The edges of the crevasse were sharp, and a thin stripe of blood appeared on my finger. I reflexively put it in my mouth. A metallic tang mingled with splashes of wasted dinner and I could taste how much I missed Mama.
After a while, the heat of the dinner soaking through my skirts began to cool and I had exhausted my tears. My finger had stopped bleeding. I wiped my face, drew a deep breath.
Oliver appeared in the doorway. “Tish?” he asked, looking around at the mess I had made.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dropped dinner.”
“It’s in your hair,” he said, pointing.
“Is it?” I asked. Oliver stepped closer to inspect me. Suddenly, this was all very funny. I reached up to him and wiped my messy hands on his head. “It’s in your hair too.”
Disbelief and a smile crept over his face. I grinned back.
“What do you think? Shall we eat this? Dinner is served!”
“Tish! We can’t eat food off the floor!”
“I don’t know. We might have to; it’s all we have for supper! Did you make something too, just in case I threw the dinner that I cooked on the floor?” I joked.
“No! I didn’t make anything!”
“Ah, well.” I stood. “Toast and jam for dinner tonight then.”
He touched my arm. “We’ll get by,” he said. I smiled at him, saw wisdom in his little eyes, and knew he was right.
I wiped the dinner from the floor, and with it, my self-pity. I would try again. And keep trying. Where the strength would come from, I did not know, but I knew that I had to keep trying. I could not fix the imperfection in the kitchen floor, but I could clean up the mess around it.
I toweled Oliver clean and climbed the stairs to change my dress. On the way, I paused at the stopped clock in the foyer. I unlatched the glass cover, picked up the key, and wound it. With a flick of my wrist, I set the pendulum going. The hands lay at eight twenty-five.
I would set the exact time later, but for now all I needed was to hear the forceful tick tock resonate through the clock’s belly. I continued upstairs and, after changing, returned to the kitchen. As I descended the stairs to make the toast and jam, the clock chimed one single gong. Eight-thirty. It vibrated through the house and shook the cobwebs out of me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Molly
After Corey stormed out, I didn’t wait for him to come back. I hastily packed Hayden’s diaper bag and we went out too. There was no way I would sit in Aunt Tish’s house for one more minute.
With Hayden in the car seat, I started driving. My sorrow flipped like a June bug trapped on its back; once righted it flew into anger. What did Corey mean I wasn’t grateful? He practically insinuated that I didn’t love Hayden. He must think I was a monster.
Well, he was the one who made me this way. He had tricked me in to moving to Willow Grove with the promise of a beautiful house. A house and a future we could make our own. He never had any intentions of letting it be anything but hers, locked in time, exactly how he remembered it.
I wasn’t Saint Aunt Tish, Savior of All Difficult Babies. And because I wasn’t, Corey had walked out the door. All Corey could ever do was walk out the door. Didn’t he think I needed to cool off, too? If he cared about me at all, he would have offered to take the baby for the afternoon, offered me a nap, time to get a haircut, or just go to the store by myself. But he did what he always did. He left. And that was exactly the wrong thing to do.
As I fumed, the roads went by in a blur. Aimless in my anger, the car simply arrived, and I found myself parked outside of Hayden’s baby class. I checked my face in the visor mirror. My eyelids were puffed from crying and the whites of my eyes were a furious red. I looked awful. So what, I thought, I’m going in anyway. I laughed ruefully at how life had changed. The best place I could think of to find solace was open play time in the padded baby room.
I put on my socks and we stayed as long as they let us. Hayden watched the bubbles and gazed at swirling scarves during tummy time. I think he was happy. I watched him, but could not share the feeling. I dreaded going back to the house. When open gym was over, I nursed him in the car, and then drove to the Willow Grove Park Mall.
