“I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t?” Mary Kay frowned. “That’s no fun. You know, I’m only on this trip for the sex. Isn’t that true, Beth?”
Beth, trying her best to pass a hog of a tractor trailer, said, “I’m here for Lynne.”
“Granted. But if Lynne were here, you’d have to admit, she’d have come for the sex too.”
“Knowing Lynne, sure.” Beth passed the tractor trailer at last and slowed, her heart thumping in her chest.
“Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but we haven’t slept together,” Carol said. “We were supposed to the night of the funeral—Scott had a whole evening planned with a home-cooked dinner and a bubble bath—but it didn’t quite work out. Kind of wasn’t in the mood after . . . you know.”
“Seeing Jeff?” Mary Kay raised an eyebrow.
“No! I wasn’t in the mood after burying Lynne.”
“Oh.”
Beth said, “Pay no attention to the woman behind the car seat, Carol. She’s just stirring up trouble ’cause she’s bored.”
“Mom?” Mary Kay whined. “How much longer until we get there?” She slipped off her leather gloves to get a Diet Coke out of the cooler and all of a sudden Carol’s relationship with Scott was jettisoned to the back burner.
“Mary Kay!” Beth exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
Mary Kay checked her seat. “Uh-oh. What did I do wrong now?”
Carol wedged herself forward. “Don’t tell me she’s started drinking already.”
“Look!” Beth flapped her hand toward Mary Kay’s lap. “Oh my God! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Beth had never seen Mary Kay turn such a shade of crimson, a shot of red ran right up her long neck and blossomed on her cheeks as she shyly displayed her fabulous engagement ring. “This? This is nothing.”
“That’s not nothing,” Carol said. “That’s a huge ruby surrounded by a bunch of diamonds in a platinum setting. Unless things have changed since I got married, I’d say that is one bona fide engagement ring. A hunk of bling.”
“ ‘Hunk of bling,’” Mary Kay said. “I like that.”
“When did this happen?” Having nearly sideswiped a VW Bug, Beth gripped the wheel and satisfied herself with waiting until they stopped so she could inspect further.
“The night Lynne died, before we knew. It didn’t seem right to flash it around while everyone was in mourning.”
“It’s gorgeous.” Carol undid her seat belt and craned for a better view. “It’s you to a T, Mary Kay. Colorful. Bright. Over-the-top.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Drake designed it himself using a stone from his late mother’s ring.”
“I don’t know which is better,” Carol said. “That you won’t have to deal with a mother-in-law or that you’ve got her ruby.”
“Mother-in-law jokes already. Low.” Mary Kay shook her finger playfully.
Lynne would have been so pleased, Beth thought. She adored Drake.
Carol said, “So when’s the big day?”
Mary Kay let the ring catch the morning sun, turning it this way and that, as if she’d never really noticed it before. “Um, not sure.”
“What about a Christmastime wedding?” Beth suggested. A winter wedding was so romantic. “In the evening, arriving by sleigh.”
She could see the old church on the town square now. White candles flickering against the dark glass, pine bows and red poinsettias. Snow falling lightly outside as carolers serenaded Mary Kay as she walked down the aisle wearing a white satin cape trimmed in faux ermine and carrying a big bouquet of red roses. (Beth had seen something like this once in The New York Times Sunday “Style” section.) The bridesmaids could wear dark wine-colored dresses. . ..
Beth surreptitiously checked her soft upper arms and cringed. Definitely with sleeves.
“I don’t know about a Christmas wedding,” Mary Kay said. “That’s right around the corner.”
“You know what they say. Where there’s a checkbook, there’s a way,” Carol said.
“Actually . . .” Mary Kay paused. “I don’t know about a wedding. Period.”
Beth slammed on the brakes, nearly missing the turnoff to Routes 6 and 209. Thank God she saw that. There wasn’t another exit on I-84 for miles. “What do you mean? You said yes, didn’t you?”
Mary Kay was silent. Beth and Carol exchanged quizzical glances in the mirror.
“Not yet.”
What?
