chapter twenty-one
The one time that Hayden and Rosamond leave Joey to spend the afternoon with children his own age at the municipal pool they feel awkward in being alone together. It’s as if their de facto guardian is missing, instead of vice versa.
For Rosamond the situation is particularly uncomfortable since cloistered nuns almost never do anything in pairs, due to a rule intended to discourage any special friendships from forming. The order warned that such friendships could diminish the community as a whole, and more important, interfere with their individual commitments to God. The sisters normally worked in threes instead of twos within the walls of the convent, and likewise three went if a nun had to be escorted to an appointment on the outside.
If she were to be honest with herself, Rosamond’s major concern at the moment is that exactly what the mother superior had warned against is indeed happening, that she feels a special friendship between herself and Hayden, and that it’s wrong for so many reasons. Yet he fascinates her. Never before had Rosamond encountered anyone whose enjoyment of life, even in the face of death, was so boundless and sure that he had the ability to call up a surge of gladness in the heart of almost everyone he met. She is awed by his faith, not his faith in any particular thing so much as in himself, and his view that life itself is a garden of pleasure to be enjoyed, not a trial to be endured. Whereas her sisters treated most earthly delights as a test of one’s will, and therefore most urges and desires were obstacles to be suppressed or surmounted.
For his part, Hayden is excited about this chance to be together, just the two of them, and is determined to make the most of the opportunity by finding out if Rosamond might be attracted to him the way he is to her. His anxiety stems solely from the fear that he may not get the answer he’s hoping for.
In order to set the mood Hayden puts on his favorite CD of Jean Redpath singing Robert Burns songs and places the speakers on the windowsill so the sweet Scottish melodies can be heard out in the backyard. Next he mixes Rosamond a glass of electric orange–colored Mango Madness Snapple with seltzer water and bubblegum ice cream, a concoction she discovered while experimenting with Joey. Its appeal, they’ve explained to him, is not so much in the taste but the way the combination fizzes and sputters in the glass like Alka-Seltzer and decorates the mouth and tongue with a hallucinogenic rainbow of colors.
Hayden pours a scotch for himself and together they sit side by side in lawn chairs out in the backyard and enjoy watching the neighbor, Mrs. Trummel, periodically hurl lemons out her window at the sleek little rabbits diligently turning her garden into a salad bar. Only between her bad eyesight and even worse aim, the rabbits don’t bother to glance up from enjoying the rows of carrots, cabbage, and Bibb lettuce long enough to defiantly wriggle their noses at her.
When they’re finally settled Hayden is unsure of exactly how to make his move. It’s been so long since he approached a woman. Should he ask her out on a formal date? That seemed rather silly since they’d been spending every day together for the past two weeks. They sit in silence for a long while as a pleasant soprano version of “Amang the Trees” with a Scottish lilt floats out across the lawn.
“Would you care for some cookies?” Hayden asks, well aware that he sounds considerably more formal than he’d intended.
But before Rosamond can reply a hair-raising holler of “damn critters” is heard from next door and a hard round lemon hits Hayden squarely on the shin.
“Or perhaps a wedge of lemon,” he ad-libs and picks the fruit up off the ground.
Rosamond laughs and looks over at the agitated Mrs. Trummel, leaning out the back door and threatening the intruders with poison. “No, thank you. But let me know if she starts throwing strawberries.”
“I wish she’d play for the Yankees,” says Hayden, and tosses the lemon up and down like a baseball.
Rosamond nods and smiles.
Hayden continues to search for a smooth transition to the topic of dating. “It sure is a pleasure to have some company,” he begins haltingly. “Not that Joey isn’t great company.”
“No, of course not,” Rosamond agrees almost too quickly. “He’s a wonderful boy. I’ve enjoyed getting to know him. And it’s been such a long time since I’ve been around a young person. It’s very refreshing.” As she takes another sip from her effervescing ice cream soda Hayden can see that her tongue has turned a dark shade of purple with a bright green patch at the back.
