Tracy had called Dr. Johanssen for him, and he called the house owners himself. He was giving up the house that afternoon. He didn't want to come back to the beach again. It would have been too painful for him. There were suddenly so many details to arrange, and none of it mattered anyway. The man made such a fuss about whether the box was mahogany or metal or pine, lined in pink, blue, or green, who gave a damn anyway. She was gone …three years and it was over … he had lost her. His heart felt like a rock in his chest, as he threw Jane's things into her bag, and Alexander's into another one …and yanked open the drawer where he found Liz' wigs, and suddenly he sat down and began to cry, and he felt as though he would never stop. He looked out at the sky and the sea, and shouted “Why, God? Why?” But no one answered him. And the bed was empty now. She was gone. She had left the night before, after kissing him and thanking him for the life and the baby they'd shared, and he hadn't been able to hold onto her, no matter how hard he'd tried to.
He called his parents once everything was packed. It was two o'clock by then, and his mother answered the phone. It was hot as hell in New York, and even the air conditioning didn't help. They were meeting friends in town, and she thought they were calling to say they'd be late picking them up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.” There was suddenly an enormous letdown, and he wasn't even sure he could get up enough energy to speak to her.
“Sweetheart, is something wrong?”
“I …” He nodded no and then yes, and then the tears came again. “I …wanted you to know …” He couldn't say the words. He was five years old and his world had come to an end…. “Liz …Oh Mom…” He was sobbing like a child and she began to cry just listening to him. “She died …last night…” He couldn't go on and she signaled to Lou standing beside her with worried eyes.
“We'll come right out.” She was looking at her watch and her husband and her dinner dress and crying all at the same time, thinking of the girl he had loved, the mother of their grandson. It was so inconceivable that she was gone, and so wrong, and all she wanted to do was put her arms around Bernie. “We'll catch the next plane.” She was gesticulating incoherently at Lou and he understood, and when Ruth let him, he took the phone from her ear.
“We love you, son. We'll get there as soon as we can.”
“Good …good …I …” He didn't know how to handle it, what one said, what one did … he wanted to cry and scream, and kick his feet and bring her back, and she would never come back to him again. Never. “I can't…” But he could. He had to. He had to. He had two children to think about now. And he was alone. They were all he had now.
“Where are you, son?” Lou was desperately worried about him.
“At the beach.” Bernie took a deep breath. He wanted to get out of the house where she died. He couldn't wait as he looked around, and he was glad the bags were already in the car. “It happened here.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes … I sent Tracy home with the kids, and …they took Liz a little while ago.” He choked at the thought. They had covered her with a tarp …they'd put it over her face and her head … he felt sick at the thought. “I have to go in now. To take care of everything.”
“We'll try to get there tonight.”
“I want to stay with her at the funeral parlor.” Just as he had at the hospital. He wasn't leaving her till she was buried.
“All right. We'll be there as soon as we can.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
He sounded like a little boy again, and it broke his father's heart as he hung up the phone and turned to Ruth. Ruth was sobbing quietly and he took her in his arms, as suddenly the tears rolled down his cheeks, too, crying for his boy, and the tragedy that had struck him. She had been such a lovely girl, and they had all loved her.
They caught a nine P.M. flight, after canceling their dinner with their friends, and arrived in San Francisco at midnight local time. It was three in the morning for them, but Ruth had rested on the plane and she wanted to go straight to the address Bernie had given them.
He was sitting with his wife at the funeral parlor and the casket was closed. He wouldn't have been able to sit, watching her, and it was bad enough like this. He was all alone in the lonely funeral parlor. All the other mourners had gone home hours before and only two solemn men in black suits were there to open the door for the Fines when they arrived at one o'clock in the morning. They had dropped their bags at the hotel on the way. And Ruth was wearing a somber black suit, black blouse, and black shoes she had bought at Wolffs years before. His father was wearing a dark gray suit and a black tie, and Bernie was wearing a charcoal gray suit and a white shirt and black tie, and he looked suddenly older than his thirty-seven years. He had gone home earlier for a few hours to visit the children, and then he had come back here. And now he sent his mother home to stay at the house, so she would be there when they woke up. And his father announced that he wanted to spend the night with him at Halsted's.
