by Nancy Thayer
Ruth stirred in the water. “You know what they say. Marry in haste, repent in leisure wear.”
“Well, look.” Alice’s voice took on its executive tone. “If the only thing holding you back is Faraday’s sexual, um, incapacity, then be an adult and try to find a solution. There are some excellent medicines for that kind of thing.”
“True. But every time I try to talk with him about this, he stonewalls me.”
“Tell him it’s a condition of getting engaged,” Alice suggested.
Marilyn nodded slowly. “I could do that.” Lifting an eyebrow, she subtly nodded in her mother’s direction. “It’s all so complicated.”
Polly got the message and changed the subject. “So, Shirley, how was your Christmas?”
Shirley squirmed. It was now or never. Actually, it didn’t have to be now. Actually, her financial affairs weren’t really any of their business. Except, of course, they were, because her Hot Flash friends had invested, some more than others, in The Haven. It would all come out one way or the other, anyway. She just had to be brave and tell them. But she was already so filled with negative energy, so envious of Marilyn because Faraday had asked her to marry him! And envy was a destructive emotion.
“Boy, do you look guilty,” Alice remarked.
Shirley considered simply sliding down into the hot water and staying there. Instead, she pushed her wet hair behind her ears. “Justin gave me diamond ear studs!”
Polly peered at the little gems. “Beautiful!”
Marilyn reentered the water. “Did his kids like their presents?”
Shirley brightened. “They did! But oh, my gosh, wait till you hear about my gourmet Christmas dinner!”
As Shirley laughingly told them about the disintegrating turkey, Alice settled back against the Jacuzzi, adjusting herself so one of the jets hit her right in a sore spot in her back. The heat mellowed her out, and she was just beginning to feel ashamed for thinking ill of Justin, when Shirley said:
“. . . so I want to tell you about it. It was kind of my Christmas present to Justin, but more than that, really. Remember when I said I thought this Christmas should be about dreams coming true? How we’ve talked about this time of our lives being about making dreams come true? Well, you know Justin’s written a novel, but he hasn’t been able to find a publisher.” She held up a hand. “Just wait! It’s hard to find a publisher. You all just don’t have any idea.”
“You’re right,” Marilyn agreed. “I’ve heard some of my MIT acquaintances talk about this. It’s a real struggle to find a publisher for fiction. There are so many people writing excellent books these days.”
Shirley threw a grateful smile Marilyn’s way. “So my present to Justin was money. Enough money for him to get his book published, and to get a good cover designed for it. And later, I’m going to give him enough money to promote and publicize it.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the burbling of the Jacuzzi jets.
Then Alice asked quietly, “How much money did you give him, Shirley?”
Shirley’s shoulders drifted up toward her ears and her voice went little-girlish. “You have to understand. He’s investigated this. He’s checked around. It’s not cheap . . .”
“How much?” Alice persisted.
“Ten thousand dollars,” Shirley admitted meekly.
Alice exploded. “Ten thousand dollars! Girl, where did you get that much money?”
“It’s my money, Alice!” Shirley shot back defiantly. “I saved some from my salary over the last two years, and I got the rest on credit card loans.”
“Are you nuts?” Alice was volcanic.
“Justin’s going to repay me as soon as his book starts selling.”
Alice shook her head angrily. “And what if no one buys his book? What then?”
“I don’t see why you have to be so pessimistic,” Shirley argued.
“I can’t do this.” Alice hauled herself up out of the Jacuzzi. “Shirley, if you’re going to think with your crotch, I’m not going to remain involved with The Haven. I’ve invested too much of my own time and money to see it jeopardized.”
“You’re crazy!” Shirley cried. “This doesn’t jeopardize The Haven! It’s my money—”
But Alice strode out of the room, leaving behind only wet footprints on the tile and four women sitting in stunned silence.
Ruth spoke first. “Oh, my.”
Shirley was white. “Should I go after her?”
Polly and Marilyn looked at each other helplessly.
“I don’t know,” Marilyn said. “I wish Faye were here.”