Realizing that to find the right words is a futile pursuit, he decides to move on to Plan B. He places Mrs. Trummel’s lemon on the small white table and casually stretches his arms above his head and lowers one so that it rests on Rosamond’s back with his hand atop her shoulder. Only she jumps up and lets out a surprised cry as if a wasp has stung her. The ice cream soda flies up in the air and lands squarely in Hayden’s lap, the cold liquid causing him to also let out a holler and leap to his feet.
“Oh no!” says Rosamond and covers her face with her hands.
Hayden scoops a glob of ice cream off the front of his trousers and Rosamond tries to help by plucking at the small red, pink, and orange squares of sticky bubble gum that now cover his midsection. Mrs. Trummel, however, has chosen this exact moment to rush the rabbits in her garden with a broom.
Seeing Hayden standing there with Rosamond down on her knees profusely apologizing and preoccupied with his crotch, Mrs. Trummel looks as if she’s witnessing an indiscretion that requires turning her broom on the two of them. And perhaps the only thing that stops her is that they’re all interrupted by the arrival of Joey, sobbing and holding a blood-soaked towel up to his face.
Mrs. Trummel, having raised four boys and three girls, is considerably less shocked by the sight of a bleeding boy than she is by whatever Hayden and Rosamond appeared to be doing. “Fight,” she proclaims while removing the blood-soaked towel and expertly tilts Joey’s head back to get a good look at his injuries. “One fat lip and that’ll be a black eye tomorrow,” she says. “Put some ice on it. And protect your face next time, Joseph. Even my girls know that.”
Sitting at the kitchen table Rosamond listens to Joey recount the story of the scuffle down at the pool while Hayden wraps ice in a washcloth and covers it with a plastic bag. Just as the boy is starting to calm down Diana arrives home from work. Dropping her packages onto the floor she sprints to embrace her son. “We have to get him to the emergency room right away!”
“Jayzus, it’s just a shiner and a fat lip, Diana,” says Hayden. “Do’an’ make things any worse than they are. You should have let me take the lad to boxing lessons over at the Y like I told you in the first place.”
“I just don’t understand why boys have to be so mean. Who would do something like this to an innocent child? Are you sure you didn’t say something to make them angry?” she demands while pressing the icepack to Joey’s face.
“I told you, every time I put my towel down another one would come over and say it was his spot,” Joey mumbles through her hand. “And then they wanted a five-dollar ‘parking fee.’ ” His voice begins to quaver in a conditioned response to the tears welling up in the corners of his mother’s eyes. Sometimes he hates her for overreacting to every cut and scrape, as if a black eye is equivalent to the plague. If only he’d grown up playing ball with other boys and going to camp in the summer. But now it’s too late. The bullies sniff him out right away, like sharks heading for blood in the water.
“Okay, that’s enough boo-hooing,” announces Hayden and pulls Diana away from her excessive ministrations. “Wet sheep don’t shrink. They shake off the water.” He hustles his grandson past both women. “Let’s go and get some ice cream.”
But the mention of “ice cream” suddenly brings Hayden and Rosamond back to the terrible moment when all the chaos began. Hayden can’t tell if he’s angry or just plain disappointed by Rosamond’s reaction to his overture. Bloody hell, she didn’t have to screech and jump up like that. Was the thought of him as her boyfriend that terri
fying? How about a polite removal of the offending arm and one of those ridiculous lines that women are so great at: “I really like you, but only as a friend.” Or in their case she could have just as easily said, “With us both dying I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
For her part, Rosamond is still in a state of shock. She thinks constantly about that first day at the baseball game when Hayden casually placed his arm around her shoulders, and how it made her spine tingle with pleasure. It was so memorable and thrilling that the next time they went to a game she’d made sure to be right next to him when it looked as if the Mets might score a home run. So why did she have to scream like that and spill ice cream all over him? It was all so horribly embarrassing. She’s too chagrined even to glance in his direction.
Hayden keeps his hands on Joey’s shoulders to avoid meeting her gaze as he gruffly asks, “You coming, Rosie?”
