All God's Creatures
Page 33
"Has to happen sooner or later. You don't approve?"
"It's your life, of course, but I don't think Dad would approve."
"Morgan is the very reason I'm getting out. We agreed that when he retired, I would, or at least cut back. I found a scrapbook..."
"Uh-oh. The scrapbook"
"You knew about it?"
"Sure. It's been a family joke for years."
"Nobody let me in on it."
"You shouldn't be in on it now. I should have taken it home with me after Dad died."
"Why? There's so much of Morgan in it."
"Too much."
"Nathan, why did nobody ever tell me how important it was to him to travel?"
"He wanted to show you the world, is how he used to put it. I don't think he cared so much for himself, but you're pretty insular, you know, Mother?"
I bristled. "I am not insular. I had eight years of college, buster, which is more than you have."
"I don't think looking down a microscope at bacteria is necessarily a culturally broadening experience."
I took a deep breath. "Okay. Maybe I am a little insular. That's why I plan to travel." I lapsed into silence against the plush leather seats. Several times Nathan started conversations. Several times I let them drop. We didn't seem to have much to say to one another.
Two hours after we left La Guardia, we turned off into a street of comfortable big houses with bigger lawns than I would have thought feasible this close to the city.
"Here we are," Nathan said. "Home at last." He turned into the driveway of a mock Tudor house that looked more real than mock. It was also a bit larger and a heck of lot more imposing than my little two story Georgian.
"My goodness," I said. "You are doing well."
"We both are." He pulled around the back of the house into a triple garage and shut off the engine.
Lisa met me in the kitchen with an air kiss, and a "Welcome, Mother McLain."
"Lisa, honey, please don't keep calling me Mother McLain. It sounds like a cure for piles. Call me plain Maggie."
Lisa blinked, uncertain whether to laugh. "I'll try, Mo-Maggie."
She led the way through a thoroughly decorated house, emphasis on 'decorated' I didn't see one rocking chair or one sit-around that might have been inherited from Old Aunt Hattie. Maybe Lisa didn't trust her taste.
Upstairs, however, the decor was more relaxed, as though Nathan and Lisa had spent all their money on the public rooms. My bedroom held a king-sized bed and had its own palatial bathroom with separate tub and shower.
The toilet was shut away in its own tiny room so small I doubted I could turn around to flush the thing.
"Now, this is your closet," Lisa said, opening the door to a closet half the size of my bedroom at home and fitted with the latest in designer closet furnishings. "I know you must be tired. If you'd like to unpack later, we could have dinner now."
"Fine," I said. I shucked my parka. Thanks to Patsy, I wore well cut navy slacks, a navy sweater from J. Crew, and real flats, not boots or sneakers.
The dinner consisted largely of dishes that had probably been prepared by the nearest gourmet grocery. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook," Lisa said. "We both work so late, mostly we just eat take-out." Now that I could understand.
"Morgan and I did the same thing when we were getting started," I said. I drank water, although I would cheerfully have killed for some iced tea. "How about I make us some iced tea?"
"Oh, I didn't think-I mean, we don't drink iced tea except in the summertime." Bless her, Lisa was as uncomfortable as I was.
Nathan and Lisa drank wine. Over a very nice chocolate mousse, I said, "I expected a Golden Retriever, or at least a Siamese cat."
Nathan said, "We're home so seldom it really wouldn't be fair to have a cat or a dog."
Another familiar echo. Morgan and I hadn't acquired our own pets until McLain-Scheibler was in its first brick building. "How about a gerbil?"
Nathan laughed. After a moment, so did Lisa.
"When we have time and children, I promise you at least one Golden Retriever," Nathan said.
"If I have to make a choice, I'll take the grandchildren. But I'd rather not deliver them." I segued into the story of young Meg's birth on the Fourth of July.
Nathan said over decaf mocha latte, "You're on your own tomorrow. We both have to work, unfortunately. I tried to take off, but no such luck. We thought you might like to ride into the city for the day. It's an easy train trip. I'll leave you the BMW and directions to the train station. We thought you'd probably like to do some Christmas shopping? Maybe hit the Metropolitan Museum? Tomorrow night it's just us. There's a little Greek restaurant about two miles from here-great souvlakia."
