by Ros Baxter
I never told Heidi.
Anyway, so this one night, when the news was all bad and none of us could see the end, we’re all gathered around her bed and suddenly Mom started crying. Really quiet, sad sobs.
And she grabbed Dad’s hand, and looked him in the eyes and said, ‘“How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.”’
Yeats, of course.
I was terrified, because I could see in her eyes how scared she was. And how much she wanted Dad. Like a little kid wants their Mommy. And mostly I was scared because Mom and Dad are really private with mushy stuff. They never talk like that in front of us. And yet, here she was, reciting Yeats to him. And Dad just held her so close that I couldn’t even see her, or hear her, her face right against his chest.
I remembered wondering if maybe he was suffocating her and I was about to suggest that perhaps he should loosen his grip a little when I felt a tug on my shoulder and in a weird, first-time-for-everything moment, Emmy showed signs of tact and sensitivity and pulled me out of the room with all the others. To leave Mom and Dad alone. It hadn’t even occurred to me.
But she was right. It was a private moment.
That was the low water mark.
Mom was, of course, a shocking patient. For some reason, the nurses all loved her, despite the fact that she was incredibly bad tempered and complained loud and long about every aspect of the hospital, the treatment and the care. I found out later that she was keeping the nurses in supply of Alyssa St James bestsellers, so that probably explains it. Mom was wily enough to realize she needed the most important people in the hospital on her side.
But she was so utterly cruel to the physiotherapist who was part of her rehabilitation regime that I took to baking things for him. I was worried if we didn’t keep him on our side, he might go away and never come back. Or maybe give her poor service and she might die. And, really, I wouldn’t have blamed him. I know the therapy really hurt after all she’d been through, and I had to stop myself from wanting to kill him the first time I saw him doing her workout with her. It looked so hard. But still, it’s unreasonable to have to service someone who calls you Simon the Sadist, to your face, and asks you all the time how you manage to sleep at night when your job involves making so many people hate you. Luckily, Simon was a bit like Dick. Bullets bounced off his broad, cheerful shoulders and he’d laugh off all her acerbic barbs as he plucked her effortlessly out of bed like a weightlifter and put her on whichever torture device he’d brought along.
The only person Mom seemed to be really able to tolerate was Eve. I think it was because she knew Eve had been through the hospital treadmill herself. Eve became like Mom’s tour guide through it all, teaching her the best places to secure late-night snacks, the shortcuts to the sunny little courtyard, and which days they served rice pudding for dessert. Eve would sit beside Mom’s bed for hours, telling her all about the happenings of her day.
Mom’s favorite topic was Martha.
She knew I frowned upon the shocking disdain that Eve had for Martha, but it amused her nevertheless. She was like a child herself, prompting Eve to tell her again ‘about what happened last time you went to Daddy’s’.
Eve would faithfully document the tasteless ensembles Martha had been wearing. Mom found Eve’s fashion commentary hilarious, and would wheeze through her tears of hilarity:
‘Eat your heart out, Yves St Laurent.’
It was kind of mean because Clark and I had reached a reasonably comfortable détente. He was grudgingly impressed that I’d managed to break free of my convict past. And I really liked Martha. She was kind and earthy.
Anyway, eventually Mom got better. And it was just like I thought. Mom really was too invincible for something as small and insidious and cowardly as cancer. The third lot of surgery seemed to get all the bad bits, and then the chemo blasted away any remaining tissue that might be attacked by a cancer cell. Mom used to joke that chemotherapy basically turned her insides into something so unattractive even cancer wasn’t interested in consuming her.
Mom called her colostomy bag ‘The Thing’. What was weird for me about it was that Mom had never been vain. Thought people who were obsessed with looks were irredeemably shallow. But she felt changed by The Thing. She said she had to look at it all the time and it made her feel different about herself. Ugly. Deformed. Sick. It became like the focus of her hate and resentment. She said she would stare down at that other, unseeing eye and mutter foul curses on it. I tried telling her once that I actually felt quite fond of it. Whenever I thought about how she had The Thing, it made me think only about how she had survived, and how that amazing procedure had helped her do it. I could have kissed The Thing really, because it was like a scar, a permanent reminder that you’ve survived something bloody and violent.
