But then Marley realized she was crying for herself just as much as she was crying for Cathy. Marley was tired of the pain too. She didn't need any more pain, didn't have time for it. Who did? But for some reason, it felt like pain was all she had left. Just plain old, wearisome pain. Pain over her failed marriage. Pain for her failed (make that never-really-started) art career, and pain over her loneliness. Pain for the fact that she'd never have grandchildren. Usually she didn't even notice these aches. What was wrong with her today? Maybe it was just hormones talking.
Really, she just needed to get home. That was all. Once she was snuggled into her cozy little apartment, back to her old routines, life would be fine. Maybe she'd even splurge and get a cat. She'd been considering that for the past year. Yes, home and a cat. That would put things back to right. Then, imagining Dorothy clicking her ruby red slippers together three times, Marley said, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home."
But when Carly began to sing "So Far Away," Marley became melancholic again. She asked herself what her definition of home was and if there even was such a thing. When had she ever felt truly at home anywhere? Certainly not in the old suburban house that she'd shared with John all those years, at least not when he was around making life miserable. Perhaps when John was doing the international flights and she and Ashton were home alone, she'd felt at ease. But her son had grown up, her marriage had disintegrated, and she'd moved on. Although she was relatively happy in her city apartment, it had never quite felt like home. If anything, it had seemed a temporary abode, a place where she could hide out and lick her wounds until something better came along. She'd been there for several years now, and nothing better ever showed up.
Marley continued on down memory lane, thinking back to when she was a girl in her parents' home. Her childhood had been relatively painless. Her parents had been in love with each other and were happy with life in general. They gave Marley her space and independence and, from an early age, treated her as an adult. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, some of her fondest memories were during adolescence. She let her hair grow clear past her waist and started doing things like tie-dye and macrame and beading and painting, fancying herself to be a real hippie. She remembered how she and Tommy Tortelli (her first serious boyfriend) would play guitar together, and how she wrote antiwar poetry and went to various hippie fairs and rock concerts. She also remembered the mutt that she and Tommy rescued from the surf one windy afternoon. She'd tied a red bandana around his neck and named him Harvey. When no one bothered to claim the little black dog, she adopted him. They were almost inseparable until she left home for college, but then her parents took over, and Harvey enjoyed a long, happy life.
Marley wondered what had happened to that girl-that funloving creative spirit who had such grand plans for her life. What had persuaded her to give up her dreams? Of course, she knew exactly what had derailed her and why. But she still had to scratch her head over it. The only real explanation was young love and infatuation.
Despite the fact that he was not her type and they were polar opposites, John Phelps had swept her off her feet. It made no sense then and even less sense now. He'd actually been in uniform when they met on campus. It was one of those magical autumn days in mid-October, and Marley had felt like she was on top of the world. Their paths crossed in front of the ROTC building, and she made some sassy remark about how it was better to make love not war, and they plunged into an argument.
She was wearing her usual hippie garb: a well-worn embroidered denim skirt, a lacey handmade top, and a pair of tall leather boots she'd gotten in Italy the previous summer. It wasn't long before the heated argument shifted gears into heated flirting session. There was no denying that John was strikingly handsome back then, even if his hair was too short. So when he invited her to continue their debate after his ROTC meeting, she couldn't say no. Later that night, after a few beers, she still couldn't say no. And after a couple months of turbulent romance, Marley discovered she was pregnant. And suddenly the rules all changed.
She had considered exercising "a woman's right to choose" by aborting the baby, but John begged her not to. On Valentine's Day he surprised her with a ring that had been in his family for several generations and, in a moment of weakness, she accepted. They were married in Reno during spring break. A few months later John was deployed to an air force base in Ramstein, Germany, where their already rocky relationship was shaken. After a couple of months there, Marley begged to return to the States to have the baby, and John happily agreed.
It wasn't until years later that she discovered why he'd been so amicable about his wife living stateside. It turned out that John, like a number of his young pilot buddies, was participating in a twisted game they liked to call Rack 'Em Up, where the philanderers kept tally of their sexual encounters outside of their marriages. Of course, by the time Marley discovered this, John was retired from the air force and flying commercially. He claimed that he had simply suffered from a case of wild oats and youth, although she was never entirely convinced that his adventures were over.
Worse than being cheated on (and that was bad enough), Marley suffered the most damage to her self-esteem through his unpredictable rages and verbal abuse. Always walking on eggshells, she never knew what the mood of the day might be. If she'd had the strength (and the money), she would've left him a lot sooner.
Still, as she drove through southern Washington, where the morning fog had still not burned off, she wondered why she was torturing herself with this crazy sentimental journey. Oh yeah, she remembered, I'm trying to unravel what has become of the old Marley. How could she tap into the Marley who had shown up during the reunion? Where could she find the Marley who seemed to come back to life in the company of her old friends-the other Lindas? Who was that girl, and where did she live? And how could Marley manage to bring her back for good?
As she continued to drive, though, Marley felt as if she was being gently lulled back into the same-old, same-old. Sucked back into a life that wasn't really a life. Tugged back to a job that wasn't anything more than just a job. Pulled back to an apartment that would never really feel like a home.