“But you’re crazy about him,” Beth said, totally baffled. Whenever Mary Kay got into her second martini, she’d moan and groan about how there were no decent men in Marshfield and how she’d sacrificed her youth and beauty for Tiffany’s sake. Now along comes Mr. Right with his Ivy League pedigree and super nice manners and she turns him down?
If Lynne were alive, she’d give MK a kick in the pants.
“You’re living together. Why in hell wouldn’t you say yes?”
Mary Kay folded the gloves in her lap. “It’s a big decision and I want to be sure. Drake gets that.”
Beth didn’t. “You have to accept, MK. You can’t let that guy slip from your fingers. He’s one in a million. Lynne said so herself. And you know Lynne. She was an excellent judge of character.”
A hand pressed into her shoulder. Carol gently signaling for Beth to back off.
“I’m sure Drake’s not going anywhere,” Carol cooed. “And I understand, Mary Kay. A lifelong commitment is about as serious as it gets, next to whether to seek a divorce. Take it from someone who screwed up both. Besides, it’s not like anything’s going to happen to you guys between now and when we get back.”
Beth exhaled, begrudgingly willing to give Mary Kay the benefit of a long weekend. “That’s true.”
“And in the meantime, we have a big job ahead of us,” Carol continued. “We can’t be meandering down the highway mooning over boys. We’re here to carry out Lynne’s last wishes. We need to be girl-focused.”
“Amen, sister.” Mary Kay was glad they were off the Drake subject. “Three women, a mission, and a cooler full of martinis.”
“We are women. Hear us roar,” Carol chimed in. “Don’t dare kick us out the door! Or however that song goes.”
Beth shook her head. “Honestly, if you two are going to be like this all during the trip, sober, then I am seriously considering throwing out that booze right now.”
“Who said anything about sober?” Mary Kay asked. “Did you, Carol?”
“Perish the thought.”
Beth flicked her blinker to take a left into a picnic area. It was hard being the only adult in the car.
The picnic area was in the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area, a perfect spot to stop. Beth put out a lunch of leftovers from the reception—assorted crudités; a mint yogurt dip; cut strawberries, melon, grapes, and fresh pineapple; a baguette and Boursin cheese; the last of the chicken wings. She’d also brought along a pitcher of the mulled cider, now ice-cold, that she poured into plastic cups. Martha Stewart could eat her grits.
Overhead, the sunlight streamed through dappled autumn leaves onto the worn cedar table engraved with various declarations of love. With the Delaware babbling and rushing in the background and the day unseasonably warm, it was very pleasant.
Mary Kay helped arrange the vegetables as Carol walked off to call Amanda. Once she was out of earshot, Beth weighed down the napkins with a bowl and said, “OK, what do we make of that?”
“Of what?” Mary Kay bit into a carrot.
“Of Carol wondering if she made a mistake leaving Jeff.”
Mary Kay chewed. “She didn’t say that, did she?”
“Not in so many words . . .” Beth squinted into the sun, checking on what Carol was up to, wondering why she was pacing back and forth. “It’s obvious Jeff dropped some sort of bomb in the parking lot. Did you see the way she acted when we picked her up? She was lost in la-la land. I’m thinking maybe they finally had that honest and open discussion about their m
arriage—the one they should have had before Carol flew off like a bat out of hell.”
“Open? Those two? They couldn’t open a pickle jar.” Mary Kay laughed at the absurdity. “They’re like those cartoon gophers Mac and Tosh. After you! No, after you! They essentially excused and pardoned themselves into a polite divorce.”
“This is why you have to fight for your marriage, fight as if your very breath, your soul, depends on it,” Beth said rather dramatically. “You don’t declare surrender like Jeff and Carol did.”
They were silent for a while. Then Mary Kay said, “Is this your way of slipping me some marital advice?”
“I’m just saying.” Beth went back to setting out the last of the chicken wings.
“Because at my age I’m pretty sure I know what it takes to keep a marriage going.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re too scared to try.”
Mary Kay snatched a napkin from under the bowl. “Is that what you think? That I’m scared? Excuse me, but as someone who used to live among grizzlies up in Alaska, ‘scared’ is not a word in my vocabulary.”