She just looked at me like I was a lunatic and said, ‘Fine. Here. You have it then. Should go great with those blue jeans you’ve had for the last twenty years.’
But then, just recently, the sun seemed to come out again.
A few months ago, I went to visit her, and when I got to her front stoop, I realized I was holding my breath, willing myself to force on a happy smile. I wondered whether I’d ever feel normal visiting her again, whether I’d ever look forward to it. Look forward to her, and to the funny, infuriating conversations we used to have. But then she was at the door with her arms around me, laughing — admittedly in a satanic kind of way — about the neighbor’s cat, and asking me to come in and help her find the number for Animal Control.
And I never saw Angry Mom again.
I don’t know what happened. It was like some kind of light switched back on, and she decided to start living again. I finally felt like she really had won.
We spent Fall having some great picnics, often at one of Eve’s cemeteries, and by the end of it Mom knew the names of the deceased almost as well as Eve. Actually, it was after one of these expeditions that the other bit of my life came full circle again too.
Just a couple of weeks ago, actually.
Four: I found out my sex organs still work, and something else…
We were at Che’s again, in some freaky deja-vu thing.
Mom, Eve and me.
And this time I knew Wayne really had just stumbled upon us. I didn’t suspect or accuse him of stalking. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. Mom was beside herself. I swear I’ve never seen her quite so prostrate with joy at seeing someone. She flung herself at him with really unseemly abandon, dragged him down onto a chair, and began regaling him with hospital tales.
Eve, also, was delirious with glee. I was sure there was no way she could remember him from six years before — she couldn’t remember where she’d left her school bag the night before — but she did. From the minute she chortled her coy little ‘Hi Waa-aaayne’, I knew she had remembered every minute of the encounter, and I just knew what was coming next. The moment she could get a word in over Mom.
‘Wayne,’ Eve began, once she had an appropriate opening.
Here it comes, I thought.
‘I’m not sure if you remember, but you did actually say that maybe I could go for a ride on your boat some time. Do you remember?’
Yep, I knew her so well. Never forget a promise.
‘Ah…’ Wayne looked concerned. ‘So I did, Ms Eve,’ he delayed. He looked over at me, and smiled this really kind of wan smile. And then he obviously decided something. ‘Maybe your Mommy and Daddy could bring you out on it some time. Hey, I could even arrange a crew to help and the three of you could go out by yourselves. Would you like that?’
Eve sized him up quizzically, screwing up her chubby little face.
‘The three of us?’ She looked skeptical. ‘Would Martha have to come?’
‘Umm…?’ He looked to me again, and I was about to jump in when Eve took over.
‘Daddy’s girlfriend. Actually,’ she leaned in closer, all conspiratorial, ‘I think they’re going to get married. Finally. A
nd I,’ she announced dramatically, ‘will be a flower girl. But I think we will have to get Dick to help with the dresses. Uncle Luke and Uncle Dick’s wedding was really beautiful, wasn’t it Mommy? Grandma?’
Mom coughed on her latte. ‘In a Mariah Carey kind of way,’ she nodded, with great seriousness. ‘Lots of doves,’ she added by way of explanation to Wayne.
Wayne looked surprised. ‘Martha?’ he enquired to me with one raised eyebrow. ‘So you and Clark…?’
I didn’t really feel in the mood to help him join the dots. Luckily for him, Eve did.
‘Oh, Mommy and Daddy have never been together like that,’ she explained to him, with this tone that said oh no, not this again, when are people ever going to get it? ‘Well, they were together once, I guess, but looonnnggg before I was born. Some people aren’t meant to be together you know, Wayne. Because they love each other. But like friends. Not like…’ She was searching for an appropriate analogy. ‘Not like Bella and the vampire. Like Bella and...the wolf.’
Wayne furrowed his brow and opened his mouth like he was going to say something really profound. But only ‘oh’ came out.
