by Nancy Thayer
“So who got the baby for Thanksgiving?” Alice asked Marilyn.
“I did,” Marilyn said. She brightened. “Want to see some photos?”
Of course they did. After the baby had suitably been admired, Marilyn slid the photo album back in her purse. “They were at my house for three hours, during which time Eugenie phoned twice, missing ‘her little family on this special day.’ We all felt miserable. But it seems fair to me. Teddy, Lila, and little Irene are going to spend both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day out at the Eastbrooks’.”
“You won’t get to see them, even for an hour?” Faye asked.
“No. And, yes, I am disappointed. But I can tell they’re feeling pressured by Eugenie. In spite of all our joking, I feel sorry for Eugenie. Why would Eugenie be so involved in their lives if she were happy with her own?”
Alice laughed. “I’m not sure happiness always comes into it. It’s like there’s some kind of bizarre emotional mathematics in families. Einstein’s wife’s theory of relativity! I know with Gideon’s grandchildren, it’s as if each day has a symbolic weight. One Christmas is worth slightly more value than one Thanksgiving. Birthdays are almost equal to Christmas. Next on the scale comes summer vacation, followed by weekends. If the grandparents aren’t able to see the child for two weekends because the child was sick or something, does that mean they deserve a week during summer holiday? We need a computer to figure out how to divide up grandchildren’s time fairly.”
“It’s not the time I’m concerned about,” Marilyn said, “as much as the, well, influence, I suppose is the word I want. I’d like to see my granddaughter interested in ideas, science, literature, music. I don’t want her swept up in Eugenie’s superficial world.” Suddenly she glared at the others. “Don’t start snorting and smirking!”
“Well, it is funny,” Faye contended, “how different you and Eugenie are. All she cares about is appearance, and you scarcely realize you have one.”
Alice cocked her head. “Is there a word for what the parent of your child’s spouse is? I mean, they’re not in-laws, are they?”
“Outlaw?” Marilyn ventured. “I’m Eugenie’s mother-out-law.”
Shirley chewed her eggplant parmigiana thoughtfully. “You can’t be an outlaw, Marilyn. Your children are married, you’re legally part of the family. I’m not a mother, aunt, grandmother, I’m not even a stepmother yet. I’m the outlaw! Certainly Justin’s ex-wives and children think I am. I’m trying my best to please everyone, and they still think I’m an intruder.”
“Who did you spend Thanksgiving with?” Alice asked.
“Now don’t freak out,” Shirley warned, shooting a look around the table before answering. “No one.”
“No one!” Faye cried. “Shirley, that’s awful!!”
“No, it’s not. I got a lot of paperwork done. I celebrated Thanksgiving the day after, when I took Justin and his three kids out to dinner at the Ritz.”
“The Ritz?” Alice was shocked. “That must have cost you a ton of money.”
“It did. But it was the first time we’ve all eaten together. I wanted to make it special.” With a little shrug of embarrassment she said, “I wanted them to like me.”
“And did it work?” Marilyn asked.
Dismally, Shirley shook her head. “No. They’re all teenagers, two girls from the first wife, the boy from the second, and they all seem to hate each other and their father, and they hate me because I’m connected to him. They were sullen. They were rude. At least the boy enjoyed all his food. The girls just took tiny bites and made faces.”
“Okay,” Marilyn conceded. “You win the title of outlaw.”
“I think you need to be careful,” Alice said. “Taking everyone to the Ritz—won’t that give Justin the idea you’re wealthy?”
“Here we go again!” Shirley sighed. “Alice, Justin is not after my money! He knows I don’t have any money.”
Alice pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table, a sure sign of imminent battle. “Justin Quayle probably thinks you have a lot of money, Shirley. He knows you’re the founder and president of The Haven, which is becoming a very lucrative business. If nothing else, the land and buildings are worth a lot. Plus, you get a nice fat salary.”
Marilyn diplomatically changed the subject. “Faye, what did you do for Thanksgiving?”