“I think you should let her have time to calm down,” Ruth advised. “At the retirement community, some of us tend to fly off the hamper more than others, due, I believe, to hardening of the arteries, or feeling cranky because of some physical ailment.”
“But Alice is only sixty-three,” Shirley said softly.
“I understand,” Ruth told her. “Yet anyone at any age can be bothered by something like, oh, constipation. That can affect your mood all day.”
“Talk about having your head up your ass,” Marilyn said with a grin.
“Indeed,” Ruth agreed.
Shirley made little swirls in the water with her fingers. “I hate starting the new year off this way.”
“It will work out,” Polly assured her Pollyannaishly.
Ruth held up her hands. “My fingers and toes are turning into little white raisins. I think I’d better get out.”
“Let’s all get out,” Shirley suggested. She was about to add that they could come up to her condo for hot chocolate, but she remembered that Justin was there, working on his book, and he wouldn’t want to be disturbed. “We could all drive down to Leonardo’s to have some dessert!”
“Not me,” Polly said. “I’m so stuffed from holiday food, I don’t even want chocolate.”
Marilyn had her mother by the arm as they carefully made their way up the steps and out of the tub. “I think we’d better go home and have a little rest,” she told Shirley, with a slight nod toward her mother, who was unsteady on her legs, leaning heavily on Marilyn.
The locker room was oddly quiet as the four women showered and dressed. Shirley said good night to Polly, Marilyn, and Ruth, then went through the building, checking to be sure all the doors were locked and turning out the lights.
The last thing she did was to unplug the twinkling Christmas tree in the lounge. Then that room was dark as well. Outside the snow fell swiftly, quickly obscuring the footprints and tire tracks of her departed guests. Justin was upstairs, but Shirley felt all alone.
9
THE SECOND RULE OF THE HOT FLASH CLUB WAS “IF you’re depressed, get up, get dressed, and get out of the house.”
But what if you can’t?
On New Year’s Day, while her Hot Flash friends communed in a hot tub, Faye lay on her living room sofa with her ankle resting on a pillow and her head wobbling in the neck brace like a soft-boiled egg in a cup. She was surrounded by new mysteries, boxes of chocolates, plates of delicious food brought to her by neighbors, the latest magazines, and a pile of DVDs.
She was very crabby.
She felt guilty for not enjoying this enforced laziness. She thought back to the years when the tasks of life had overwhelmed her, when on any given day she’d struggled to drive her little girl to school and ballet practice, organize an elegant dinner party for one of Jack’s new clients, pick up the dry cleaning, help out at the church fair, and even try to grab some time in her studio for painting. Back then, she would have wept with joy at the thought of having a week to do nothing but lie around like this, eating and grazing through movies and books like a big, fat cow in a lush, green pasture.
She sort of wished she’d told the Hot Flash Club to meet here at her house today. She’d thought about it. Shirley, Polly, Alice, and Marilyn had all phoned to say they’d drive her out, but Faye had refused, insisting she didn’t feel well enough to leave the sofa.
>
But that was only partly true. While half of her wanted to be around her friends, the other half hunkered down in a gloomy wallow of misery, and Faye just couldn’t be bothered to struggle up out of it.
The truth was, she felt worthless. She felt like a kicked dog who’d crawled under the house to nurse her wounds.
This Christmas had been so terrible! Faye grabbed a handful of tissues as the tears started again.
First of all, there was her foolish fall, incapacitating her and making everything difficult for everyone else. Not to mention making her feel old and helpless! And falling down her own stairs—why, it made her seem absolutely senile. If she’d had to fall, why couldn’t she have fallen out on the ice, a reasonable place to fall. She kept flashing back to the moment her foot slipped. It had been so frightening! That sense of total vulnerability, lack of control, danger—and then the painful landing and her body’s refusal to move without pain.