“I . . . I’d better help Diana with dinner.”
Diana senses that something disagreeable has transpired between Hayden and Rosamond. She takes a closer look at them and her eyes settle on the multihued goo covering the front of his khakis and Rosamond’s hazard orange–stained lips. “Dad, what is that all over your pants?”
He irritably barks back at her, “After thirty years in the insurance business I’ve finally fallen victim to an Act of God.”
chapter twenty-two
When Joey comes back alone from getting ice cream with Hayden, and Diana hears a car pulling out of the driveway, she immediately senses that something is amiss. “Where’s your grandfather?”
“He said he’s going out,” replies Joey.
“What else did he say?” Diana insists.
“Not to wait up.” Joey goes directly to the kitchen sink and washes his hands before dinner without being asked in an effort to improve her mood. It’s not been lost on him that Diana always gets grouchy whenever Hayden goes out at night. And by checking the clock all evening she inevitably orders him off to bed much earlier than if she’s happily watching one of her favorite movies.
Throwing up her arms as if they’re goalposts for a place kicker, Diana turns to Rosamond. “I hate it when he goes and gets drunk with those crazy Scottish friends of his. They should all be in detox.”
“Oh dear,” says Rosamond, feeling responsible for Hayden’s departure. This must be what is meant by the expression “driving someone to drink.” Fortunately Diana doesn’t appear to blame her. Nor has she asked about what transpired in the backyard. And Rosamond has been too embarrassed to volunteer any information.
Once they’re all sitting at the dinner table, Diana turns her attention back to Joey’s bruised face, though his pained expression is more the result of a bruised ego. Diana examines the patches of green and yellow appearing beneath his swollen left eye. She reaches out to touch the scab forming above his split lip but he pushes her away.
“Well, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day,” concludes Diana.
An hour after Joey is sent off to bed, Rosamond sits in her room trying to concentrate on a book while the voices coming from Diana’s TV in the next bedroom murmur in the background. When she hears a car pull into the driveway Rosamond jumps up, tosses the book onto the bed, and pushes back the curtains. The station wagon is parked half on the lawn and half in the driveway, and a slightly stooped Hayden is careening toward the front porch. Rosamond checks her face in the mirror, straightens her hair, and rushes downstairs to meet him.
Only there’s no sign of Hayden anywhere on the first floor. Opening the front door she finds him leaning against the house with one hand on his midsection and the other gripping the metal railing along the steps. Even in the dimness of the porch light she can make out beads of perspiration on his forehead and that his normally ruddy complexion has turned ashen.
“Hayden!” she cries, alarmed to see this normally effervescent figure so debilitated. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Rosamond takes his arm in an effort to help him inside but he shrugs her off and manages to stumble over the threshold on his own steam.
“No, it’s The Cancer that’s killing me. I’m just the battleground.” He turns so that his face is only a few inches from hers and she can smell the sweet but tangy aroma of whiskey on his breath. “What do you care?” he jabs an accusing finger into her shoulder.
“Why of course I care,” she says so quietly that it’s impossible to tell whether she’s afraid of waking Joey or of the words she’s saying.
“It wasn’t as if I was goin’ ta hurt you this afternoon!”
“I know that,” she replies, trying hard to sound convincing.
“Then why’d you jump away from me?” His voice rises sharply on the word jump.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Yes, I think you do.” Once again he pokes at her shoulder where a summer-weight cotton sweater covers her blouse. “Bloody Brides of Christ. Two layers of clothing over twenty layers of thick skin.”
“Dad!” Diana comes racing down the stairway. “What is going on here?” But she doesn’t wait for an answer. It’s obvious that Hayden has been “overserved,” as he likes to put it. She places his arm over her shoulder and half drags him toward his new room at the back of the house.
Hayden goes along with Diana more because he welcomes the support than he’s ready to call it a night. Though he manages to turn his head and yell back at Rosamond, “I wasn’t goin’ ta hurt you!”
When Diana returns to the living room Rosamond starts trying to explain recent events, but her words come out in a jumble and tears begin to fill the corners of her eyes.