In the cool space, I found a bench near the fountain. I pushed Hayden’s stroller back and forth within arm’s distance. I couldn’t look at the old photographs of people enjoying Willow Grove Park, feeling like one of them was surely perfect Aunt Tish. I wanted to be as far from her specter as possible. Instead, I fished inside my bag for my cell phone and called Garrett at the Aubergine bar.
“Hey, it’s Molly,” I said when he picked up. I could hear the clinking of glasses in the background. Desperate to be there inside my old life, I could taste my jealousy.
“Molly!” Garrett said. “How are you? How’s Willow Grove? How’s that baby of yours?”
“He’s fine, thanks. I’m calling to see if you might have any leads on any apartments or jobs down there. I’m thinking about moving back.”
“You are? That’s great! We miss ya, kid. What about that great house Corey had up there?”
“It’s not so great. Corey and I, well, we’re not so great either.” The words caught in my throat.
“Man. Sorry to hear it. I’ll put my ear to the ground and see what I can come up with.”
“Thanks, Garrett,” I said, hanging up.
I sat for a while longer, rolling Hayden back and forth, breathing the mall’s recycled air. I loved Corey, but I didn’t love this life. If I were to live it alone anyway, it would be better to live it where I felt at home.
When I used up the last diaper packed in my bag, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide at the mall any longer. I loaded Hayden into the car to return to the house that wasn’t mine and would never be. I knew what I had to do. I would have to walk away to find myself again. Corey wouldn’t let me into the world he was stuck in, and so I had to get out. A rock sat heavy in the pit of my stomach, but I couldn’t cry anymore.
Corey was sitting on the porch when we got home. Dusk had fallen. I lugged Hayden, asleep in the car seat, up the porch steps. I couldn’t look at Corey. I was afraid I would lose my resolve.
“Molly. Where have you been all this time?”
I stood silently.
“Molly, please. I was beginning to worry that you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m not sure that I am.”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. I left him sitting there and went inside to pack my things.
Corey came into the bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed watching me.
“I’m not your Aunt Tish,” I said. “I can’t live here under those expectations.”
“I know. You’re right.”
My head snapped up. What? I was wary, though. He had wooed me in to coming to Willow Grove in the first place. I couldn’t let him do it again so that I would stay.
“When I was a kid,” he said, “my mom made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in being a mother. This place was the only place where I felt valued. That’s not happening much these days. I haven’t been able to admit it to you, but I’ve been working so hard because I’ve been trying to save my job. The Houston trip proved that I’m not good enough at work, and it doesn’t seem like you think I am good enough as a husband or dad either. I guess I am just trying to hang on to this house because it is the only thing that reminds me what it’s like to feel good enough. I wanted everything to be perfect here, just like the way I remember it. It’s far from perfect, though, isn’t it?”
Could it be that Corey felt like he was drowning too? Was this clutch on nostalgia the only thing keeping him afloat? I put down the sweater that I had been folding and looked at him. His eyes were sad and my heart broke for the little boy in him that needed to find solace here.
Was what he was saying enough for me to stay? Was I really ready to throw our marriage away, try to live on my own?
I started to crumble, a shard of light breaking through my re
solve. I sat heavily on our bed. I fingered the bedspread next to me. Our bedspread, his and mine, overdue for a wash. The ripe, comfortable, familiar smell that our bodies had left behind filtered into my nose. It was heady with nostalgia of us.
My cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out. The face of it announced Garrett calling. He had possibly found an apartment or a job in DC for me, maybe both. I let it go to voice mail.
“No, our life isn’t perfect, but I’d settle for it just being ours,” I said.
“Please stay,” Corey said. “I promise not to let my old memories get in the way of us making new ones. I’m ready to let go, if it means you’ll stay.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tish
The weeks and months rolled by, as they do, however reluctantly, for the people whom death and lost love leave behind. Soon, everything seemed to be as it once was, though altered forever. Each morning, I placed my brimmed hat atop my head and wrapped my shawl around my shoulders for the walk downtown to the delicatessen.