Carol returned, clutching her camel coat, lips tight and bloodless.
“How’s Amanda?” Beth asked, trying a different approach as she offered Carol a plate of wings.
Carol took one wing and a few measly grapes. “She didn’t answer, so I left a message.”
“Ah.” Mary Kay forced a smile. “College students are so busy, what with running here and there, to classes, hanging out with friends. When I was in college I never called my parents, except maybe to ask for money.”
“That was back in the day of the hall phone, remember that?” Beth stabbed a piece of melon, keeping the tone upbeat. “At Smith, it would ring off the hook on Sunday nights and one girl after another would fly down the hall screaming that it was for her. Now, with cell phones, I bet those dinosaurs are long gone.”
Frowning, Carol pushed aside her plate and leaned on her hand. “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.”
Mary Kay reached out and took her wrist. “What is it, baby cakes? You’ve been glum all morning.”
Carol traced her finger around the K+K 4evah 2 getha carved into the table. “Jeff wants to sell the house.”
Mary Kay cleared her throat. “And you don’t want him to?”
“I do . . . and I don’t. I mean . . .” She picked at the engraving. “It’s what we should do. When we got the divorce, we were supposed to divide up all the assets, but we wanted to keep the house for Jon and Amanda. It’s the only home they’ve ever known and we felt they needed time to adjust. On the other hand, I needed cash to buy my own place in New York. So the agreement we worked out was that I would rent and he would sell the house a year after the divorce was made final.”
“Which is now,” Mary Kay said.
“Right.”
“And how are the kids taking it?”
“Don’t know, yet. Unfortunately, we don’t have much wiggle room. There are two offers on the table and we haven’t even put the house on the market. Could be Amanda and Jonathan spend Christmas with me, which will be hard. Our Christmases were so magical in Marshfield. Those bonfires and midnight ice-skating and . . . Well, there’s no use getting worked up over what I can’t control.”
Carol slumped, appearing very small.
Softly, Mary Kay said, “Look, there’s no need to rush, right? If those buyers want your house, they’ll stick around. Might even throw in a few more grand. The issue is whether this is what you want.”
“What I want? That doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
“It matters. Absolutely. That’s why you left Marshfield. Because no one was taking into consideration what you wanted. Jeff’s career, the kids’ needs, hell, the family dog had top priority. Who could blame you for snapping?”
Carol lifted her head and nodded. “It wasn’t that I didn’t love them, it was that they didn’t love me.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, they loved you,” Beth insisted. “How could you think for a minute that they didn’t?”
“They depended on me, which is different. And that’s fine, except maybe once in a blue moon they could have turned the tables and supported me in return.”
“That’s why you have us,” Beth said. “We’ll always support you.”
“Like Spanx.” Mary Kay snapped the elastic waistband of hers. “Whether you sell the house or not, stay in New York, return to Marshfield, or relocate in Scandinavia if that flips your switch, we’ve got your back.”
“Really?”
“And if selling the house isn’t what you want, then it’s not going to happen.”
“Not on our watch.” Beth punctuated this with an empowered crunch of celery.
Carol exhaled. “Have I told you how great it is to be with you guys again? New York is exciting and everything. I love being in a city where I can get the newspaper at two a.m., see a first-run movie when I want. But nothing compares to having honest-to-god girlfriends. And that’s what I don’t have these days.” It was embarrassing to admit, but true.
“Too bad Lynne’s not here,” Beth said. “I think she appreciated our group the most.”
“Don’t you know it.” Mary Kay pushed back her plate. “Do you remember when she ordered us pink T-shirts with the LSCM logo stamped right above the left breast? People kept asking us what that meant and we told them the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Marshfield.” She giggled, thinking of her next-door neighbor, an octogenarian with a stern sense of propriety, who grilled her about the name. “Poor Emma Shrewsbury. She was sure the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Marshfield had been disbanded years ago after DeeDee Patterson died. For the life of her, Emma couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been formally invited to join.”