“I went to the Dawsons’. They were good ‘couple’ friends—when Jack was still alive, we used to do a lot with them. They had a buffet dinner, about twenty people. It was fun, I got to see a lot of old acquaintances.”
“Meet any new men?” Marilyn inquired.
Faye shook her head. “The only other single person there was female.”
“Par for the course,” Alice said. “Face it, the statistics are not in our favor.”
“Never mind the statistics,” Shirley said, “we’re creating our own good luck, right?” She focused her gaze on Faye. “Which brings us to the topic of your date with Tank.”
“Oh, right!” Marilyn beamed. “Did you meet Tank? What’s he like? Are you going to see him again?”
“Oh, yes, I met Tank.” Faye hesitated, enjoying their expectant looks. “He’s very nice. We met at a bar called O’Malley’s on Mass. Ave. We shared a couple of drinks, and he took me for a ride on his Harley.”
“No!” Alice was amazed.
“You actually got on his cycle?” Shirley raised her hand to give Faye a high five. “All right! You go, girl.”
“Weren’t you frightened?” Marilyn asked.
“Terrified. We even went on 128. We must have gone sixty miles an hour.” She smiled at the memory. “You know, it’s one of those things I’m really glad I did, but I don’t want to do it again.”
“So what did you think of Tank?” Shirley asked.
“He’s very nice.” Faye knew she had to be cautious criticizing any of the men her friends fixed her up with. It was kind of a “Love me, love my dog” situation.
“So are you going to see him again?” Alice asked.
“I don’t think so. He was pleasant, in his own way, but let’s just say he lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“You mean he’s not good enough for you?” Shirley asked.
Faye shook her head. “I didn’t say that at all! But come on, Shirley, his world and mine really are different. He wouldn’t enjoy attending an opera any more than I enjoyed riding his bike.”
“I understand,” Shirley conceded.
“The sex thing wasn’t there,” Marilyn decided.
Faye lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“You weren’t physically attracted to him. If you had been, the rest of it wouldn’t have mattered.”
Faye looked skeptical. “Perhaps.”
Alice was pondering something. “I wonder—if someone in his seventies dates someone in her twenties, it’s called a May-December relationship. What do you call a hookup between someone who’s classy like you, Faye, and someone who’s more, let’s just say, earthy?”
“I don’t know—a caviar-Chee*tos romance?” Faye offered.
“Well,” Shirley said, getting them back on track, “we’ll see how you like the man behind Door Number Two. Have you spoken to your candidate, Marilyn?”
Marilyn nodded. “He’s ready to roll. His name is Roger Munson, he’s about fifty-five, and divorced. He’s had tenure at MIT forever, he’s a genius.”
“Does he study bugs, too?” Alice asked.
“No, he does not. His field is quantum mechanics. Quarks are his specialty.”
“Oh, yeah, I have one of those,” Alice said.
Marilyn did an eye roll. “Quarks are tiny particles inside atoms.”
“I knew that,” Faye joked.
“He’s not going to quiz you,” Marilyn reminded her. “He’s just going to take you out for coffee, or dinner, whatever. He’s a bit quiet, Faye, perhaps a little shy, but when I brought up the subject of a possible date with a friend of mine, he seemed very interested. I think he might
be a little lonely.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Shirley said. “We’re in the holiday season now. Prime time for loneliness.”
“I read in AARP magazine the other day,” Faye said, “that loneliness is the greatest fear of both men and women when they get divorced later in life.”
“Is that why you’re being so malleable about these dates?” Marilyn asked Faye.
Faye cocked her head, considering. “Perhaps. Though I certainly wouldn’t be putting myself out there on the line if the three of you weren’t behind me, metaphorically shoving me out the door. I really don’t know what’s more frightening, trying to date again, or facing a solitary life, and I like solitude. But you know, I kind of enjoyed my date with Tank. I don’t want to see him again, but I’m really glad I met him once.”
“He made you feel attractive?” Shirley asked.
“Mmm, kind of. Certainly he made a few suggestive moves. But he has so many physical ailments, which he spoke about often, I’m not sure whether he was interested in me as an object of sexual desire or as a nursemaid-slash-housekeeper.”
