luck to take your wedding ring off for longer than an hour at a time.”
Where did she hear these things? Between her sayings and superstitions, she could publish a book. Correction. Books. Volumes one, two, and three.
Grace pulled at another string, this one along the edge of the sock. Grace? What am I supposed to do? Help me out here. Say something. Grace yanked hard and the string broke.
Jenny held up her hand, watched her sister study the two-inch piece of string in her hand, and then she slowly, unbent her fingers.
“Now,” their mother said, snatching the rings and bracelet from Jenny’s hand. “I want both of you girls to stop this foolishness. Right now. Here, Grace, put these on.” She held out her hand, waited for Grace to take the jewelry.
Jenny balled her hands into fists, felt the sharp edge of nail digging into flesh. Tighter. Tighter. Pain. And still she waited. What now? What now?
23
Grace stepped back, clutched the sock in her hand.
“What’s the matter with you?” Virginia Romano was not a stupid woman. “You’re acting like you don’t want to put these on.” She paused. “Oh, I see.” Her dark gaze shot over Jenny, then swung back to Grace. “I see what’s going on here. Your sister’s trying to fill your head, isn’t she? Talk you into dating and acting like a single woman. Well, don’t even think about it. It’s much too soon.”
Grace lifted her hand, extended it, came within inches of touching the wedding band. Then she let out a cry and jerked her hand away. “No,” she said, shaking her head, pain pulsing in her words. “I can’t.” Her voice was raw, whisper-soft. “I can’t.”
“Grace?”
“He cheated on me, Mom,” she said in a ragged breath. “He cheated on me.”
“Dear God.” Their mother leaned back against the table, worked a hand over her face. “Grant?” She shook her head. “Grant was having an affair?”
Grace’s dark eyes brimmed with tears. “The day he died, I found him at a restaurant with his girlfriend. That’s why he was in the van with me.” She swiped a hand over her eyes. “Trying to tell me another lie. And it wasn’t his first,” she finished on a weary sigh.
“Oh, Gracie, why didn’t you tell me?”
“How, Mom? How could I tell you that the marriage you thought was so perfect to the man you adored was all a lie?”
“You should have tried. I would have helped you.”
“I couldn’t. I refused to believe it myself, so how could I tell anyone else?”
“Oh, dear Lord.”
“Yeah, Mom, that’s what I say every night when I get into an empty bed.” Grace sniffed. “That’s why the jewelry was under the bed. I threw it there. I never wanted to see it again.”
Virginia Romano looked as if the life had been punched out of her; her eyes were glazed over, mouth slack, breathing labored. She clasped the edges of the table, half-leaning, half-sitting. “You knew?” she said, looking at Jenny. “You knew about this?”
Jenny nodded. There was hurt in her mother’s voice and a hint of accusation.
“She wanted me to tell you,” Grace said. “But I insisted on keeping it all a big secret. I told myself it was better for you, easier if you thought I was a grieving widow.” She coughed, cleared her throat. “I didn’t want you to know that truth. But when Natalie opened her hand and I saw the rings and that bracelet, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.”
“I wish I had known.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to. Not really. You were so proud of me, the girls, Grant. I didn’t want you to start criticizing me.”
“Why would I do that?” She seemed genuinely surprised that Grace would say such a thing. “I would never do that.”
“Sometimes you do, Mom,” she said, shooting a quick look at Jenny.
“Well, only if they deserve it.” It was her turn to give Jenny the once-over.
Grace shook her head. “That’s not true. You don’t like it if somebody has a different opinion from yours. You make it very difficult for them.”
“That’s because some people are too impulsive, too outspoken, too…unstructured.”
Why didn’t her mother just come out and hook Jenny’s name on the front of those words? Jenny is too impulsive. Jenny is too outspoken. Jenny is too unstructured.
“Some people are honest, Mom,” Grace said. “Some people tell you when they don’t want to make pies from scratch. Others will go through the motions, never uttering a word, and hating every minute of it.”
“It’s important to know how to make a good crust.”
Grace’s lips turned up into a sad smile. “That’s not the point. I was too busy thinking about what you wanted to consider what I may want. I should have done that, I really should have.” She looked at Jenny then, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “I just needed someone to give me a push.”
Jenny swallowed, felt the sting of tears in her own eyes.
“I wish I had known how you felt, Grace.”
Good old Mom. She just never quit.
Grace shrugged. “Well, I guess now you know.” She ran her hands over her face. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while. I’m exhausted.”
“Fine. Go lie down.” She nodded her head.
“I love you, Mom,” Grace said, taking a step forward to give her a hug.
“I love you, too, Grace.”
Jenny clamped down on her bottom teeth, willing herself not to cry. So, she doesn’t show this kind of emotion toward me. So what? So what?
Grace pulled away and turned toward Jenny, arms outstretched. Jenny stepped into them, and they clung to each other, absorbing one another’s pain. “I love you, Jenny. Thank you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too, Gracie.”
Grace sniffed and let out a shaky laugh, releasing her hold. “You’d have to, to put up with me these last few months.”
“Yeah, you’ve been a real pain. I guess we’ll be even in about thirty years.”
That made her smile.
“Go, get some rest.”
She nodded, looked at Jenny, then at her mother, and walked out of the kitchen.
“Well,” Virginia Romano said, pulling out a chair and sinking into it with a thump.
Jenny picked at a piece of skin on her thumb. “Yeah.”
“I really wish she’d told me. I could have helped her.”
Jenny pulled the skin straight up, felt sharp pain, let go.
“She said you really helped her.”
Jenny shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I did what any sister would do.”
“That’s true. You did,” she agreed. “And that’s what surprises me most.”
Jenny’s head shot up. “Did you think I wouldn’t? That I’d bail on her?”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, simply stared at Jenny with those dark eyes that told nothing. “I wondered.”
Of course, she did. She wondered how long I’d make it. And how screwed up everything would be by the time she got here.
Her mother’s gaze dropped to the tablecloth. “But, you know,” she said, drawing a pattern on the plastic covering with her fingernail, “I don’t really think you needed me here. You could have done this by yourself.”
