When I'm Not Myself

by Deborah J. Wolf

  Katie picked up a photo, holding it at the edges and staring at it. “Is this Isabella?” she asked Mel.

  Melanie turned her attention to the shot, an afternoon tea party they’d had in the park. Bella was four. She nodded her head.

  “Huh. It doesn’t even look like her.”

  “She looks like her father in that shot,” Mel answered, and took the photo from Katie, placing it on the top of the pile to take with her.

  Cara played the message twice, listening to the hesitation in Jack’s voice.

  “Cara? Katie called. She wants me to pick her up from Mel’s house. Um, I’m not really sure what I should do with her, you know. Well, it’s been a long while since Katie and I have had any sort of a conversation, never mind have her in the house, and, you know, given how far along Barbie is, I’m just not sure that it’s a very good idea right now. Could you call me, Cara? Let me know what you think I should do. It’s really inconvenient, as you might imagine. It’d just be a whole heck of a lot better if you were here to deal with this, Cara.”

  She called Katie instead.

  “Honey? Your dad says you want him to come get you? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, Mom, yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just ready, I think. I’m just ready to go home.”

  “But sweetie, do you want me to come and get you? You haven’t spent any time with him in months. I can be on the next plane home, honey, really I can. If you’re ready to come home, I can come and get you. You can come home. Really come home.” Much as she hated the idea, Cara would leave Mel if she needed to. After all, this was her daughter, her Katie. Mel would understand.

  “No, Mom, it’s okay. I need to do this on my own with Daddy. I need to make sure I can get through this.”

  Cara started to interrupt. She started to find an excuse for Jack, a reason for Katie. She started to fit the broken pieces back together, filling in the chips with as much caulk as it would take to hide the cracks. But then she stopped, realizing that this was exactly what Katie needed, that at some point she’d have to come clean with everyone around her, but, more importantly, she’d have to come clean with herself.

  It was just like Katie to start with Jack.

  23

  Shelbyville boasted an assortment of two-star hotels with indoor pools and complimentary home-cooked breakfasts that smelled like overcooked oatmeal and burnt bacon. Mel drove past three of them before she reluctantly pulled into the Best Western Celebration Inn and Suites, unloaded the rental car and lugged her suitcase up a flight of stairs. She was exhausted from the afternoon with her mother and bone-tired from the flight itself, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. It should have come as no surprise that the worn polyester bedspread was stained and the sheets were coarse and overbleached. Still, she dove under the covers and was asleep in fewer than five minutes, refusing to let the events of the day play over and over in her mind, haunting her.

  Cara had little tolerance for sleep. She felt as if she owed it to her friend to stand watch, guarding her closely. She took her cell phone and retreated to the lobby.

  Leah answered on the first ring, punctual and all business.

  “Did you see her? Did you get to talk to her?” Leah asked without hesitation.

  Cara reclined the best she could in a chair that wasn’t meant for lounging. She stretched her legs in front of her and settled in. “Yeah. Yeah, we saw her. First thing this afternoon, as soon as we got off the plane. Mel wouldn’t have it any other way, Leah. It was as if she was possessed. We picked up the rental car and went straight to her house. Well, if you could call it that.”

  “Details. Every last one of them, Cara. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Cara recounted the specifics of their visit, doing her best to paint the bleak picture for Leah. She answered every question that Leah asked her, every time she interrupted and stopped her cold.

  “It wasn’t pretty, Leah. Not at all.”

  “Sounds downright ugly, Cara. Where’s Mel now?”

  “She’s sleeping. I told her to just put everything out of her head and get some rest. She never slept on the way out and I think she’s just exhausted now. And, Christ, we’re holed up in the most desolate-looking hotel in Shelbyville, Tennessee. Quite frankly, our prospects of this trip looking up are pretty damn weak.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Friday. Maybe sooner if we can’t find anywhere slightly more upscale than Papa John’s pizza to eat. How’s Paige doing? Have you seen her?”

