by Nancy Thayer
Thanks for sharing, Julia thought with an inward grin. “What good news. We’re all so glad!”
“George and I have been talking.” Agnes blew her nose, then continued, “I hate being out here in the Berkshires, with my little grandchild so far away. We’ve decided. We’re going to move. We’re going to start looking at houses in your area.”
“Oh!” Julia’s stomach lurched. She glanced at Belinda, who looked as if a bug had just crawled out of the handset. “But, Agnes, won’t you miss all your friends? And your wonderful house?”
“Not as much as I miss seeing my granddaughter every day.”
“Um, here, why don’t you tell Tim about your plans!” Julia thrust the handset at her husband. Her dinner was on an internal elevator, rising up from her stomach to her mouth. She smiled brightly at Belinda, then raced out of the living room, down the hall to her bedroom, and into the bathroom, where she knelt on the cold tiles and delivered the casserole into the toilet.
35
At four in the morning, Polly stood in the front hall of Claudia’s elegant house, saying good-bye to Martha Wright, the Home Health nurse, who had come immediately, as she had promised, to note officially Claudia’s death. They had phoned Claudia’s mortician of choice. When he and his assistant arrived, Martha had led Polly into the dining room, a practice, Polly assumed, to protect the living from observing the physical transfer of a person, now a body, out of the house.
Martha’s face was puffy from lack of sleep. “Will you be okay?” she asked Polly as she pulled on her wool cap and gloves.
“Yes, of course,” Polly replied automatically.
“You do realize you’re crying, don’t you?” Martha asked gently.
Polly touched her cheeks, her fingertips finding wetness. “Oh. I am.”
“Yes, you were crying when I came to the door. You’ve been crying steadily for about two hours now. Quietly, of course. Like a British rain.”
Polly chuckled. “Claudia would have approved.”
Martha adjusted her heavy shoulder bag. “Tell me, what are you going to do now? I mean right now, after I leave?”
“Um—” Polly rubbed her eyes. “I’ll lock up the house and drive home.”
“It will be nice to be in your own home, won’t it?”
“It will.”
“Do you have anyone waiting for you? Or a friend you could call to come be with you for a while?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Polly assured the other woman. “I’m just very tired.”
“Will you be able to sleep?”
“I think so. I have some Ambien my doctor prescribed. I doubt if I’ll need that, though.”
“Remember, you’re in a gentle kind of shock. It’s never easy, when someone dies.”
“I’ll be fine,” Polly said again. “Thank you for everything.”
Martha folded Polly into a warm hug, then went out into the darkness. Polly shut the door.
The house was silent. The lights glared harshly. The hospital bed where Claudia had taken her last breath loomed in emptiness. Martha had helped Polly remove the soiled sheets, blankets, and pads and stuff them into a large plastic bag, which tilted sideways next to a table littered with glasses and cups, tissue boxes, bottles, and a kidney-shaped stainless steel pan. Polly’s knitting needles protruded from her canvas bag, a spot of bright color. Claudia’s teeth, floating in a water-filled glass, seemed oddly alive.
“Well.” Polly’s voice sounded loud in the empty room. “I guess I’ll go home.”
She walked through the house, checking to be sure the back and side doors were locked. She turned off the lights. She put on her coat, hat, and gloves and picked up her purse. She went out into the dark night.
Driving home, she made a mental list of things to do: visit the funeral home to make the arrangements Claudia desired; that would be easy enough, because Claudia had written them down, just as she had written the obituary Polly would send to the Boston papers. There were no acquaintances to phone; Claudia had explicitly forbid Polly to phone anyone. She would call Robert Gershong, Claudia’s lawyer, who would probate the will. Who would write the check to the Historical Society? Polly wondered. Who would handle the sale of Claudia’s house? Polly had to phone the pharmacy to tell them to come take the hospital bed and commode. Fairly soon she needed to ask Pearl to help clean the house. What about all of Claudia’s antiques? Her clothes? Her silver?
Polly’s head swam. Her eyes burned.
By the time she reached her own house, it was almost five in the morning. She hadn’t left a light burning, and when she entered, Roy Orbison wasn’t there to greet her. She’d call the Pecks later, to ask them to bring her good old dog home.