Then, to have her own beloved granddaughter shrink in terror from her! That had bruised Faye’s heart, even though she understood the cause was her neck brace and crutches. Eventually, Megan got used to them and allowed Faye to hold her, but Faye knew the rich connection of their relationship had been weakened. And during the four nights of their visit, Megan hadn’t once slept in or been even slightly captivated by the magical bedroom. Kind, sensitive Laura had made an enormous fuss over the darlingness of the room, the fairies, the colors, the attention to detail. Laura had insisted, the last afternoon of their stay, that Faye, Laura, and Megan all spend time in the room, playing Chutes and Ladders, and she’d taken lots of photos of Megan there. Faye knew she could expect a framed picture from Laura in the mail. Laura was thoughtful that way. But Megan would not carry the fantasy room in her dreams. Megan was enchanted with space cowgirls and superheroines. Faye felt oddly embarrassed, like a gawky suitor who’d brushed his pony and polished his wagon, only to find his loved one going off with a guy in a Corvette.
Christmas dinner at Carolyn’s hadn’t improved her self-esteem. Faye knew Carolyn adored Polly and wanted to pair up Polly with her father, but this hadn’t seemed a real problem until the moment Faye found herself stranded on the sofa, unable to do more than observe.
Carolyn had sent Hugh to bring Faye her dinner, then organized Aubrey, Polly, and baby Elizabeth into a winsome trio. Faye pretended to listen as kindhearted Hugh chatted, but really she was watching Polly, who looked so happy, holding the baby. Polly’s own daughter-in-law was such a strange little snake, wriggling between Polly and her son, keeping Polly from seeing her grandchild, that woozy from painkillers, Faye decided it seemed natural—it seemed right—for Polly to hook up with Aubrey. They could all be one big, happy family. They should be.
As she rode home from Carolyn’s house on Christmas night, Faye’s spirits had been lower than the road the tires rolled over, and just as flat and cold. She’d done her best to hide her depression from Aubrey, blaming her neck and ankle for her lack of witty repartee.
And then, Christmas night hit.
Shortly after Aubrey brought Faye home, establishing her comfortably on her own sofa before kissing her chastely and leaving, Lars, Laura, and Megan returned from Christmas dinner with Lars’s parents. Laura put Megan to bed in the middle of the big bed in the guest room where she and Lars would join her later. Then she came downstairs for a nightcap with her mother and husband.
Lars poured a brandy for himself, a Godiva liqueur for Faye, and only a glass of water for Laura. This, coupled with Laura’s weight gain, made Faye’s senses flick on to Red Alert. She wasn’t completely surprised when Lars said, “We have some news, Faye.” Looking fondly at Laura, he announced, “We’re going to have another baby. A little boy. In May.”
“Oh, Laura!” Faye longed to give her daughter a big hug, but could only smile and raise her glass, struggling to move like a boar stuck in a snowdrift, every movement sending shocks of pain down her neck, into her back and shoulders. “How wonderful, darling!”
“I know, Mom.” Laura had been glowing. “I’m so happy. I feel good this time, too. We haven’t told Megan yet. I wanted to wait until I was five months along, just to be sure.”
“Now let’s see.” Faye thought aloud, envisioning her daughter’s house. “Will you put the baby in with Megan? You have a guest room, and there’s that nice little storage room off the kitchen. Will you get a nanny?”
“We’re considering that,” Laura began, and suddenly she looked uncomfortable. “At first we won’t need to—”
Lars cut in. “—because my parents told us today that they’re moving to San Francisco! They want to be there to watch their grandchildren grow up, and they’ll be able to baby-sit for us or help Laura with the baby, whatever!”
“Oh,” Faye said weakly, digging her fingers into her palms, forcing herself not to burst into tears. “How wonderful for you.”
Over the next two days, Faye had struggled to prevent Laura from guessing how jealous she felt, how left out. She’d laughed, joked, smiled, and chattered, and whenever Laura asked, “Are you all right, Mom? You look sad,” Faye answered, “It’s just the pain medication, darling. It makes me feel a bit drowsy.”
But when the cab took them off to the airport, Faye sat on the sofa and sobbed.
Since Christmas, Faye had been sunk in emotional quicksand. Marilyn, Alice, Polly, and Shirley had called, offering to stop by with gossip and goodies, but she’d put them off, saying the doctor insisted she needed lots of sleep for healing. Aubrey phoned often, wanting to come by, but she gave him the same excuse.