They spoke very little, and in the morning Bernie went home to shower and change, while his father went to the hotel to do the same. His mother was already making breakfast for the kids, as Tracy made calls. She had a message that Paul Berman was arriving in town at eleven A.M. to be at the funeral at noon. In the Jewish tradition, they were burying Liz that day.
Ruth had picked out a white dress for Jane, and Alexander was staying home with a sitter Liz used sometimes. He didn't understand what was going on, and staggered around the kitchen table, shouting “Mommm Mommm Mommm Mommm,” which was what he called Liz, and it reduced Bernie to tears again. Ruth patted his arm and told him he should lie down for a while, but he sat down at the table next to Jane.
“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?” Who was? But one had to ask. He wasn't okay either and she knew that. None of them were. She shrugged, and slipped her little hand into his. At least they weren't asking each other anymore why it had happened to her, and to them. It had. And they had to live with it. Liz was gone. And she wanted them to go on. Of that, he was sure. But how? That was the bitch of it.
He walked into their bedroom, remembering the Bible she read once in a while, and thought about reading the Twenty-third Psalm at her funeral. And as he reached for it, it was thicker than he expected it to be, and the four letters fell out at his feet. He bent down to pick them up and saw what they were. The tears rolled down his cheeks unabashed as he read his, and he called Jane in to read hers, and then handed his mother the letter Liz had written to her. The one to Alexander he would keep for him for much, much later. He planned to keep it in a safe, until Alexander was old enough to understand it.
It was a day of constant pain, constant tenderness, constant memories. And Paul Berman stood next to Bernie at the funeral, as he clung to Jane's hand, and his father held Ruth's arm, and they all cried as friends and neighbors and colleagues filed in. She would be missed by everyone, the principal of her school said, and Bernie was touched by how many of Wolffs salespeople had come. There were so many people who had loved her and would miss her now …but none as much as he, or the children she had left behind. “I'll see you again one day,” she had promised everyone. She had told her schoolchildren that on the last day of school …she had promised them … on what she had called Valentine's Day. And Bernie hoped she was right… he wanted to see her again …desperately …but first he had two children to bring up…. He squeezed Jane's hand as they stood listening to the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, wishing she were there with them …wishing she had stayed …and blinded by tears as he longed for her. But Elizabeth O'Reilly Fine was gone forever.
Chapter 24
His father had to go back to New York, but his mother stayed for three weeks, and insisted she take the children home with her for a little while when she left. It was almost August by then, and they had nothing else to do. He had to go back to work eventually, and privately Ruth thought it would do him good. They had given up the house in Stinson Beach anyway, so all the childr
en could do was sit in the house with a babysitter while he went to work.
“Besides, you need to get organized, Bernard.” She had been wonderful to him, but he was beginning to snarl at her. He was angry at life and the fate it had dealt to him, and he was looking to take it out on everyone, and she was the nearest target.
“What the hell does that mean?” The children were in bed, and she had just called a cab to take her back to her hotel. She was still staying at the Huntington. She knew he needed some time to himself every day, and so did she. It was a relief to go back to the hotel after the children were in bed every night. But he was eyeing her angrily now. He was spoiling for a fight and she didn't want to get into it with him.
“You want to know what it means? I think you should get out of this house and move. This might be a good time to come back to New York, and if you can't arrange that yet, then at least get out of here. It's too full of memories for all of you. Jane stands in her mother's closet every day, sniffing her perfume. Everytime you open a drawer there's a hat or a purse or a wig. You can't do that to yourself. Get out of here.”
“We're not going anywhere.” He looked like he was going to stamp his foot but his mother was not kidding.
“You're a fool, Bernard. You're torturing them. And yourself.” They were trying to hang on to Liz, and they couldn't.