One thing she knew for sure: She would not be getting that cat after all!
Chapter 10
CAROLINE
Caroline knew it was a waste of good money to purchase a wet suit, and yet she couldn't stop herself. For some reason-as crazy as it sounded-a wet suit felt like her ticket to freedom. Or perhaps an investment in her future.
"Anything else I can get for you, young lady?" Orville Hornsby had been the owner of the Outdoorsman Shop since forever. His hearing was patchy, and he was pretty slow on his feet, but his eyes were kind and he seemed to mean well. She figured he must be in his eighties by now. He'd already told her, a couple of times, that his son really ran the store, but sometimes he came in to help out. She actually remembered him from her childhood, when she had occasionally come in here with her father for fishing bait.
"That's all for now," she said cheerfully.
"No flippers or goggles?" he asked. She'd already told him a couple of times that, no, she wasn't going snorkeling, but surfing. Just the same, he'd told her about some of the local boys who went diving for mussels and such on a regular basis. Apparently they sold the shellfish to the restaurants and managed to make a few bucks while having some fun.
"Here you go," he said as he held a little blue booklet out for her. "The tide tables. To make sure you don't get swept out to sea." He chuckled like that was a good one. "Complimentary. It was the son's idea. A way to advertise and such."
"Thank you." She tucked the booklet into her bag.
"You be careful out there. And don't forget about the undertow!" he called as she exited the store.
As she got into the rental car, Caroline felt a stab of guilt that had something to do with being in that old store. Maybe it was the musty smell of canvas and rubber. But it got her to remembering how her dad u
sed to bicker with Orville about whether the worms were fresh or not, and for some reason that made her start thinking about her mother. She glanced at her watch and realized she still had plenty of time to go check on Mom before heading to Victor's house. She would pick up a cheeseburger (Mom's favorite) and try to entice her to eat something besides the horrible canned beans that she seemed determined to survive on. At least it was worth a try.
Caroline pasted on her most cheerful smile as she rang her mother's doorbell, waiting with a hot cheeseburger and fries in hand. She could let herself in, since she had a key, but the last time she'd done that, her mother had nearly gone into a cardiac arrest. For several minutes she believed that Caroline was a stranger-and even worse, that she was from the IRS.
The door cracked open as wide as the old chain lock would allow, and her mother's voice rattled. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Mom."
"What do you want?"
"It's me, Mom. Caroline."
"Caroline who?"
"Caroline, your daughter. Let me in."
Her mother spent about a minute fiddling with the chain and finally opened the door wider. "Who are you again?" she asked a bit more softly.
"Caroline, your daughter." She held the McDonald's bag beneath her mom's nose. "I brought you lunch."
Recognition flashed through her mother's faded blue eyes. Whether it was the smell of fast food or the sight of her daughter's face, Caroline couldn't be sure. At least her mom wasn't getting ready to call the cops.
Caroline followed her mom, picking her way past tall stacks of old newspapers and magazines, boxes of glass jars, and all other sorts of dusty, smelly, useless items that her mother, for some reason, could not part with. By now Caroline knew the trails through the house and understood the wisdom of sticking to them.
Eventually they reached the kitchen, which was also piled high with all manner of junk. Her mother had quit having garbage picked up years ago. She might have been one of the first trash-conscious environmentalists, although for the life of her, Caroline could not understand how storing one's garbage in one's home was any better than having it hauled to a refuse center. After all, trash was trash.
In the kitchen her mother pushed aside a pile of junk mail to clear about one square foot of table space. Caroline watched as her mother set the paper bag on what was once a white "marbled" Formica-topped table, but it now looked yellow. Then she pushed some miscellaneous clothing items off the one chair and sat down.
"I was on my way to the beach," Caroline told her, "but I saw McDonald's and remembered how you used to love their food. So I stopped."
Her mother was already unwrapping the cheeseburger. She carefully unfolded the paper, examining it closely and even smelling it, as if to make sure it was safe to eat. Ironic, considering the present condition of her kitchen. Caroline could only imagine what a health inspector might say about it. The whole house might be condemned. And perhaps that would be a good thing. Then Caroline would have a good excuse for forcing her mom to live someplace decent, in some kind of home where she could have assistance and supervision.
"I'm going to go surfing today," Caroline said as she watched her mother take small, cautious bites of the burger.
Her mother looked up with a creased brow. "Surfing?" she repeated with food still in her mouth.
Caroline handed her a napkin and nodded. "Yes. It's been a while. I hope I remember how to do it."
"Surfing?" she said again, as if trying to grasp what that might entail.
"There are fries in there too." Caroline tapped the paper bag.
"Fries?"
"You know, french fries. And ketchup, too."
"Ketchup." She nodded with a thoughtful expression.
Caroline looked around for something to sit on and finally decided on a plastic crate that looked semisturdy. She scooted it over by her mother and sat down. "How would you like to have someone fix all your food for you?" she asked cautiously. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."
Her mom nodded as if this seemed a good idea.
"And someone to do your laundry and housecleaning."