The house was cold. Polly adjusted the thermostat, then walked through her house, still wearing her coat. In the kitchen she paused. Did she want a cup of tea? Weren’t you supposed to drink tea when someone died? Or perhaps a drink? She was too tired to know what she wanted.
“Oh, Tucker,” she said aloud. “I miss you so much.”
Down in the basement, the oil-fired furnace clicked on, rumbling companionably. Slowly, as if each foot weighed a ton, Polly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. For a moment she just sat on her bed, staring at the wall. What next?
——————————
At ten o’clock, Polly woke with a start. At some point she’d simply fallen over backward on her bed. She still wore her coat, but her wool cap had slipped and hung from one ear.
Outside, rain poured down. Had she ever lived through a winter with so much rain? But the house was warm, and it was her home. Her stomach rumbled. She wanted breakfast, a shower, and her dog.
Shower, first. The pounding hot water relaxed her body and invigorated her spirits. The fragrance of her citrus and honey shampoo made her take deep, grateful breaths. Wrapped in her favorite old terry-cloth bathrobe, hair turbaned in a thick towel, she slid into her slippers and hurried down to the kitchen to make coffee. After she’d savored a cup, she picked up her phone and dialed her son.
Katrina, David’s mother-in-law, answered. “Oh, hello, Polly. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. I’m calling to speak to David, if I could.”
“Sorry. He’s not here now. Could I take a message?”
Polly would not let her son hear of Claudia’s death through Katrina. “Please just ask him to phone me as soon as possible.”
Putting the phone back in its cradle, she turned to make breakfast, but instead sank into a chair, overcome with weariness. Never had she felt so all alone. She missed her husband, she missed her son, she even missed her mother-in-law. Whatever else Claudia had done, she had claimed Polly, in her own tyrannical way, at least at the end of her life. Polly knew she was only kidding herself to think that now Claudia was gone, David would be part of her life again. It was not what his wife, Amy, wanted. Polly couldn’t understand why, but really, that didn’t matter. Polly had to face it: the largest chunk of her life belonged to the past. She’d already had most of the allotted three score years and ten, and who knew when death’s irrevocable grip would reach for her? Cancer, heart disease, plane crashes—there were so many ways to die. She had lived a wonderful life. She shouldn’t be greedy. Glancing around the kitchen, she wondered for the first time if she should sell her house now while the market was good. She could buy a place in a retirement community, put the rest of the money in a money-market account, so her savings would carry her through her senior years. She wanted to be cautious, while still allowing herself the luxury of doing, at last, all the things she’d dreamed of over the years. One problem—the things she’d dreamed about had been centered around her family. Taking her grandchildren to Disney World, that sort of thing.
Well. Time for a new plan.
She hoped she’d enjoy a long life, and if so, she needed to be careful. What if she developed a long-term illness, even a minor, only slightly debilitating one? She could not expect David to help her, and certainly not Amy. N
ever had she intended to rely on her son in her old age, but after this interlude with Claudia, Polly was even more determined. She was alone in the world. She had to prepare for her death, and for the rest of her solitary life.
——————————
Beth had invited Bobbie to her apartment for lunch, hoping to gain some slight psychological advantage by removing her from her home territory. But Bobbie declined, saying that she had to stay home to make lunch for her husband or to take messages for Young’s Construction. Beth was welcome for lunch, Bobbie had said. Beth had replied that she didn’t really want lunch, she just wanted to talk.
Sure, Bobbie had said. Anytime.
So here Beth was, driving to the Youngs’ house, just as if she were sane. She parked her car behind a red Ford truck, walked to the back of the house, and let herself into the kitchen.
Bobbie was at the counter, in jeans and a teal blue sweatshirt that set off her dark blue eyes. “Hi, hon. Good timing, I’m just about done icing this cake.”
Framed by tied-back blue gingham curtains, the kitchen windows were steamy. A pot bubbled on the back burner of the stove, filling the air with the rich aroma of herbs. Tinkerbelle, snoozing on a rag rug, opened one lackadaisical eye, thumped her tail to greet Beth, then continued snoring. Beth hung her coat on the rack near the door but kept her handbag, with the cassette inside, in her hand.