“That's ridiculous. This is our house, and we're not going anywhere.”
“All you do is rent it, what's so wonderful about this house?” The wonderful thing was that Liz had lived there and he wasn't ready to give that up yet. No matter what anyone said, or how unhealthy it was. He didn't want her things touched, her sewing machine moved. Her cooking pots were staying right where they were. Tracy had gone through the same thing, she had explained to Ruth a few days before when she'd stopped by. It took her two years to give away her husband's clothes, but Ruth was upset about it. It wasn't good for any of them. And she was right. But Bernie wasn't about to give in to her. “At least let me take the children to New York for a few weeks. Until school starts for Jane.”
“I'll think about that.” And he did, and he let them go. They left at the end of the week, still looking shell-shocked, and he worked every night until nine and ten o'clock, and then he would go home to sit in a chair in the living room, staring into space, thinking about her, and only answering the phone on the fourteenth ring when his mother called.
“You have to find a babysitter for them, Bernard.” His mother wanted to reorganize his life and he wanted her to leave him alone. If he had been a drinker, he would have been an alcoholic by then, but he didn't even do that, he just sat there, doing nothing, numb, and only climbing into bed at three in the morning. He hated their bed now because she wasn't in it. He barely made it to the office every day, and then he sat there too. He was in shock. Tracy recognized the signs before anyone else did, but there was very little one could do for him. She told him to call whenever he wanted to, but she never heard from him. She reminded him too much of Liz. And now he stood in the closet, as Jane had, smelling her perfume.
“I'll take care of the children myself.” He kept telling his mother that, and she kept telling him he was crazy.
“Are you planning to give up your job?” She was sarcastic with him, hoping to shake him a little bit. It was dangerous letting him sit this way, but his father thought he'd be all right sooner or later. He was more worried about Jane, who had nightmares all the time, and had lost five pounds in three weeks. In California, Bernie had lost twelve. Only Alexander was doing well, although he wore a puzzled look when someone said Liz' name, as though wondering where she was and when she was coming back again. There was no answer to his “Mom …Momm …Momms” now.
“I don't have to give up my job to take care of the kids, Mom.” He was being unreasonable and enjoying it.
“Oh? You're going to take Alexander to the office with you then?”
He had forgotten about that. He'd been thinking about Jane. “I can use the same woman Liz used when she taught school last year.” And Tracy would help him.
“And you'll cook dinner every night, and make the beds, and vacuum? Don't be ridiculous, Bernard. You need help. There's no shame in that. You have to hire someone. You want me to come out and interview for you when the children come home?”
“No, no.” He sounded annoyed again. “I'll take care of it.” He was angry all the time. Angry at everyone, and sometimes even at Liz, for deserting him. It wasn't fair. She had promised him everything. She had done everything for him. For all of them. She cooked, she baked, she sewed, she loved them all so well, she had even taught school right up till the end. How does one replace a woman like that with a maid or an au pair? He hated the idea, as he called the agencies the next day, and explained what he needed.
“You're divorced?” A woman with a brassy voice inquired. Seven rooms, no pets, two children, no wife.
“No. I'm not.” I'm a kidnapper, and I need help with two kids. Shit. “The children have …” He had been about to say “no mother,” but what a terrible thing to say about Liz. “I'm alone. That's all. I have two children. Sixteen months old, and almost nine. Nine years that is. A boy and a girl. The nine-year-old goes to school.”
“Obviously. Live-in or live-out?”
“Live-out. She's too young for boarding school.”
“Not the child. The nurse.”
“Oh … I don't know … I hadn't thought about it. I suppose she could come in around eight o'clock and then leave after dinner at night.”
“Do you have room for an au pair?” He thought about it. She could sleep in the baby's room, if she didn't mind.
“I suppose I could.”