Eve continued. ‘You don’t need to feel funny about it, Wayne,’ she assured him, patting his hand like she was used to this. ‘It’s much better to be friends and not together than together and really very unhappy. Felicity Parker’s Mommy and Daddy had a terrible divorce. Man,’ she supplied. ‘She took him for everything.’
‘Eve,’ I scolded half-heartedly. I felt kind of sick. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Felicity, of course,’ she offered. ‘And Jayne, her nanny.’
Wayne was starting to look angry. But not at Eve, of course.
I knew whose direction his fury was headed for.
Mom could see the storm building too, and jumped in to save the day. ‘Now I think a ride on a boat is an excellent idea,’ she connived. ‘When should you three go?’
‘Us three?’ Wayne had clearly been out of the loop too long and was out of practice at being railroaded by my mother. He was taking a while to get with the program.
‘You and Eve and Lola,’ Mom supplied.
Before Wayne could dissemble, Mom was organizing times, dates and critical boating wear. And we were all locked in. After twenty minutes of fairly strained conversation, made bearable only by Eve’s constant patter, Wayne made to go.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll see you guys Saturday then.’
‘Bye Wayne,’ Eve chirruped with joy. ‘I can’t wait. Oh, hang on,’ she looked concerned about something. ‘What about you?’
‘Um…me?’ Wayne still looked to be processing things, and wasn’t at his most articulate.
‘Yeah,’ Eve went on. ‘Have you got a girlfriend? Will she come too?’
I held my breath. ‘Well, I did have,’ Wayne said. ‘But we broke up.’
‘Oh, that’s sad,’ Eve said, sounding not the least bit sad. ‘When did that happen?’
‘About twenty minutes ago,’ he muttered into my hair as he kissed my cheek goodbye. Then he looked me right in the eye. ‘See you Saturday,’ he said darkly, ostensibly to all of us, but mostly directly at me. With a look that said we haven’t finished here.
Saturday dawned cold and clear and, when Wayne picked us up, I was surprised by his current vehicle of choice.
‘No penis-mobile?’ I couldn’t resist, eyeing his tidy little Prius.
‘No,’ he confirmed. ‘The world has turned a few revolutions since then, Rocket.’
He smiled at me, and my heart starting doing crazy cartwheels. He didn’t look at all like Popeye, or Aristotle Onassis, as he had in the crazy fevered dreams I’d been having since seeing him at Che’s. He looked dark, and very sexy. His eyes were even more crinkly now that he was forty, and there was a little more grey in his hair. And his jaw was sharper, more defined. He was a trifle thinner. But he looked the same. So heart-achingly the same that I was lost in a world of remembering. And with the memories came the old feelings, of sheer lust, and worse. Affection. I found myself wanting to be close to him.
Shame he thought I was a scheming bitch.
Actually, he looked a little friendlier toward me today. He’d obviously had time to absorb the fact that I’d never been with Clark. That not only had I lied once to him barefaced, but another time by omission, letting him think Clark and I were quite the happy family. And, in his sanguine way, he looked to have gotten over it. He was smiling cheerfully at me, and even draped an arm across my shoulder as he carefully negotiated the Prius through the early morning traffic. I marvelled at him. I’d have held a grudge about something like that for eternity.
Eve was like herself to the power of a hundred. She was zinging around with barely contained excitement and energy, demanding Wayne give her the full guided tour of the boat. And when we were out on the water, she was like a mermaid in her element. She kept saying ‘I feel so free, I feel so free!’ and I was reminded momentarily, unpleasantly, of that god-awful Titanic movie and the girl standing arms akimbo at the front of the ship.
Around mid-morning, Wayne found a quiet place to anchor, and we sat munching the really delicious sandwiches he’d brought along. I wanted to believe he’d stopped and bought them from a deli on the way, but the sandwich wrap looked to have come from home, so obviously he could still prepare food like nobody else. Even a sandwich. Man, he was such a show-off.
While we anchored and after we ate the sandwiches, Eve fell asleep on my lap in the sun. And, suddenly, I felt very exposed to the full force of Wayne’s awesome power over me.