I took my time, watching the golden pine needles slice through the air as they fell to the ground. The steady clop of my booted heels cleared my head, and slowly my overwhelming sadness lightened. By the time I arrived at the store, Papa was there, already at work, serving the customers who stood deciding their day’s order.
I had brought his recipe book with me today, retrieved from the shelf and tucked inside my satchel. He didn’t need the book, and maybe he didn’t even want it. I remembered how he had discarded it the day of the funeral, the self-blame within. He had never asked for it back.
I lifted the partition and walked behind the counter.
Papa moved in a slow amble, taking twice as much time to fill an order. Gone was his brisk and determined pace, and I watched him, a man too young to be so old. I thought of Mama, and how she would always remain healthy and strong in my mind and never have the chance to shuffle like this, her back bent with age and her hair gleaming white.
Papa’s tie hung without a knot around his neck and as soon as the customers left, I approached him and mentioned it. He grunted and turned toward the mirrored back wall. His fingers began fumbling, face contorted in aggravation.
“This darn thing!” he said through gritted teeth. Though he had been tying and untying his tie for a lifetime, now everyday things befuddled him. Before Mama passed, I knew nothing about ties, but like the other household tasks that were left for me, I had to learn. I tied Papa’s tie while Papa pointed his chin to the ceiling. I could see that he had missed a few patches shaving.
Finished, I stepped away.
“How’s business so far this morning?” I asked.
“It has actually been quite good,” he said.
I held out the recipe book. “Have you been looking for this?” I asked.
Papa looked at his book but did not move to take it. He sighed heavily. “You keep it,” he said, his voice quaking. “It’s yours now. I trust you to make changes and additions as you see fit.”
“But, Papa, I…” I hesitated. He had never trusted me with it before. Keeping this book, making it my own, would finalize my place here.
The bell on the door tinkled. Papa nodded towards the book, his confidence in my ability and my loyalty also in his offering. I squared my shoulders but held the book gingerly, the weight of it familiar but final. He patted my shoulder and then turned to help the customer.
And so, we were partners.
I walked to the storage room, sat down on a crate, and thumbed through the book. The tattered and spattered pages held heartache as well as fond memories. Here was the Ham Pie we ate the first days in the house when the future was wide open and the new house sparkled. I remembered the proud look on Papa’s face as he watched Mama see the house for the first time, and how I marveled at the expansive view from our bedroom window.
A few pages later listed the ingredients for the Welsh rarebit we ate at Ivy’s wedding. Ivy was so beautiful that day, when her life with William began in earnest, without a whisper of childless heartbreak. I remembered Mama’s touch that morning, her way of letting me know that she thought I was beautiful too.
Further on in the book was the recipe for Mama’s Oyster Fritters. Blanketed with dough and grease, they were so different from the chilled raw oysters that Ellis and I had slurped down with giddy abandon and chased with the pepper of champagne bubbles.
The next page held the recipe for Stewed Chicken. We ate that when Ellis came back from war, the night he spent in my bedroom and showed me how much he needed me. I flipped the pages further, suddenly desperate to find the recipe for Orange Feather Cake, the one Mama had served to quell Ellis’ fury at the table that night and bring us back to being a family.
Instead, my eye caught sight of the recipe for Chicken with Noodles, the dish that I smashed all over the floor in the weeks after the train crash. That night, and still, we desperately missed Mama, but somehow Oliver, wise beyond his years, knew we would be all right.
I knew it too.
I walked back in to the front of the shop and looked around. Maybe this wasn’t the life I had always dreamed of, but I knew now that I could be full and happy here. Mama had always told me that I needed to find happiness in today. I had been waiting my whole life—waiting to be older, waiting for the war to be over, waiting for Ellis to get a job. Wouldn’t it be a shame if I ended up with nothing to show but waiting?
I set the recipe book down and tied my apron tight. I joined my father at the counter and called the next customer.