“You should have told her what the M really stood for,” Carol said, now on her second helping of rice salad.
“Martinis? Not if you knew Emma. She would have called in the vice squad.”
“A raid by the vice squad, as if we even have a vice squad in Marshfield.” Beth sighed. “Lynne would have loved that, too.”
So many “would-haves” and “should-haves.” Too many.
“Lynne would have loved everything about today,” Carol said, feeling much, much better about everything. “She would have loved that we’re together, that we’re outside having a picnic and chatting.”
“She would have loved us,” Mary Kay said.
“She still does,” Beth added, knowing this as firmly as the ground beneath her feet. “Love doesn’t go anywhere when you die, you know. The person passes on, the body withers, but love, it survives. And if you have any doubts, think of what we’re about to do, about how hard it’s going to be telling Lynne’s aunt and mother that she’s died. There’s only one reason and one reason alone why we’re taking this on.
“Love.”
Chapter Eight
Aunt Therese’s hometown of Mahoken, Pennsylvania, was nothing more than a washed-up steel town rusted over and gone to seed.
At its center was a crumbling steel factory, long out of use, much of it ripped apart for scrap metal. Dollar stores, tattoo parlors, and bars—the cockroaches of economic decline—had replaced hardware stores and dress shops. Even the weather was gloomy. Clouds had moved in, threatening rain. There were only three colors, it seemed. Gray, darker gray, and despair.
On top of that, the air smelled like rotten eggs.
“Do you suppose it was this much of a pit when Lynne was sent here?” Beth asked from the passenger seat, Mary Kay having taken over the driving.
“Early 1980s? Might have been slightly better. Not much,” Carol said. “Hell of a place to be a pregnant teenager on your own, that’s for sure. Then again, just being a teenage girl and pregnant is its own kind of hell.”
“No kidding,” Beth agreed. She tried to picture a young Lynne with her sketch pad and pastels, sitting Indian-style on the hill overlooking the steel mill, her red hair tied up in some crazy paisley ban
dana as she coaxed beauty from this bleak landscape. Her pregnant belly out to there.
Would they have been friends if they knew each other then? It was hard to imagine. Beth had been such a Goody Two-shoes, graduating at the top of her class, attending her mother’s proper women-only alma mater. She never even made out with a boy until freshman year. She’d gotten drunk on punch at an Amherst mixer (and puked into the bushes a half hour later). And yet, only a few states away, Lynne was pregnant by age eighteen, a runaway rebel.
No, Beth thought, chagrined by her own snobbery. She probably would have had nothing to do with her.
“Where do I go now?” Mary Kay asked when they paused at a traffic light.
“Take the next left.” Beth followed the GPS on Carol’s iPhone as they drove straight up and straight down roller-coaster roads through Mahoken’s working-class neighborhoods. “Then another right.”
Mary Kay clutched her rumbling gut, slightly carsick. “Whoever designed this traffic system must have been on crack.”
“Not crack,” Beth said. “Limited budgets. OK, so are we square on who’s going to do the talking? Because it’s not going to be me.”
“I will.” Carol raised her hand. “I am the lawyer, after all. Delivering bad news is my bread and butter.”
“How do you think she’ll take it?” Beth pointed left down another street of brick row houses. “Three strangers showing up on her doorstep with news that her niece died of cancer. . .”
“Angry. Sad. Confused. Whatever the case, I’m sure she’ll be extremely upset.” Mary Kay took another right, her stomach lurching.
“Here we are.” Beth pointed to a house across the street. “It’s that one with the Santa Claus.”
Mary Kay pulled over, stepped on the emergency brake, and studied Aunt Therese’s row house. Like its neighbors, it was built of brick with a concrete front porch covered in a fading green outdoor carpet. Two summer lawn chairs, their seats fraying, faced the street. Santa Claus graced the glass storm door, rosy-cheeked and merry, a contrast to the faded Halloween decorations one unit over.
“Guess there’s not much to look forward to around here, huh?” Beth asked. “If you’re putting up Santa before Thanksgiving.”
Kindred Spirits Page 9