Now her mom looked puzzled.
"You know," Caroline said, "to keep things clean and neat. So you don't have to. Wouldn't that be nice?"
"Wouldn't that be nice," she echoed as she reached for a fry. "Nice."
"And you could have friends, too," Caroline continued.
"Friends?"
"People your age to do things with." Caroline smiled. "Remember how you used to like to play cards?"
Her mom brightened. "Cards?" Now she stood up and pushed the chair back. It screeched on the floor. "Cards. I have cards." She started digging around in the piles of junk.
"You can get the cards later," Caroline told her. She picked up the half-eaten burger and held it under her mom's nose. Almost as if leading a dog, she used the food to lure her mother back to the table. "Go ahead and eat now."
Her mom nodded, then sat back down.
It took about thirty minutes for her mom to finish her "fast food," but Caroline wanted to make sure she really ate it. Her mom was already so thin, so much more fragile than the last time Caroline had seen her. Literally skin and bones.
Caroline went over to the refrigerator, opening it to reveal the cans of Ensure and other nonperishable foods she'd bought a few days ago. "Don't forget you have more things to eat here," Caroline said. She wished that Meals on Wheels would continue to deliver, but thanks to her mom's unpredictable reception of their services, they had removed her from their list. Caroline tried to talk them into putting her back, but they simply told Caroline that if she really cared about her mother, she'd get her into an assisted-care facility-and soon!
Unfortunately that was easier said than done. Although Caroline had put her mom's name on some waiting lists, there was still the matter of convincing Mom to go. Even if she was offered a room, which sounded likely at Sandy Cove, Caroline wasn't sure how to pry her mother out of the only home she'd known for more than fifty years.
"I have to go now," Caroline finally told her mom. "But I'll be back later tonight to check on you."
"You're going?" her mom said sadly. "Don't go." Tears welled in her eyes. This happened every time Caroline left, whether she had been there for five minutes or five hours. Her mother never seemed ready to say good-bye.
"I'll be back soon," Caroline promised.
Her mother started to cry, and part of Caroline wanted to sit down and cry with her. "Don't go."
"I promise, I'll be back in a few hours."
Caroline led her mother into the living room and helped her to sit down in her old stained rocker recliner. Then she picked up the remote, which she'd spent more than an hour locating yesterday. She turned the TV on and handed the remote to her mom. "Here, watch TV until I come back, okay?"
Her mother frowned at the old TV screen as if she were looking at a space alien.
"See the dog?" Caroline said hopefully as a dog-food ad began. Of course it featured a golden lab. Caroline stared at the TV with longing.
"Dog." Her mom nodded with realization.
"I'll be back," Caroline called as she left the house. By the time she was outside, her eyes were filled with tears too. Honestly, it was brutal to grow old like that. Confused and befuddled and frightened, her mom seemed to get absolutely no pleasure out of life. Really, what was the point? Caroline wished she had some answers, but when it came to aging and her mother, she was at a complete loss. In some ways it would be a relief if her mom quietly passed away in her sleep.
Caroline thought about Cathy Gardener again, and about being knocked down like that in the prime of life. It seemed so unjust and senseless compared to the circumstances of Caroline's poor old mother, who continued to linger on, miserable, lonely, and pathetic. Really, where was the fairness in that?
Caroline had always believed in God. She believed that God really did care about everyone equally. But sometimes the way he worked mystified her. Sometimes it mor
e than mystified her; it irked her. Yet she knew that God was God, and he could do as he pleased. So who was she to complain? Just the same, she wouldn't mind if he shone a little more light on her mom's situation. As well as Caroline's. More than ever, Caroline felt that she was stumbling around in the dark, fumbling to figure things out, and often making even more messes as she went.
"I am not going to think about this now," she told herself as she turned down Sea Perch Lane. Instead she focused on the new housing development out here. She'd never seen it before, but it was nice. Not in the upscale way that Abby's neighborhood was nice, but in a more casual, beachy sort of way. There were only about a dozen homes out here, and they all seemed to be situated on larger lots, all of which appeared to have beach access.
She drove all the way down the street and found Victor's house on the end. Like the other homes, it had cedar-shingle siding that was faded to a nice warm gray, and the trim was painted in a crisp, clean white. An SUV and small pickup were parked in front, and the garage door was opened to reveal what appeared to be a nice selection of surfboards lining the back wall.
"Hello?" she called as she got out of her car and approached the garage. "Anyone home?"
"Back here," called a masculine voice. When she wandered into the garage, she encountered a young guy working on a surfboard.
"You must be Victor's son," she said, sticking out her hand. "I'm Caroline McCann."
"I'm Ben." He smiled with what seemed approval. "Dad said he had some lady friend coming over to surf today, but I thought for sure he was pulling my leg."
She laughed. "Well, hopefully I'll be able to surf. It's been a while. I'm guessing I might be a little rusty."
"Hey, it's like riding a bike," he assured her.
"That might be true at your age," she tossed back. "But I think those rules change some later on in life."
"Oh, you can't be that much older than me," he told her.
As Young As We Feel Page 8