●●●
And Willow Grove is where I stayed. Over the years, Papa remained adrift, having aged forty years in the days after the train crash. Oliver’s worry-filled cling turned into a surly rebellion as he got older, and he caused trouble in town on more than one occasion. I tried to give him all the love that he was missing, but surely fell short. He was robbed of his childhood and his mother’s love and nothing I did seemed to make up for that. I worried he wouldn’t make it out of high school, but luckily he did and was accepted at a nearby college.
Papa paid his tuition and when he left, I hoped that he would find his confidence and maturity at the university. He found Marion, a sweet girl who seemed to perk up his sullen demeanor. After they both graduated, they bought a house about an hour away from us in Skippack. It didn’t last with her, though, and Oliver eventually married Robin. She was much younger than he and quite beautiful. I worried for Oliver, but I forgave Robin everything when she had those two baby boys.
I had wanted a family of my own, but despite Virginia’s insistence on my finding a man to marry, my heart seemed forever closed off to the idea. Unwilling to be hurt again, or perhaps, as I only admitted to myself during the darkest of hours, I still loved a troubled man who had married another and was making a life in California.
Over the years, my desire for him and the vast life I had wanted when I was young faded. I didn’t consider staying in Willow Grove as settling for a mediocre life; it was just my life. One of my choosing.
Papa and Oliver had needed me. That was indisputable. I reminded myself of this whenever I felt like I had given up too much. Even if I hadn’t done the best job, I had tried and could live with my efforts. Had I simply abandoned them, read about them from letters across the vast expanses of the United States, or heard nothing, could I have been truly happy? Either way, my heart was torn between the men in my life, and I had chosen the two who needed me more. There was solace in that.
And then Oliver’s sweet sons were born and I poured everything I tried to give to Oliver into them. Though they had a mother, I could see the heartache in their faces when Robin walked out my door, leaving them with me often without an estimated return. Maybe I hugged them too tightly, or was too lenient with them, but they deserved it, and I wouldn’t have denied them anything. Especially sad-eyed Corey, who needed his mother’s love seemingly more than his older brother Hank. Hank was good-natured and agreeable always, and that was easy for
Robin. But Corey seemed to try her every nerve and I was happy to give her a break from him and love him in her stead. His little voice filled the house with sunshine again.
Papa passed away on a bright summer day soon after Robin had Hank. Papa went quickly and quietly, seated in a chair outside in our backyard. I was feet away, chattering at him while tending the blackberries. His head lay softly at his shoulder and I knew he was finally with Mama again. And I was alone.
His services were small, just me, Ivy, William, Oliver, Robin, baby Hank, and a few folks from town. I mourned and missed Papa’s presence, and the purpose that came with it.
Ivy, with wrinkles creasing her sad eyes, looked longingly at Robin’s sweetly sleeping bundle. She refused to hold Hank when Robin offered. Perhaps it was too much for her empty womb. I stood next to Ivy in the pew and laid my hand over hers, now dotted with age, when we stood for the hymns. Without a family of her own, silver-haired Ivy would go home with William to a life full of social obligations. Though she entwined her fingers with mine there at the church, she had chosen to build a life in Chestnut Hill, and I knew she would bury her suffering once back in her beautiful, well-appointed home.
I hugged Oliver and Robin outside on the church steps and invited them over for cake. They declined, saying that it was naptime for the baby. I planted a big kiss on Hank’s chubby cheek, insisting that they come for cake another time soon. Before leaving, Oliver squeezed my shoulder and planted a small kiss on my cheek. “What will you do now, Tish?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Ollie. Anything I feel like, I suppose.” I gave him a small smile and brought him in for a long hug. “Please do come by for that cake soon,” I said softly.
“We will,” he assured me as he looked me in the eye. “And Thanksgiving. You are hosting Thanksgiving. Christmas too, maybe. Robin might serve us tofu otherwise.”
I agreed, happy to be a fellow conspirator.
An Imperfection in the Kitchen Floor Page 23
