The attendant gave an uncomfortable cough, then, “Is this your husband, ma’am?”
I nodded. “Ex-husband. Yes.”
“Is there anyone else we should notify?”
I shook my head. George had lost contact with his family before I’d met him. I didn’t even know where they were. “I’m it.”
Walter touched my elbow. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Can I go outside?” I asked. My voice sounded high and tight like a little girl’s. My limbs felt like they were made of foam. “Can you just get me outside?”
Walter nodded, his hand on my elbow as he led me through the hospital hallways. The first outside door we found led to a central atrium, where they’d planted a garden with a statue of the Virgin Mary in the middle. Stone benches circled around her like subjects kneeling before a queen.
But it was all just a bunch of dead stone.
Walter led me to one of the benches and sat me down. He sat next to me as I stared at the Virgin. He was still and silent, waiting for me to speak first, another statue in the midst of a garden made for mourning.
Snippets of memories wafted through my head like faint aromas in an attic. George bouncing at Pappy’s, buying me drinks when I was still underage. Zipping down the highway on the back of his motorcycle, my arms wrapped around his strong chest, feeling like nothing could touch us. The hate and anger in his eyes that I couldn’t understand. The fury I felt when he hurt Molly. How I separated from myself when he kept me captive that weekend, watching him terrorizing me from a distance, only a taut string of fear keeping me shackled to myself.
How he had no right. How he had no fucking right.
How he was dead.
“I thought I’d be happy,” I said finally, surprised by the sound of my voice as the words came out on their own. I stared at the Virgin, speaking as much to her as to Walter. “I’ve been praying for this for a long time. I know it’s terrible, but it’s true. And now here I am, and he’s finally gone, and I’m not even relieved. I’m sad, actually.”
“That’s understandable,” Walter said calmly, always the voice of reason. “I’m sure you loved him. Once.”
“I should hate him,” I said, my eyes drifting back to the Virgin. “I should be happy he’s finally gone.”
I paused, but I didn’t know what I was waiting for. The music maybe. Now would be a good time for the music to make sense. Now would be a good time for anything to make sense. But, of course, nothing did. Not George, not Walter, not the Virgin in her garden of stone.
“He loved me.” I nearly choked on the words as I said them. “He may have been a sick bastard and a bad guy, but he loved me, and he was the only one who did. I know it sounds crazy...”
“No,” Walter said quietly, “it doesn’t.”
“And instead of being relieved that I don’t have to be afraid of him anymore, I feel like the last person who will ever love me is just... gone.”
Walter put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. I collapsed onto him, sobbing under the weight of George’s life and death. Walter held me, rocking me back and forth, kissing my hair, and whispering quietly, “He won’t be the last one.”
We sat like that for a while, until I recovered enough to realize I was getting cold out there in my shiny nylon running pants and T-shirt. Walter pulled off his sweatshirt, revealing a worn-out Rolling Stones ’86 World Tour T-shirt underneath. I smiled. He pulled the sweatshirt over my head and put his arm around my waist, guiding me silently through the halls of Hastings General until we were in the parking lot.
I started to take off the sweatshirt when we got to my car, but Walter put his hand out to stop me.
“Keep it.” He smiled. “I’ll get it later.”
I nodded and unlocked my car door but turned back to Walter before opening it.
“Thank you,” I said.
He shrugged. “I’m glad you didn’t have to do this alone.”
“No,” I said. “I mean for everything. I don’t make it easy for people to... help me.” I swallowed. “To care about me. I know that.”
He smiled. “It’s okay.”
“And I’m sorry,” I said. He nodded, although I could tell he wanted to ask what I was sorry for. Sorry I’d kissed him? Sorry I’d slept with him? Sorry I’d left him? All of the above? I reached over and grabbed his band. “Can you do something for me?”
I felt his fingers tighten around mine. “Anything.”
“Don’t give up on me,” I said. I could feel my eyes filling again, and I blinked the tears away. Stupid, mushy, crying fool.
Walter pulled me into his arms and hugged me, kissing the top of my head and breathing a little lightness back into me. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
I pulled away and got in my car and drove back to Elizabeth’s, taking a hit off the smell of Walter’s sweatshirt every now and again to keep me going.
***
Sunday morning I woke up on Elizabeth’s sofa. I’d been unable to go to sleep the night before and had crawled down to the living room and switched on a documentary channel. I fell asleep to sharks and woke up to baboon asses. It wasn’t pretty.
I headed out to steal some empty cardboard boxes from the Dumpster behind the grocery store. An hour later I had one box on my shoulder and another under my arm as I headed up the steps to my old second-floor apartment. Before putting my key in the lock, I turned and looked out toward the city of Hastings, shielded behind a veil of flour, and remembered standing there with Walter after that first kiss, pondering silently on the existence of purity. I laughed a little, amazed at how sometimes a few weeks could seem like a lifetime.