“What else is new?” Alice asked, laughing.
“The thing is,” Faye continued, “it was a positive experience for me. If nothing else, the entire evening was something completely new, and I know I need that at my age. I don’t want my world to get smaller because I’m afraid to leave what is familiar and safe.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Shirley said, lifting her glass of seltzer.
Marilyn said, “So I’ll call Roger and give him the green light?”
“Fine.”
“Speaking of experiments,” Alice said, “has anyone here thought any more about Project Relative Insanity? I mean, getting those three women together for a session of Jacuzzi and aromatherapy?”
“Oh, I still want to do it, definitely,” Shirley said. “But we’ve got Christmas coming up, everyone will be too rushed. Let’s do it right after the first of the year.”
“I agree,” Marilyn said.
“Me, too.” Faye’s face lit up. “Laura phoned to invite me to fly out for a week, so I’ll get to spend Christmas with my granddaughter.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Shirley said.
Faye smiled. “I know. So what are you doing for Christmas, Alice?”
Alice looked cranky. “I’m spending it with Gideon and his family.”
“You’re not going to see Alan and Jennifer?” Shirley asked.
“Don’t start!” Alice snapped. “It’s not my fault. They have plans to spend a week in Tortola.”
“So did you buy Jennifer a Christmas present?” Faye asked.
“No, I did not, and I don’t expect her to give me one. She knows I don’t approve of this relationship. We never see one another, anyway, so how can I know what she likes?”
Marilyn changed the subject. “Will you spend Christmas with Justin, Shirley?”
“No, he’s flying to Ohio to be with his mother. She’s widowed, and Justin and his brother take turns spending holidays with her.”
“If you’re going to be alone,” Marilyn suggested, “let’s spend Christmas together.”
“Good idea!” Shirley agreed. “But I don’t want to cook, I want to totally relax, and you don’t like cooking, either, Marilyn. Let’s do something completely different.”
“I know,” Marilyn said. “Pizza and an old-movie marathon!”
“Don’t make me jealous,” Alice said.
“And don’t talk about anything important when we’re not there!” Faye added.
“And we’ll all meet again in the New Year!” Shirley said.
17
Polly was sorry when the Friday-night yoga class at The Haven ended. The room quickly emptied. Some women yanked on coats and raced out to their cars. Others headed into the locker room, and Polly followed. She’d take her time showering and dressing—why not? Outside, the January night was black and cold. She had nowhere to go and nothing to do.
The women’s locker room rang with noise and laughter. Polly stripped off her tank top and sweatpants, quickly wrapping a towel around her plump body. Her self-esteem was at an all-time low right now, especially where younger people were concerned. Some days it seemed her heart ached so fiercely, missing her son, longing to see her grandson, her body wanted to curl around the pain like an empty nautilus shell, washed up on the beach.
She sidled toward the showers, found an empty stall, and hurried inside. The hot water relaxed her, enclosing her in a world of warmth. She took her time washing her hair and soaping her body and rinsing off, but she couldn’t stay in there forever.
Just as she turned off the water, she heard a woman call, “See you in there!”
Polly stepped out onto the tiles, towel around her, body dripping. She’d been in for a long time, and now the locker room was empty. But the door to the Jacuzzi room was just closing—the Jacuzzi! What a good idea! More warmth, more water therapy, and perhaps she’d strike up a conversation. Summoning her courage, she hurriedly pulled on her ancient green bathing suit, strode across the floor, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.
An unexpected fragrance took her senses by surprise. For a moment, she stood stock-still, inhaling the wonderful scent. The light in the room was less bright than usual, but she could still make out the tiles painted with beautiful images: flowers, birds, stars, planets. The air was warm and hazy with steam. Wide steps led into a deep indigo blue tub of swirling hot water.
The Jacuzzi was almost full. Six women were taking their places around the rim of the tub, and the rising steam gave them a conspiratorial air.
“Oh.” Polly stopped, suddenly shy. “Is this, um, private?”
She thought she caught a glance exchanged between two of the older women, but a third woman, one she’d seen before—Polly thought she was the art teacher—spoke up.