‘So,’ he drawled lazily. Actually, with his accent it sounded like ‘sow’, but I assumed he wasn’t calling me a pig, despite having every right to be cross with me. ‘No Clark, hey? Never any Clark, in fact.’
I drew in a breath. ‘Okay,’ I conceded. ‘Let’s get this over with. Yes, I lied. I was never going to marry Clark. And I was never with him again after that night I called you. And I don’t know exactly why I didn’t tell you. I just…couldn’t.’ Wayne nodded, not saying anything. ‘I felt like such a mess. And life got really messy then. So I’ll only say this once: I’m sorry, okay? There you go. You know I never say that, so savor it. I’m sorry I screwed you around. But you know what? I’m really too old now to feel bad about stuff for too long, and I’m different now. I’ve got my shit together. So I can’t dwell for too long on my past wrongs. I think you just need to get over it.’
‘I am.’ He laughed.
‘Am what?’ I was confused.
‘Over it,’ he confirmed. ‘I was over it after about an hour. I’m just glad.’
‘Glad because…?’ Did I really need to ask?
‘Glad because I can do this,’ he said, and leaned across Eve on my lap to touch the back of my neck, draw my face closer to his and kiss me with the softest, most tender kiss he’d ever given me. Anyone had ever given me.
‘You’ve had a rough time, Rocket,’ he purred. ‘Eve’s been telling me all about it, up there at the wheel. All about how sick she’s been. I can see you’ve been a little busy.’
Oh no, don’t be nice. Don’t be nice. Oh no, Lola. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
‘Ah, don’t cry, love,’ he whispered, and drew me close, expertly turning Eve so that she wouldn’t get squashed by his huge torso as he did so.
But I did, of course. Cry. Great big snot cries. For everything that happened. For how hard it had been. For what a fool I’d been. For Eve. For Mom. For Clark. For Wayne. For what a great, big, unholy mess I’d made of everything. And it felt really nice to be pressed against Wayne’s big, reassuring warmth while I did. He just kept patting my back and stroking my hair and saying ‘shhh, shhh, shhh’. It was so friendly and caring and sweet.
I suddenly thought that maybe we could get beyond all our crazy history and be friends. You know, salvage something from all the madness. Enjoy and respect each other for the things we had shared, and the things we had done since. Without all the complic
ations of love and sex. I could actually do this thing right for once. Not jump into bed with him, but really enjoy getting to know him deeply, on a platonic level.
But twelve hours later, I was remembering that and feeling a bit of a fool.
You see, I slept with him. Of course.
We dropped Eve off at my Mom’s after the boat trip — she was going to be staying there — and Wayne had offered me a lift home. I hesitated, but then agreed. Wayne suggested we grab some burgers at the local café. And then a long, alcohol-fuelled late lunch turned into an afternoon at a bar. And then into Wayne offering to whip us up an early supper at my house.
Which was great, of course. But look, that’s just the logistics.
What really happened was that we started talking. And laughing. Our stories gradually came out over the course of the afternoon and evening. He told me all about his last fifteen years. The tale unfolded, like a series of chapters, at each location. Over tofu burgers and curly fries he told me about the wildness of Sierra Leone — the excess and the insanity. About deciding he needed to do something real. Over Guinness with whiskey chasers at O’Reilly’s he told me about buying the shipping company. But still feeling like he needed to do something different. Something that mattered. Over this amazing Thai salad he whipped up with God-knows-what from my fridge, he told me about how he’d developed the green fleet idea, and how he was now developing a whole line of eco-friendly freighters. And it was really working. People were responding to the concept. And freight companies were realizing it was the way of the future. But he told me much more too.
As we lounged on the sofa, drunk and completely stuffed full after our meal, he told me about how lonely he’d been. About how he expected so much of people, since us. And how most of the time, they simply failed to deliver. How he kept thinking he’d meet someone who rocked his world again one day, and so he kept seeing women, kept dating. But he never had. How he dated a girl for a few months before running into me, and he thought maybe things were going to work out with her.