I pushed the door open and stepped in, my foot sliding a bit as it made contact with an envelope. It was a standard business envelope, with “Wanda” scrawled in George’s handwriting on the front. Judging by the scuffs on it, he had taken some time shoving it under the rubber runners that weatherproofed my front door. As I bent down to pick it up, I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“That’s one hell of an ass, cupcake.” I stood up and turned to see Manny the Mailman. “You can’t be sticking out an ass like that just anywhere. You might give some poor guy a heart attack.”
“Hey, Manny,” I said. “What are you doing here? There’s no mail on Sundays.”
“Ah, there was a weird guy hanging around here a week back. Mrs. Forini called the cops, but he left before they got here. I been checking up for her. She was pretty freaked out.” He gave me a pointed look. “So where the hell ya been, babe?”
“I had a little domestic problem,” I said. “I had to get away for a while.”
His face darkened. “Was it that guy?”
I gave a small smile. “Yeah. He won’t be back.”
“What about you?” he asked. “You back?”
I shook my head. “I’m just cleaning out the apartment. I found a place I like better.”
Manny nodded. ‘Yeah. Well. Good for you. Glad you’re okay.” He reached over and gave me a pat on the back. “Take care of yourself.”
I waved after him as he bounded down the steps. When he was almost at his car, I yelled out, “Hey, Manny!”
He turned and shielded his eyes against the sun to look up at me. “What?”
“You let me know if you ever leave that wife of yours, okay?”
“Ah, you,” he said, giving me a wave of dismissal and getting in his car. I dropped the envelope into one empty box and headed back into my apartment to pack up.
***
Later that afternoon I came out from the shower, stepping over the piles of stuff I’d kept from the old place. It wasn’t much. Books and pictures, mostly. Everything else I’d donated to a women’s shelter downtown. It was time for a new start, anyway.
I towel-dried my hair on the bed and stared at the remaining sticky notes on my wall.
Get a new haircut.
Go see parents.
Do something meaningful.
Identify
phantom music.
Figure out what I want.
Tell Walter.
I focused on the last one and wished I hadn’t vowed to take care of everything else before really talking to him. I knew I could call him, and he’d be over in a flash, holding me, making me feel better. Giving everything and demanding nothing.
Which was exactly why I had to get through the other stuff first.
I threw the towel onto the pile of laundry in the corner and tossed myself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I should just forget the whole thing and call him. Maybe this reinvention of self was just a big old truckload of bullshit I invented to fuel my avoidance. Well, I didn’t want to avoid Walter anymore. I wanted to move on, with him if possible.
Screw the sticky notes.
Screw the goddamn sticky notes.
I sighed, grabbing the cordless phone from its base. I pulled one of the sticky notes off the wall and grabbed the phone book, letting my fingers do the walking through the Beauty Salons & Stylists section.
***
“I want something different,” I said, tapping my feet on the bar at the bottom of the stylist’s chair.
The unfortunate stylist who’d gotten me was a girl with pink hair named Anna, who tilted her head and looked at me.
“Just... different?” I could see the dread in her face. I imagined the last woman who’d said that to her leaving in tears, threatening to sue, seemingly unaware that hair grows back.
“Yes. I don’t care what you do. Just make it different. Red, maybe. Or blonde. Short. Layered. Bobbed. I don’t care. Have fun. I’m your own personal Barbie doll.”
“Really?” she said, her eyes brightening.
I nodded. “Really”
Anna grinned and cracked her gum. “Cool.”
***
“What did you do to your hair?” Elizabeth asked, dropping her bag in the hallway, too surprised by my new look to notice that she’d left the door open and that a tall, good-looking, and apparently very happy man was still standing right behind her. “It’s all short. And red!”
I stepped forward and extended my hand to the man behind her.
“You must be Matt,” I said. He smiled and shook my hand.
“I guess Elizabeth has mentioned me, then?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as his eyes darted to Elizabeth, who wrapped her arms around his waist.
“This is Matt,” she said. “Matt, this is Wanda.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” Matt said. It was a little disconcerting how much he was like a Ken doll come to life, but after checking out the smile on Elizabeth’s face, I decided not to hold it against him.
“Sorry I lied about going to see my sister, Wanda,” Elizabeth said, looking like a kid who’d just got caught at a nightclub when she’d told her parents she was studying at the library. “I just wasn’t ready to let everyone know yet.”
I waved my hand at her. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say a word.” I gave them both a smile, pulled the dish towel off my shoulder, and headed back into the kitchen. “I’m gonna let you say good-bye to your sister.”
Two minutes later Elizabeth was in the kitchen with me, sampling my spaghetti sauce off a wooden spoon and gushing about her weekend with Matt.
“We had such a good time. He’s so great.” She giggled. “Oh, God. I’m giggling. Slap me, would you?”
“No,” I said. I poured us each a glass of wine and leaned against the kitchen counter. “George is dead.”
Elizabeth straightened up. “Oh my God, Wanda. What happened? Are you okay?”
I gave her a brief rundown of events, excluding the bit with Walter. I wasn’t ready to talk about him yet. She pulled me into a hug, and I patted her shoulder and pulled away, smiling and squeezing her hand.