“Pour yourself a cup of coffee, hon.” Bobbie motioned with a jerk of her head toward the coffeepot, kept fresh and full all day.
Beth obeyed, taking a mug from the cupboard, milk from the refrigerator. She leaned against the counter, watching Bobbie ice the cake. The older woman was deft with her knife, scooping up the final clumps of icing from the sides and bottom of the bowl, swirling it onto the cake with swift, practiced gestures.
“Looks delicious,” Beth said.
Bobbie smiled at her handiwork. “It does, doesn’t it? Sometimes I try a new recipe, but this old devil’s food cake is their favorite. I’ve made it so many times, I don’t need to read the recipe. I think I could make it in my sleep.” She held the bowl out to Beth. “Want to lick the sides?”
“No, thanks.” Coffee, Beth felt, was neutral, eating icing too intimate right now.
Bobbie set the bowl in the sink and ran hot water in it. “Okay, I guess I can sit down for a few minutes.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “What’s up?”
Beth swallowed. She took a minute to force air into her lungs, as deeply as she could get it to go, at the same time summoning up the spirits of Julia, Polly, and Carolyn for moral support.
Still, when she began her prepared speech, she felt her face turn scarlet. “Bobbie, this is difficult for me to say. But—I think you and I have a problem.”
“Oh?” Bobbie leaned back in her chair, lifting her feet to the seat of another chair, getting comfortable.
“What I mean is—I know you don’t like me. Or perhaps you like me, but you don’t want Sonny to marry me. You want Sonny to marry Robin.” Beth reached into her purse. “I know you do, because—” It was now or never, Beth thought, her nerve failing her. If Bobbie wanted to sabotage Beth before now, how would she feel after discovering Beth had taped a private conversation?
Bobbie arched an eyebrow. “Because I make it obvious?”
Beth hesitated. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to use the tape. Perhaps they could just talk it out. “Well, yes, partly. I—”
“I won’t stop, you know.” In an instant, Bobbie’s voice rang with steel. Her face changed; with just a few muscles, her smile turned threatening.
“But why?” Beth cried, leaning forward. “I’m not so bad! I’m good! Plus, I love Sonny, and he loves me, and—”
“You don’t fit into my family. You never will. You don’t belong. Sonny still loves Robin.”
Now Beth was fighting mad. “You are so wrong! Sonny loves me. We’re going to get married. We’re going to have a life together, and we’re going to have children. What you have to decide is whether or not you want to see your grandchildren, because believe me, I’m not bringing them around here for you to insult me.”
Bobbie slammed her mug on the table so hard it cracked. “Get out.”
“Not until I’m finished.” Beth whipped the cassette from her purse. “Before I go, I want you to see just a few minutes from the tape taken at your anniversary party.”
Bobbie frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the conversation you had with Robin. When you said Sonny was having ‘just a little fling’ with me. When you said you’d pushed me when I was ice skating.”
Bobbie’s face was ashen. “You little bitch.”
Julia and the others had called Beth that during their role-playing session. Now Beth didn’t even flinch. The word actually triggered a prepared response. “Oh, I could be worse than that! I could show Sonny this tape, and I could cry, and I could ask him to move to another state with me, I could say he has to choose between me and you, and you’d better believe it, Sonny would choose me.”
Bobbie almost growled. The tension in the room and the anger in their voices woke Tinkerbelle, who rose, looking from Bobbie to Beth with alarm. “Don’t be so sure.”
Beth relaxed her voice. “The point is, Bobbie, I don’t want to be a divisive factor. I want Sonny to remain part of this family. But he needs his own life, too, he needs independence, he needs to try to get his architect’s degree, because that’s who he is. I know you think he’ll be different if he marries me and goes to college, and he will be, but why can’t you love him if he does? Think of him as challenged or something! Furthermore, what about Robin? I could tell from the tape that she’s not in love with Sonny anymore. She has no illusions that he’s in love with her. Anyway, she doesn’t want to be your daughter-in-law, Bobbie, she wants to be your daughter! She loves this family, she needs this family, it’s the only family she really has. She doesn’t want to offend you by hooking up with someone else, and that’s terrible. That’s just plain sad! Why not let Sonny marry me, and let Robin fall in love with some other guy, and let him be part of this family, too!”