  “Big as a house. My God, she’s huge. You two better get back here before she births this child. She’ll never forgive you if you aren’t here and I’ll never let you live it down if you miss it.”

  “We’ll be home. Friday.”

  In the hotel gift store Cara stopped for coffee and the paper.

  She longed for the pink section of the Chronicle and would have killed for a copy of the New York Times. She settled for a wrinkled copy of the Nashville Tennessean.

  She found the obituary on page 6B. Dermott Paulson, 67.

  There was a photo, Dermott much younger, years before alcohol and a reckless life had claimed his good looks. His chin was strong, his eyes dark and inset. His hair was thinning but he wasn’t bald. He wore a plaid button-down shirt.

  Cara remembered seeing the photo, a long time ago, and then earlier that afternoon on Bea’s tabletop. It made her shiver, like something had crawled across her skin.

  Dermott Paulson entered into peace on Saturday, September 17th after a long battle with cancer. Dermott is survived by his loving wife of thirty-seven years, Beatrix Paulson, and his daughter, Melanie Marie Paulson of San Francisco, CA. Visitation and viewing will be held at the McCullum Family Funeral Home on Wednesday, September 21st from 4 to 8 p.m. Memorial services will be held on Thursday, September 22nd at 11:00 a.m.

  Cara read the notice again before she folded the section of the paper in half and then in half again and tucked it in her bag.

  In the room Melanie was propped up in bed watching an episode of The Ellen DeGeneres Show, the sound barely audible. She was brushing her hair; long, full strokes that ran from the top of her head to the middle of her back.

  “You know what I like best about this show? Her dancing. She just doesn’t give a fuck, you know what I mean? I mean she’s not that great of a dancer. I know everyone thinks she is. And that’s just because she stands up there every episode, sure as it’s going to snow in New York every winter, and lets loose. Really? She’s not that good. She just doesn’t give a fuck.”

  “Well, you gotta give her credit for that,” Cara said, nodding her head. She took a seat on the end of Mel’s double bed, next to where she had curled her legs up. “How was your catnap?”

  “Fabulous,” Mel said, punching one of the pillows to fluff it. “If, that is, you don’t count the scratchy sheets and stained bedspread with God only knows what on it. You saw that 20/20, didn’t you? I can only imagine what’s on this thing. Imagine who’s slept in this bed,” she said and shivered.

  Cara blanched. “God, Mel, don’t even go there. I’ll never be able to sleep in this bed tonight.”

  “Garin called. He woke me up, actually.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Mel nodded her head. He had woken her out of a sound sleep, so groggy when she first answered the phone that she wasn’t even sure of who it might be. It had taken her a few minutes to register his voice, to recognize it as his. His tone was laced with concern, his voice worn with worry.

  “My God, Melanie, are you all right?” It was all he could ask her. It was all she had needed to hear.

  “I brought you something,” Cara said to her, changing the subject and gingerly removing the section of the newspaper she had stuffed into her bag.

  Mel sat up, crossing her legs Indian style. She took the paper from Cara and unfolded it, her brow furrowed.

  “It’s Dermott’s obit,” Cara said, matter-of-factly. “Page six.”

  Melanie f
lipped open the paper and stared first at the shot, studying it intently for the longest time before she turned her attention to the announcement.

  “His daughter?”

  Cara nodded her head, unsure of what she should say. “I guess Bea felt she had to include you, huh?”

  Mel hugged her knees and pulled her legs close to her chest. “I remember when my mother had that photo taken. She dragged Dermott and me to Sears to get a family portrait done. She made me wear that white smocked blouse that I really hated. I must have been in kindergarten or first grade. We got all dolled up. Bea kept telling us how much fun we were going to have, that we could make a day out of it. She had these grand plans to do some shopping and have lunch downtown before we had the pictures taken. Then she wouldn’t let me eat anything because she was so afraid I would spill on that blouse. God, you would think she would have had something somewhat more recent. Dermott’s gotta be thirty-one or thirty-two in this shot. Honestly, she couldn’t come up with anything after that?”