The truth was, she’d spent the week after Christmas consoling herself and fending off complete despair by eating everything in the house. Boxes of chocolates. Tins of Scottish shortbread. Macaroni and cheese, potatoes and gravy, lasagna. Comfort food. She knew she was gaining weight, but she didn’t have the energy to care.
Last night, when Aubrey insisted on coming for New Year’s Eve, Faye had cautiously removed her various wrappings and braces and taken a long, hot shower. It hadn’t hurt to stand on her ankle—well, maybe a twinge now and then. And her neck felt fine. For a moment, elation began to percolate in her system.
Then she stepped out of the shower and saw her body. A week of overeating, and she looked like Alfred Hitch-cock. Worse, when she sorted through her clothes, she couldn’t find anything that fit comfortably! She’d been wearing her caftans and loose robes for a week, and hadn’t realized how her waist had thickened. Not long ago, she’d cheerfully named her stomach rolls Honey, Bunny, and It’s Not Funny. Now the three rolls protruded in one giant blob like a beach ball. The zippers on her largest trousers and skirts wouldn’t go all the way up. The buttons wouldn’t meet the buttonholes. Her arms bulged inside the sleeves of her sweaters like puppies in a bag. Worst of all, she could see the fat accumulating on her face. Her eyes looked smaller. She was developing jowls.
She wanted to crawl under a rock. It would take a really big rock to hide her. Mount Rushmore.
She had put a caftan back on for Aubrey’s visit, and wrapped her ankle to provide an excuse for not leaving the sofa. Aubrey had arrived with expensive Champagne and lobster dinners cooked at one of his favorite restaurants. They’d watched a Thin Man movie with Myrna Loy and William Powell, and at midnight, as they’d watched the ball descend in Times Square, Aubrey gallantly got down on his knees by the sofa so he could embrace Faye and kiss her soundly. She didn’t wear her neck brace all evening, and when Aubrey kissed her, she felt, instead of a warm surge of sexual desire, an irritating twang of pain. Aubrey had offered to spend the night, to be there to cook her breakfast in the morning, but Faye sent him away, protesting that all she could really do these days was sleep.
Carolyn was having a New Year’s Day buffet today. Aubrey was going, and he’d asked Faye to go with him, but she’d declined.
The bitter truth was that her ankle and neck were both almost completely healed, but her body and soul were shattered.
So here she
was, on the first day of the year, back in her braces, useless, unloved, and fat.
Defiantly, she hobbled into the kitchen, microwaved the remains of a pumpkin pie, and covered it with Reddi wip. Then she went back to the sofa and stuffed the food into her mouth, fast, as if she were building a wall to hold back the tears.
VALENTINE’S DAY
10
ON A GLOOMY FEBRUARY MORNING, POLLY OPENED the door to her sewing room and looked in.
During the past year, Polly had let her alteration and dressmaking business slide into the background of her life. She’d been so busy helping her mother-in-law, Claudia, who was dying of cancer, that she hadn’t had the time or energy to do more than finish the commissions she already had. So she’d told most of her customers she wasn’t taking on any new projects for a while, and naturally, they found someone else to shorten their cuffs or fit a dress for a party.
But now Polly decided it was time to try to make a little money. Her husband had left her enough in his will so that she’d never be out on the streets, but any little luxuries in life she had to finance on her own. And that was fine. She enjoyed her work.
With a can of Pledge in one hand and a soft cloth in the other, Polly went around the room, dusting off her cutting table and sewing machine and the cupboard where she kept her fabric, threads, and other sewing supplies. Should she put an ad in the local give-away paper? Or even in the Boston Globe? Or perhaps simply phone all her customers, or send them a charming little note? That might be better.
In the far corner of the room, several cardboard boxes were stacked. Polly stopped to consider them. She hadn’t really forgotten about them; she just hadn’t had time to deal with them.
In November, her mother-in-law’s lawyer had phoned to say they had finally finished assessing Claudia’s belongings and were ready to make distributions. Claudia had willed several boxes of clothing to Polly; when could they bring them over?