Diana places an arm around her new friend. “It’s okay, don’t cry. Believe me, I can figure out what happened. I’ve been there a million times. But don’t take it personally. Dad’s drunk and he didn’t mean what he said. Let’s go watch Algiers with Hedy Lamarr and Charles Boyer. It starts at midnight.”
Rosamond, feeling uncharacteristically fragile, searches her pockets for a tissue. “But, what he said, I mean . . . he did, I mean . . .”
“Listen Rosamond, a man thinks that a woman has rejected him and immediately there must be something wrong with her, right? It can’t possibly have to do with him.”
“But he’s so angry with me.”
“Oh, he’s not mad, he’s just embarrassed.” Diana waves dismissively in the direction of Hayden’s room. “You’ll see, it will all be okay tomorrow. He probably won’t even remember that he saw you tonight. Welcome to family life.” She nods toward the stairs. “In the meantime, you’ll find that TV boyfriends are much better companions. You don’t need to wear makeup or high heels, and the minute they become annoying you just switch them off and go to sleep.”
chapter twenty-three
The next morning Rosamond nervously waits for Hayden to emerge from his room, hoping that Diana is right and that he won’t remember last night’s altercation. She wishes, in fact, that there were some way to erase all of yesterday from his mind.
At nine o’clock Rosamond starts back toward Hayden’s room for the third time, but upon reaching the closed door turns away, realizing that she can’t bear another round like last night. Only what can he possibly be doing in there? On a normal day, he’d have already been to the gas station and the newsstand by now.
Just when Rosamond is about to send Joey into the room, Hayden comes marching through the front door singing “The Blue Bells of Scotland” with great gusto.
“Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? He’s gone wi’ streaming banners, where noble deeds are don’ And it’s oh! in my heart I wish him safe at home.”
Rosamond’s anxiety disappears as she laughs at the picture of Hayden she’s had in her head all morning, angry and ailing in his bed without anything to eat or drink. So sure was Rosamond that he was still in his room she hadn’t even thought to check if the car was in the driveway.
Hayden waltzes gaily past her, stoppi
ng just long enough to drop a small box covered in gold wrapping paper into her lap, and then disappears into the kitchen with a bakery bag. She doesn’t know what to make of the situation. He is giving her a present? When she’s the one who acted like such a frigid fool? Although maybe it isn’t a present at all. Perhaps it’s another of his suicide potions.
Rosamond tentatively peels away the paper and opens the box to find a shiny new charm bracelet with six charms already dangling from a silver chain. She carefully studies each one—the Empire State Building, an apple, a museum, a banner for the Mets, an adorable miniature rendition of the Brooklyn Bridge, and on the end a little fish. She can’t help but wonder if the fish is intended as a symbol of Christianity or a memento of their fishing trips.
Glancing toward the kitchen Rosamond hears the sounds of Hayden making coffee and pushing down the squeaky lever on the old-fashioned toaster. He must have stopped to buy bagels while he was out. Hayden loved the reaction he got from the counter people and other customers when he gleefully ordered his favorite bagel, “an everything with nothing.”
Rosamond is thrilled by the gift, but even more so with the idea of a man buying her a present. It was just like a scene out of the movies Diana is always watching. In fact, the night before last they were in Diana’s room watching The Old Maid when a nostalgic Bette Davis said something to the effect of: “A woman never stops thinking of the man she loves; she thinks of him in all sorts of unconscious ways—a sunset, an old song, a cameo . . . and a chain.” And Rosamond and Diana found it so breathtakingly romantic that they’d both hugged their pillows and sighed.
Holding up the bracelet and seeing it sparkle and shine in the morning light causes her heart to rise in her chest. But it abruptly falls back to earth as Rosamond remembers that she’s not allowed any jewelry other than her cross, rosary, and wedding ring. She drops the bracelet back into its box as she painfully recalls the day she sold her mother’s pearls to make a dowry that would be presented to the Church upon taking her final vows.
Last Call Page 12