"Sounds lovely," I said and tried to remember the last time I'd had souvlakia.
"Then Thursday we're having Thanksgiving dinner with Mother and Father," Lisa said. "Very informal."
"Friday you're on your own again, I'm afraid," Nathan said. "Although I'll be home early. We've got a big do on Friday night at the Club."
"I'm happy to look after myself Friday night," I said. "Don't worry about me."
"Oh, no, Moth-uh, Maggie! You have to come. Nathan's getting an award. He solicited the most sponsorships for the golf tourney. It's a big honor."
"What's the dress code? Short or long?"
"Why, either one I suppose. Dressy." She blushed. She really was a pretty girl. And a nice one, maybe, if I got to know her better. "Of course, if you didn't bring anything..."
"I'll manage. Thanks to Patsy Dalrymple, I brought enough clothes to stay for a month." Lisa raised her eyebrows and I laughed. "I promise I won't."
"I didn't mean..."
"I know you didn't. Hey, it's okay. I'm really looking forward to a couple of days in New York on my own. I might even check that place Patsy told me about in Times Square where you can get cheap tickets. Maybe see a matinee."
Lisa let out her breath. "I told Nathan you'd enjoy yourself. He was afraid you'd just stay here and mope."
"Nope. No mope I."
"You don't leave until two Saturday afternoon," Nathan said. "So Saturday it's just you and me. Lisa's busy. Besides, I wanted some time for just the two of us."
Wednesday morning I dutifully drove the BMW to the train station, picked up a schedule so that I wouldn't miss the train back, and rode into the city. Nathan had left me an excellent city map.
The airwas cold but dear. I was toasty in my parka and gloves until I walked into Bloomingdales and began to sweat, but whether from the heat of the store or the crush of so many people I had no idea. I bought Eli a new black leather handbag, and Sarah a pair of gold earrings and a cashmere sweater. I had both sent to Memphis.
I fought my way deep into FAO Schwarz until I found a wonderful stuffed cow half the size of a newborn calf. Perfect for little Meg's first Christmas, although she wouldn't be able to enjoy it for months. I had it sent home as well. Getting on an airplane was bad enough without Christmas packages to be opened and inspected.
I walked up Fifth Avenue, spent an hour wandering through the Metropolitan and ate lunch in the courtyard there, then wandered up to the Central Park Zoo. Although the town teamed with tourists in town to watch the Thanksgiving's Day parade, the cold had kept most casual sightseers away from the zoo. I wandered among the animals happily and struck up conversations with the keepers, who were happy to stop working to talk to me.
I sank onto a bench outside the big cat enclosure. This should have been a wonderful day. New York at Christmas!
But without my arm tucked through Morgan's as we strolled, I felt as though I were doing chores, and not pleasant ones either. Having Morgan beside me, turning to him to point out something funny or beautiful or interesting made even the most mundane excursions happy ones.
What on earth made me think I'd enjoy traveling alone? Did I have some crazy idea that Morgan's ghost would be looking over my shoulder commenting on the Mona Lisa or the Pyramids? Hell, I'd
given an entirely new meaning to the term guilt trip. Face it, Maggie, you're alone. Morgan is dead. Not passed away, not transported to a higher plain. Dead.
I thought I'd been handling my life extremely well under the circumstances. Bull hockey. I'd been marking time, waffling, wallowing in self-pity. Morgan would have been ashamed of me. Whatever life had in store for me from here on in, it was time I got on with it. That would truly honor his memory.
I plunged back into the crowds to catch the train back to Nathan's in time for a long nap and a hot bath.
The three of us ate a heavy Greek meal, listened to a bouzouki band and watched belli dancers until ten-thirty. The meal was wonderful, the band was great fun, and the dancers were stunning. They had the added attraction of being so loud that conversation was next to impossible.
Thanksgiving I put on the green wool dress that fit me beautifully, although it looked as though it had only two seams. Patsy said that was the mark of an expensive dress, which this one definitely was.
When I came downstairs, Nathan said, "Mother, you look great."