Bobbie held up her hand like a stop sign. “Enough. I’m not listening to any more of this. You have no right to tell me what to do.” She rubbed her forehead, looking older now, and tired. “You’re just a snotty, conniving, little—”
“Conniving, yes. Snotty, no. Little physically, yes. But psychologically, Bobbie, I’m huge.”
The kitchen door flew open. “Anybody home?” A large woman in OshKoshes and boots stomped in. “Oh, good, Bobbie, you’re here. I need to borrow your springform pan.”
Bobbie stood up. “Hi, Milly. What are you making?”
“I’ve got a new recipe for a flourless chocolate cake.”
“Got time for coffee?” Bobbie asked.
“Sure do.” Milly threw her coat over the back of a chair. “Am I interrupting something?”
Beth held her breath.
“Not at all.” Bobbie looked as if she were chewing glass, but she said, “We were just gabbing. This is Beth. Sonny’s fiancée.”
“Oh, I’ve been dying to meet you! I didn’t get to at the party, it was so crowded.” Milly held her hand out to Beth. “I’m Milly, an old friend of the family.”
Beth gave Milly her sweetest smile.
——————————
Driving away from the Youngs’, Beth let out a Cherokee war whoop. She’d done it! She had to tell Julia!
——————————
“Hey, girlfriend! What a nice surprise. Belinda, look who’s here!” Julia gave Beth a big warm hug. “Coffee?”
Beth shook her head. “Oh, I think I deserve champagne. At least some white wine!”
“You did it? You confronted the old bat?”
“I did!”
“Do tell all, doll!” Julia hooked her arm around Beth and drew her back into the kitchen, just as Belinda came running toward them, a spoon
in her hand.
“Wow, what have you got there?” Beth squatted down to kiss the little girl. Belinda held the spoon up for Beth. She took a lick. “Mmm. Lemon icing!”
“Today is Belinda’s grandmother Agnes’s birthday. We’re having her for dinner and we’ve just finished icing the cake. Come see the dining room. Belinda made it look so pretty!”
Beth followed Julia and Belinda around the dining room, admiring the place mats Belinda had colored, the presents Belinda and Julia had wrapped, and the bouquet of flowers and net Belinda had chosen at the florist’s to set at her grandmother’s place. Julia had gained a bit of weight, Beth thought silently, and it looked good on her.
In the kitchen, Julia poured them each a glass of wine and gave Belinda a wineglass filled with apple juice.
“Wow! What a cake!” Beth marveled at the four-layered masterpiece, thick with lemon-flavored icing. “Agnes ought to like it. Looks like the entire thing’s made out of Marshmallow Fluff.”
Julia grinned. “Method to my madness, baby!” Turning to Belinda, she said, “Want to go watch a little Nemo before your dad gets home?”
Belinda shook her head vehemently and planted herself at the kitchen table.
“How about making your grandmother a special birthday card?”
Belinda nodded. Julia gave her a stack of white paper and a box of watercolor paints. She turned to Beth. “Now. Tell all.”
Beth didn’t have to be asked twice. “Oh, gad, Julia, I was so scared, I thought I was going to faint! When I walked into her house, I felt like Jack from the beanstalk about to confront the ogre. I mean, it felt mythical to me, you know?” She recounted the conversation with as much accuracy as possible.
“So.” Julia tapped her lip in thought. “Bobbie didn’t actually surrender. She didn’t say, ‘All right, Beth, I’ll stop being such a gnarly old witch and be nice to you from now on.’ ”
“No, because Milly arrived just then. But I never assumed this would end in a Kodachrome moment, with Bobbie and me falling into each other’s arms, swearing eternal devotion. I just did what I could. You know I’ve always lived my life through books. I always loved the whole fairy-tale thing with the knight on the white horse rescuing the fair maiden, and I guess I thought that’s how my life would be. That I’d be like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, just lying there looking pretty, you know, while my troubles were solved and the prince came to kiss me and make everything all right. I don’t think I’ve ever had to face any monster in any den before. And you know what, no matter what happens, I’m glad I confronted Bobbie. I’m proud of myself.”