  “She really wanted you all to be a family, Mel. It was a long time ago, but she always wanted you to be a real family.”

  Mel nodded her head, glancing at the paper again. “It was all Bea had wanted. She always thought she could find a way for us to be a happy little family, just picture perfect.”

  “And then she left?”

  “And then she left,” Mel answered her, matter-of-factly. “But you know, Dermott was already gone by then. He’d given up on the idea that we’d be the ideal family unit long before that.”

  Cara sighed and looked away, wanting to change the subject. “I talked to Leah.”

  “Oh?”

  “She desperately wants to be here; I can hear it in her voice.”

  “Someone had to stay home. How’s Paige doing?”

  “Leah says she’s ready to go any minute. We’ll never live it down if we miss this, you know. Never, never, never.”

  “Cara?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “About Garin. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry about not telling you about him, all that time. It wasn’t fair; I understand that now. I see how that must have looked to you, how that made you feel.”

  Cara shook her head slowly. “It’s done. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I never meant to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?” Mel’s voice was soft, sincere.

  It reminded Cara of a time when her friend wasn’t quite so hard, so scarred by the events of her life. Mel sounded very much like she did when she was younger, before she had become the person she was today.

  “Yeah, Mel. I know that.”

  24

  Cara had avoided being left alone with Bea since they’d arrived; dodging her like a fly would a swatter. She had no intention of being dragged down into the details of why she’d left so long ago. Cara didn’t want to hear the excuses Bea felt she needed to pawn off on someone, anyone, who would take the time to listen to her. But try as she might Cara wound up on Thursday face-to-face with Bea in the small kitchenette off the reception room at the mortuary. The air in the small room was stale, stagnant, and Bea had Cara backed into a corner by the old rattling refrigerator.

  “I suppose Melanie won’t ever understand the reasons why I left when I did,” Bea started in, without letting the opportunity slip by.

  They were washing dishes now; Cara stacking clean plastic tumblers they had used to serve tea and lemonade and the serving spoons on a towel on the countertop, Bea drying.

  “No, Bea, I don’t suppose she will. It’s been a long, long time. Mel’s had a long life of trying to make sense of it all. Surely you can’t fault her curiosity.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Cara watched her, the way her eyes jetted back and forth over the top of her glasses and watched for Cara’s reaction. There was nothing affectionate about Bea anymore; she lacked any compassion that may have been there at one time. She was too thin and too angular and too used up. Her face was wrinkled and permanently hollow at the cheeks. Her hair was brittle and dry.

  “You have no idea what kind of solace it could provide Melanie if you would only help her understand what happened all those years ago, why you had to go. All her life she’s been trying to figure out what kind of mother just up and leaves her husband and her daughter. And why you never came back. Can’t you imagine what it has been like for her to live with this, for her to spend her whole life wondering why you never came back? Surely you can understand that. Look at what’s she’s been through. Everything that happened with Dermott, raising a kid on her own?”

  Bea stopped drying and leaned against the cracked tile countertop. She shook her head as if she was still chasing away the truth, refusing to hear it. But her eyes softened, just a bit, watery. She stared ahead, lost in memory, quiet and contemplative, still. She grasped Cara’s arm tightly at the wrist. “I want you to know, Cara. Someone should know. Someone should understand what happened all that time ago.”

  “Go on, Bea,” Cara encouraged, and reached to close the door to the foyer, keeping it cracked a bit so she could watch for Mel. Last she’d seen, her friend had gone out for a well-deserved smoke. She’d endured a full day of introductions to Dermott and Bea’s friends, people that had milled about and asked her if she was Dermott’s daughter. Chances were she’d be gone for a while, probably a long phone call with Garin, maybe a walk around the block. Cara knew she had some time, she hoped to use it wisely. “Go on,” she said again to Bea.