“Not at all. Come on in, the water’s fine.”
Polly smiled gratefully and stepped down into the swirling liquid. Three of the women were younger than she, but three seemed about her own age, so she wasn’t the class crone.
“Ahh,” she sighed, sinking back into the warmth. “This feels great.”
“Smells wonderful, too,” said the pregnant woman, whose belly floated up out of the water like a mini beach ball.
“Good,” said the art teacher. “It’s something they’re experimenting with, combining aroma and water therapy.”
“I’ll take all the help I can get,” said a young woman with a cap of striking black hair. “Christmas just about did me in.”
The black woman chuckled. “Tell me about it.”
“All right, I will! I’ve been married for a year to a man I adore, but his daughter lives with us, and she won’t talk, and her grandmother clearly thinks I’ve got the nurturing abilities of Attila the Hun.”
“So you’re nervous and stressed?” asked a sweet-looking girl in a pastel pink bathing suit.
“Nervous and stressed?” The woman snorted. “I have killer headaches and my hearing’s wonky. I’ve seen specialists, had an MRI, and no one can find anything physically wrong with me. A nurse suggested I try The Haven.”
“Any improvement?” asked the black woman. “I’m Alice, by the way, and happy to say I’m divorced. I lost contact with my hellish old mother-in-law long ago.”
“I’m Julia. I haven’t been coming long enough to tell. I started in November, and then the holidays got in the way. But I made a New Year’s resolution to come at least twice a week. I’ve got to do something or I think I’ll really lose my mind.”
With a wave of her hand, the art teacher said, “I’m Faye, and I have a question! Is the problem your husband’s mother?” She looked worried.
“No, Tim’s mother’s dead, unfortunately.” Julia leaned forward. “Look. Here’s the deal: Annette, my husband’s first wife, died two years ago. Cancer. Very sad, very difficult for everyone. Their daughter, Belinda, was five when her mother died, and she’s seven now, and sh
e hasn’t spoken a word since.”
“Poor little girl,” murmured the slender woman with auburn hair. “I’m Marilyn.”
Julia smiled hello, then pressed on. “Belinda goes to school, but doesn’t talk. She has one good friend she plays with, but I think she sort of lives in a fantasy world.”
The petite brunette perked up. “I can relate to that.” She gave a quick shrug of shyness. “I’m Beth.”
“Probably we all can relate, in one way or the other,” Julia agreed. “Belinda isn’t the problem, though. I think eventually she’ll come out of it. Tim has taken her to lots of psychologists and child experts, who have assured him all she needs is time. No, my problem isn’t the little girl. She’s sweet, actually, and I think we’ve developed a pretty nice relationship. It’s her maternal grandmother.” Julia wrinkled her nose. “Agnes. The only good thing about her is that she lives hours away, in the western part of the state. But she makes her presence known, believe me. She’s invasive and divisive. She really dislikes me.”
“Would she dislike any woman Tim married?” Polly asked.
Julia thought about it. “Maybe. Yes, that’s a good point. It’s not me she objects to so much as anyone taking her daughter’s place with Belinda. Agnes wants Belinda to live with her. And of course the longer Belinda doesn’t speak, the more proof Agnes feels she has that the child is unhappy living with Tim and me.”
“That’s a pretty complicated problem,” Alice observed.
“Yeah, and it’s not just an unpleasant-feeling-in-the-air kind of thing. Before Thanksgiving, when Agnes babysat so Tim and I could go out, she pawed through all my clothes. Left them in a mess.” Julia shuddered, remembering. “Like an animal peeing to mark its territory.”
Beth shuddered. “Creepy!”
Alice frowned. “Did you ask her about it?”
Julia shook her head. “I decided I didn’t want to confront her. She’s looking for a fight, clearly, and for Belinda’s sake, I want to keep the peace.” Julia’s face fell. “The terrible thing is, since I can’t take my anger out on her or Belinda, I take it out on poor Tim, who’s perfectly innocent.” Soberly she added, “It’s a strain on our marriage.”