I sat in the back of the BMW on the forty-minute drive to the Bigelow house where Lisa's parents lived. When we rolled in through the gates and up to the house, I saw where Lisa's taste had come from. This house looked like the Tower of London and was about the same size. The whole neighborhood oozed wealth. I doubted one full-time gardener could keep up with the manicured grounds.
In my years as a veterinarian, I had learned that the woman in dirty jeans braiding the mane and tail of a junior jumper gelding at five thirty in the morning might well be the wife of a Fortune Five Hundred CEO. Wealth as such didn't intimidate me.
But second generation Connecticut money was different from Delta money. These people would probably find Patsy Dalrymple crass and loud, although she was probably richer than they were. They cared about the way things-and people-looked to others. Patsy didn't give a damn.
I swore to remember Patsy's admonishment. "Speak when you're spoken to, stick to the weather, and try not to sound like a yaller dog democrat. Those folks are probably so republican you'd start a riot."
My heart sank when I saw at least a dozen cars-Rolls, Mercedes, Jaguars, and the occasional lowly Cadillac, pulled up in the Bigelow's graveled forecourt.
"Nathan, I thought it was just us," I whispered as we walked up the broad stone steps. "Why didn't you warn me?"
"Because I didn't know. Put on your corporate face, Mother. You did this for years with Daddy. Why do you act as though you've never done it before?"
"Not with your in-laws I haven't. The only time I met them was at the wedding."
I tried to grasp the names as I grasped the hands of the other guests. Most were my age, with the exception of a couple of sulky teenagers who would no doubt prefer to be anywhere else and were some sort of cousins to Lisa.
I watched them evaporate across the broad hall into another room and shut the door behind them. "Video games," Nathan whispered.
"We've all been dying to meet Nathan's mother," said a woman who looked as though she'd been stuck in a wind tunnel and had barely escaped with her life. She was bone thin, and her unlikely champagne hair was teased far back from her lineless forehead to complete the wind tunnel effect.
"Botox," Lisa whispered as the woman turned away. "Takes away the lines, but paralyzes your eyebrows."
I accepted a fragile glass of sherry. No doubt it was superb sherry, but it puckered my mouth.
"Tastes like battery acid," said a male voice behind me.
I turned to meet the black eyes of a very tall, very thin man with a shock of white hair and the leathery skin of an outdoorsman. He wore a navy blazer and gray flannel slacks, neither of which he had bought off anybody's peg.
"I don't think we're supposed to think that," I said.
"Nuts. Give me a Heineken any day."
"I'm a Diet Coke girl myself."
"You're Lisa's mother-in-law?"
"Maggie McLain." I stuck out my hand. He shook it and held on a tad too long.
"I'm Jack Ashton. I'm her uncle on her mother's side. I didn't make it to the wedding. I was out of the country."
"Nice to meet you."
"How d you get roped into this funeral? These parties are always incredibly stuffy."
"As you say, I'm Lisa's mother-in-law, and I'm visiting. Couldn't very well leave me home."
"When do you leave?"
I laughed. "Isn't that the question you're not supposed to ask guests?"
"If it is, it's stupid. You stuck with that thing at the club tomorrow night?"
"For my sins."
"Too right."
"That's an Australian expression, isn't it?"
"I sailed in New Zealand some."
"A sailor?"
"In myyounger days. Now I gunk hole on the occasional Saturday when there's not enough wind to turn over in."
"I've never been on a sailboat, and certainly not in the Atlantic Ocean. It sounds wonderful."
"Come back in the summer and I'll take you out for a weekend."
I started to say I worked all summer, but then I stopped. Maybe I wouldn't be working this coming summer. I'd be free to go sailing with this man if he were serious. A weekend? In today's mores among people like this, what would I be letting myself in for? Did he mean simply sailing or something else? When I dated before I married Morgan, the guys always tried to get you in bed, but they never actually expected you to go. Casual sex is an oxymoron in my book. The whole idea of dealing with the man-woman dynamic after all my years of monogamy scared me pea-green.
"Down south we say'y'all come see us. ' I said with what I hoped was a sophisticated smile. "We generally don't mean it."
"Up east I say'I'll take you sailing' and mean it."
I felt a hand on my arm. "Dr. McLain, Nathan says you're a veterinarian."