  Bea continued drying the plastic cup, rubbing it with one of the frayed dish towels they’d found in the closet. “Your mama was there, of course, when Dermott and I got married. She never liked Dermott, not from the get-go. She thought I’d be better off on my own, that Dermott was a lousy excuse for a husband and that he’d be out cheating on me in no time. But your mama, she’d never known what it was like to raise a little girl on her own, to have to struggle through every day wondering how you were going to provide for her, how you were going to get a better job. Melanie was five when I married Dermott. I’d had five years of being on my own. I needed someone. I needed someone in the worst way. Dermott might not have been the ideal partner, but for me he meant safety and security, someone I knew would make my life, and Melanie’s life, a little better.”

  Cara had heard all the stories, the endless chitter-chatter of comments about Dermott Paulson all her life. “I know my mother never cared much for him, Bea. I know Leah’s mother never cared much for him, either. Mirabelle was always much more vocal about it. As a matter of fact, Mel used to say that if Mirabelle could have had Dermott run out of town, she would have taken up a petition and solicited the signatures herself.”

  “Hmmm.” Bea snorted loudly and abruptly. “Sounds just like something Mirabelle would have said, Cara. Trouble was, Mirabelle was always a good liar.”

  Cara eyed Bea carefully, her brow furrowed. “Bea?” she questioned. Cara was testing the water, suddenly and acutely aware that she’d poked her nose too far down the path to turn back now.

  “Mirabelle Anderson’s been fooling everyone her whole life, Cara.”

  Cara’s senses prickled, her intuition heightened. Something made her want to run, leave the small, confined kitchen quickly before anything else would be let out of the bag, free to roam the four walls around them. But more than that, something made her want to stay. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she could help Mel understand what had set her destiny down this path, where everything had gone so terribly wrong.

  Cara approached Bea carefully, waiting on her before asking, “What do you mean she was a liar? What’s Mirabelle got to do with all of this? What’s Mirabelle got to do with Dermott?”

  “Mirabelle Anderson and my husband were lovers, Cara. They carried on for years.”

  Cara stumbled backward, bracing herself against the wall. Over her head, a small rectangular window had been slid open but there was little air circulating throughout the room. She felt dizzy immediately, sick. A loud ringing settled betw
een her ears, numbing her.

  “But, but, that’s impossible. Mirabelle couldn’t stand Dermott. She never let Leah near your house because she had such a dislike for Dermott.”

  “Oh, no, it’s quite possible. And I’m here to tell you it was true. I didn’t know about it right off, of course. But a couple of years into it I figured the two of them out. And then I caught them. Red-handed, so to speak. Dermott had been trying to get Mirabelle to leave her husband, and I caught them on the phone one night. He was pleading with her, Cara, begging her to leave and marry him. But Mirabelle wasn’t a fool; she was never going to do that. She’d married well, she had everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever needed taken care of for her. She even had a husband who ignored the affair she’d been having. But marry Dermott? Never. That would have been far beneath her, far below her standards. Dermott never understood that. He never saw himself as less than Mirabelle. And he could charm that woman. Charmed the pants right off her.”

  “I, I just can’t believe it. Mirabelle and Dermott? It just doesn’t make any sense. I can’t even fathom it.”

  “When I finally confronted Dermott, he told me that he was done with Mirabelle for good. I think he knew deep down inside that she was never going to marry him. And when it came right down to it, Dermott was an old-fashioned guy, you know. He liked the idea of providing for a woman and giving her what she needed, but Dermott never could have pleased Mirabelle, not in a million years. Anyway, I guess after that they figured if they couldn’t be together, they’d concentrate on hating everything about each other, and so they did. Just out and out hated each other.”

  Cara shook her head, trying to clear the headache that was building at the base of her skull.

  “A few years went by, you know, me and Dermott we did okay, then. It wasn’t paradise, God, far from it. And Dermott had plenty of affairs over the years, Cara. I wasn’t stupid. I knew he had a wandering eye. I knew he was out messing around. I also knew that they meant nothing to him. I knew the only woman he truly wanted to be with was the one who had turned him down cold. Mirabelle was the only person I couldn’t compete with, the rest were just whores.”