“We'll do our best.” But their best was not very good. They sent a handful of candidates to Wolffs and Bernie was horrified at the caliber of people they were sending out. Most of them had never taken care of children before, or were in the country illegally, or really didn't give a damn. They were a mess, and some of them weren't even nice. He finally settled on a very unattractive Norwegian girl. She had six brothers and sisters, she looked solid, and she said she wanted to stay in the country for a year or more. She said she could cook, and she went to the airport with him when the children came home. Jane didn't look enthused, and Alexander looked at her curiously and then smiled and clapped his hands, but she let him run loose in the airport as Bernie attempted to find their bags, and set up the stroller for him. He was halfway out the door by himself when Jane brought him back with an angry look at the girl, and Bernie snapped at her.
“Keep an eye on him, Anna, will you please?”
“Sure.” She was smiling at a boy with a knapsack and long blond hair as Jane whispered to Bernie.
“Where'd you find her?”
“Never mind. At least we'll eat.” And then he smiled down at her. She had thrown herself into his arms when they arrived, squeezing Alexander between them as he roared with delight and Bernie had thrown him into the air, and then done the same to Jane. “I sure missed you guys.” He knew about the nightmares from Ruth. They were all about Liz. “You especially.”
“Me too.” She still looked sad. But so did he. “Grandma was so nice to me.”
“She loves you a lot.” They smiled and he found a porter to help with the bags, and a few minutes later everything was in the car and they drove off toward the city. Jane sat in the front seat next to him. And Alexander and the au pair sat in the back. She had worn jeans and a purple shirt, and she had long, shaggy blond hair, and Jane didn't seem very impressed with her as they chatted on the way in. She seemed to answer mostly in monosyllables and grunts, and wasn't very interested in making friends with the kids. And when they got home, the dinner she made for them consisted of breakfast cereal and undercooked French toast. In desperation, Bernie sent out for a pizza, which the au pair dove into before they did. And then suddenly Jane glared at her. “Where did you get that blouse?” Jane was staring at her as though she had seen a ghost.
/> “What? This?” Her face got red. She had changed from a purple blouse to a pretty green silk one, which now had perspiration marks under the arms that hadn't been there before. “I found this in the closet in there.” She waved toward Bernie's room, and his eyes grew as wide as Jane's. She was wearing Liz' blouse.
“Don't ever do that again.” He spoke through clenched teeth and she shrugged.
“What difference does it make? She's not coming back anyway.” Jane got up and left the table and Bernie followed her and apologized.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I thought she was nicer than that when I interviewed her. She looked clean and young and I thought it would be more fun for you than some old bat.” She smiled unhappily at him. Life was so difficult for them now. And this was only her first night home. But nothing was ever going to be easy for her again. Instinctively, she knew that.
“Shall we give her a try for a few days, and if we don't like her, boot her out?” Jane nodded at him, relieved that nothing was being forced on her. Forever. It was difficult for all of them. And Anna drove them nuts in the next few days. She continued to borrow Liz' clothes, and even Bernie's sometimes. She turned up in some of his favorite cashmere sweaters, and once even borrowed his socks. She never washed, the house smelled terrible, and when Jane came home from school in the afternoon, she found Alexander with dirty pants, running around the house in drooping diapers and an undershirt, with dirty feet and lunch all over his face, while Anna talked to her boyfriend on the phone, or listened to rock on the stereo. The food was inedible, the house despicable, and Jane was taking care of Alexander almost full-time herself. She bathed him when she got home from school, and dressed him up before Bernie got home, she fed him and put him to bed at night, and went in to him when he cried. Anna never even woke up. The laundry wasn't done, the beds weren't changed, the children's clothes weren't washed. Anna drove them crazy, and in less than ten days they kicked her out. Bernie announced it to her on a Saturday night, as the steaks burned in a large filthy cooking pot, and she sat on the kitchen floor talking on the phone, and she had left Alexander alone in the tub. Jane found him there, slippery as a fish, attempting to climb over the side, and she rescued him, but he could have drowned, which terrified everyone except Anna. Bernie told her to pack her things and leave, and she did, with barely an apology, and wearing Bernie's favorite red cashmere sweater.
Fine Things Page 22