“It’s okay. It was rough at first, but I’m okay.” I turned my back to her, attending to the pasta I was cooking, not wanting my face to give away that I wasn’t entirely okay just yet. “I mean, it’s over, right? That’s what matters. It’s over.”
I heard Elizabeth draw in a breath to speak, but the sounds of the kids at the front door stopped her.
“We’ll talk later,” she said, putting her wine down and rushing into the living room. I followed her, coming in as she knelt down to hug the kids. Jack was standing on the front stoop, careful to stay outside until invited in.
Elizabeth stood up, ruffling Alex’s hair as he retreated to his room, and pulling Kacey to her. She looked up at Jack and smiled. “Hi, Jack.”
Jack smiled back at her, a surprised expression on his face. “Hi, Elizabeth. How are you?”
“I’m great. And you?”
“Good,” he said. “I heard the promos on the radio for your show. It sounds like it’s going to be good.”
She nodded. “Thanks. I’m really excited about it.”
Kacey tugged at Elizabeth. “Mom, I want to show you the new chemistry kit that Grandma got me. Come on,” she said, pulling Elizabeth’s arm.
“I’ll be right back,” she said with a grin, letting Kacey lead her away. I walked over to stand by the door, where Jack watched Elizabeth bound up the steps behind their daughter.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile in... I don’t even know how long.” He ran his fingers through his hair and gave me a hopeful grin. “That radio thing must really be good for her, huh?”
“There’s someone else,” I said quietly. I didn’t want to blow Elizabeth’s secret, but it had to be said. “Don’t tell the kids. She’s not ready to tell them yet. I thought you should know, though.”
“Oh.” His smile faded briefly, then returned on a wave of determined effort. “Oh. Well, good for her. That’s good. Is he a nice guy?”
“I’ve only met him briefly,” I said, “but he seems like it, yeah.”
Jack nodded. “Okay. He makes her happy, then?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”
He nodded again. “Okay.”
There was a short silence. I tried to think about Jack and the various biddies, tried to remember that he had earned this in spades, but it didn’t make me feel any better watching him standing there in the doorway while his family drifted away from him.
He clapped his hands together and faked a smile. “Well, hey, I need to go. Can you tell them I said good-bye?”
“Yeah,” I said with a small smile. “I’ll tell them.”
He squeezed my hand briefly, then disappeared into the night. I shut the door and hollered up the steps, “Somebody better haul their butt down here and eat some spaghetti with me!”
***
“What the hell did you do to yourself, Wanda?” Bones grumbled. “Your hair’s all red. And short. You might be able to pull that off if you were black, but on a white girl... damn. You look like a big match.’’
It was early Tuesday morning, and Osgiliath’s was just about to open. I swiveled around in the chair to see Bones, his skinny little neck sticking up from the padded Santa suit, the wig and cap tucked under his arm.
“Coming from a skinny black Santa Claus, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Bones grunted and settled himself into his Santa throne,
picking up a small device at his feet that I hadn’t seen before. “Get your ass over here.”
I eyed him suspiciously, standing up but not moving. “What’re you up to, Bones?”
“I’m old, child,” he yelled back at me. “You take too long. I might not be alive by the time you get here.”
I walked over to stand next to him, looked at the device in his hand and then back at him. “Bones, what the hell—?”
He grabbed me, and before I knew it, I was sitting in his lap. “Bones!” I said, trying to get up. I would have never thought Bones could pack so much strength into such a small frame, but my struggling was pointless. I was going nowhere. “Bones, let me go.”
He pointed to the camera. “Now, you look into that camera and you smile nice.”
I cr
ossed my arms. “Bones, what the hell are you doing?”
“Good God but you are a difficult woman,” he growled. “Just shut up and sit tight.”
I relaxed, put my arm around his shoulder, and grinned to the camera. He clicked the device in his hand, and about two seconds later the flash went off. He loosened his grip, and I got up. “What is that?”
“Remote control, so Kacey tells me,” he said, smiling. “Now, go print out that picture.”
I walked over to the computer and looked down to see a woman I didn’t recognize. She was laughing and pretty and happy as she sat on the lap of the oldest, blackest Santa Claus I’d ever seen.
“You done printing that damn thing out yet?” Bones hollered at me.
“Just a minute, you old goat,” I yelled back at him. I clicked through the borders and found a book theme, then hit print twice. When it was done, I walked up and gave one to Bones, who inspected it through his bifocals. After a moment, he looked up and smiled.
“What do you want for Christmas, girl?” he asked.
I leaned over and patted him on the shoulder, speaking in a breathless, Marilyn Monroe voice. “I’d tell you, Santa, but I think it might kill you.”
***
“Hey, Wanda, what’s that envelope on the counter?” Kacey asked.
I glanced up from the kitchen table where Alex was whooping my ass at chess and saw George’s envelope. I’d dropped it on the counter after I came home from clearing out my apartment and hadn’t touched it since. Elizabeth must have figured it was sensitive, because she’d been cleaning around it for most of the past week. I knew I’d have to deal with it someday but had successfully procrastinated.
Time Off for Good Behavior Page 16