I nodded and looked into the anxious eyes (and immobile eyebrows) of the woman with the champagne hair.
"Oh, that is so marvelous." Her hand was tipped with coral talons that I could swear were the color I'd refused. "I just have to talk to you." She drew me away adroitly and lowered her voice.
"It's about Glenda of O'Maugh." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "When I tried to breed her, they told me she goes-you knowcrosswise." She made a crosswise sawing motion with her hand. "And now she's out of season."
I took a deep breath. "Who is Glenda?"
"Oh, so silly of me. Glenda's a Glen of Imaal terrier. They're very rare in this country."
"I've never seen one, but I know what they are. They used to turn the spits in the Irish pubs, didn't they?"
The woman nearly shivered with delight. "Yes, that's it." She dropped her voice again. "And Glenda's-you know-doesn't go straight up and down from her little bottom, it's crosswise. We own the male too. We left them together and they tried, but the male couldn't-you know-get in, and it hurt poor Glenda terribly. She cried and cried."
"And now she's out of season."
"Yes. Is there an operation to-you know-straighten her out?"
"You'd have to ask your own doctor, Mrs. uh, but I doubt you'd have to go that far. You can have her artificially inseminated the next time she comes into season. The pups may have to be taken by Cesarean section, but then again, she may whelp without a bit of trouble. That's not an uncommon difficulty with some of the smaller dogs like Corgis."
"Oh, you are wonderful!" The lady trilled. "Niles, Niles, darling! Come over here. Dr. McLain says we don't have to have Glenda straightened out, we can just artificially inseminate her."
Every one in the room turned to stare.
Two minutes later I was the center of the party.
"Dr. McLain," said a florid man in an extraordinary maroon jacket and regimental tie, "I've had my Bouvier 's ears clipped, but one of them refuses to stand up. We've tried taping and shots and vitamins. My vet's given up hope. You have any suggestions?"
I told him the British no longer allow cropped ears. More and mo
re Americans were leaving ears natural even on Dobermans. "You might consider getting the other one to flop. Then at least they'd match."
"I could still show at Crufts," he said, and laughed.
"I don't see how magnets can have any effect whatever on a pulled suspensory ligament," said a tall woman-they were all thin-with sun-roughened skin that spoke of too many hours in the hunt field. "He's an Irish Draft-thoroughbred cross gelding," she said. "My vet wants me to buy this horrendously expensive magnetic machine thingy to use on his leg. How can it be strong enough?"
"There have been anecdotal successes," I said. "But if it really is a tom suspensory, I'd suggest sending him to Cornell or Rude and Riddle in Lexington, Kentucky. They do miracles. Listen, I really shouldn't be diagnosing another doctor's patient. Talk to your own vet, please."
"I will, and thank you so much."
I was discussing a case of recurring cystitis in a year-old male Siamese cat when the butler announced from the far end of the room, "Dinner is served."
"Thank God," I whispered. I hadn't realized Jack Ashton had been watching me. Now he swooped down and captured my arm. "Need a bodyguard?"
"Do I ever." Not Morgan's arm. Oh, how I wished he'd been here. He'd have laughed his head off at me and my impromptu consulting practice.
"I had Lisa move the place cards. You're between Colonel Mendoza and me. He's deaf, never says a word to his dinner companions. And he doesn't own a dog."
"Bless you," I said. "I feel like the urologist who went to a cocktail party and wound up discussing prostates with every male in the room."
I fell asleep in the car driving home, and only woke when Nathan woke me.
"tipsy-daisy," he said as he opened my door.
I stretched and touched his cheek. "I used to have to wake you up and carry you upstairs, remember?"
"Now it's my turn."
"If you don't mind," I said as I dragged up the stairs, "I think I'll sleep in and mooch around here tomorrow rather than going into the city."
"Won't you be bored?" Lisa asked.
I shook my head. "Not for a minute."
The following evening after a day spent blissfully reading a murder mystery I found on the bookshelf in my room, I slipped into my black cocktail dress, closed the clasp on Patsy's ten thousand dollar evening bag, and tried a few steps in Patsy's strappy Jimmy Choo sandals.