A Woman's Place

by Barbara Delinsky

  I touched the briefcase by my leg. “Hard to believe this is number twenty-eight.”

  It had been twelve years since the first WickerWise had opened. That flagship store still operated out of an abandoned fire station in Essex, a short fifteen-minute drive from the house. It had become the model for a chain of stores that stretched from Nantucket to Seattle. We kept a tight rein on our franchises, Brody and I. All were in freestanding buildings—old schoolhouses, abandoned bars, service stations, general stores, even a retired church or two. That was part of the charm. The rest came from the internal design, based on our central plan, and the presentation of the wicker furniture we sold. Brody and I controlled that, too. All ordering went through us. One of us directed the opening of each franchise and revisited twice yearly.

  Twenty-eight franchises, another dozen boutiques in upscale department stores, a wicker plant in central Pennsylvania, rooms in numerous charity show houses—it boggled my mind, when I stopped to think about it. So much in so little time, nearly serendipitous. I had potted a tiny plant and it was blooming wildly.

  “Know where we’re going?” Kikit asked Brody. She had come up from behind to lean around the side of his seat with one little sweatered arm hooked around his large leather sleeve. She should have been sitting back, belted in like Johnny was, but I didn’t have the heart to insist when the flight attendants would do it soon enough. Besides, Brody was a good driver, and he loved my kids. If there were an accident, that large leather sleeve would be cinching Kikit to his seat back in no time flat.

  “Cleveland, I believe,” he answered, ever so patient, though we both knew what was to come.

  “You ever been there?”

  “You know I have, Clara Kate.”

  “Well, tell me anyway.”

  “I went to college in Cleveland,” Brody dutifully said. “That’s where I met your dad.”

  “And my mom.”

  “And your mom. But first your dad. We were fraternity brothers.” He paused. It was part of the game.

  Kikit prompted, “You raised all kinds of hell.”

  “We were into all kinds of mischief, was what I was going to say,” he corrected, prim enough to win one of Kikit’s sweet little laughs. “Then we graduated and went to business school in different places and didn’t see each other for a while.”

  “Six years.”

  “You know the story better than me.”

  I closed my eyes, rested my head back, and smiled. She did, indeed. Brody had continued telling it to her long after Dennis had tired of the repetition.

  “You and Daddy talked about it a while, then went into business together, but not in Cleveland. Did you know my grandma in Cleveland?”

  “Nope. Didn’t meet her until I was living out here.”

  “Is she gonna die?”

  My eyes flew open. I looked back at Kikit, about to scold her for suggesting such a thing. Then my gaze slid to Johnny’s alert face, and I realized that she was only saying what they were both thinking. She did that a lot—and I loved her for it, even when it demanded answers I wasn’t ready to give.

  “Not today or tomorrow,” Brody answered for me.

  “But soon?” Kikit asked.

  “Maybe. She’s been sick for a while. Her body’s getting pretty tired.”

  “I get tired sometimes.”

  The final s had a faint th sound to it, the remnant of a lisp that only appeared at moments of stress. The mention of sickness would do it.

  “Not the same,” Brody said. “Not the same at all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely, positively. You get tired like we all get tired. With your grandma, it’s her age, and the sickness she has.”

  “Cancer.”

  “Cancer.”

  Kikit took a loud breath. I steeled myself for a deepening of the onslaught, only to hear a long-suffering, “Brody, are we going to the circus this year? You promised me we would, but I haven’t heard anything about it. My friend Lily’s going. So’s Alexander Bly. I want to go, too.”

  “I have tickets.”

  She lit up. “You do? When? Are we sitting in the middle like we did last year? That was where all the elephants did that climbing thing, remember that, Brody? It. Was. So. Cool. Joy,” Brody’s daughter, as distinguished from Kikit’s doll, “is coming, too, isn’t she, because it wouldn’t be right if we went without her. I want another alligator like Hector, can I get one, Mommy? A purple one this time? I don’t care what Daddy says, alligators need to be with other alligators. Can I, please?”

  Connie Grant had always been a small woman, but everything about her seemed to have shrunk even more in the few weeks since I had seen her last. Size, color, energy—all diminished. She was heavily medicated. Her eyes focused only in spurts. The immediate problem, the doctor had explained during one of my calls, wasn’t the cancer but her heart. Repair work was out of the question. She was too weak.

  She must have called on every last bit of strength she had to be alert for the children, because as soon as Johnny and Kikit took off with my sister, leaving us alone for a spell, she closed her eyes and lay silent.

  Heavy-hearted, I sat close by her side. After a few minutes, I began to hum and was rewarded enough by her weak grin to put words to the tune. Connie loved Streisand. Starting with “Evergreen,” I sang softly until she was rested enough to open her eyes. I finished the last few bars of “The Way We Were” and smiled.

  Her own smile was brief and wan. The look that followed was adult, woman to woman, startlingly acute. It held the truth that I feared, and made me say a fast, “Don’t even think it.”

  “How not to?” she asked in a frail voice. “I’m not able to do much but lie here and think. Ironic. So much idle time.” She closed her eyes, sighed. “I was always busy. So busy, with so little to show.” Her eyes opened, begging my understanding. “It’s frustrating, all I wanted to do in life and didn’t.”

  “You did tons,” I said, “starting way back when Daddy died. You were the one who kept us afloat. You held two jobs, worked night and day.”

  “I chased my tail, was what I did. Couldn’t seem to get ahead. Like now. I get a handle on the pain, then it hits me again. I’m tired, Claire.”

  It frightened me to hear despair, made me angry, too, because Connie Grant didn’t deserve to be dying at sixty-three. She had fought long and hard for a better life, fought even harder when things wouldn’t come easy. “Oh, Mom. There have been positive things. Lots of them.”

  “You, certainly.” She sighed. “Rona, I don’t know.”

  “You did just fine with Rona.”

  “She’s thirty-eight going on twelve.”

  “Well, then, for a twelve year old, she’s a whiz. She’s been here for you, Mom. Much more than I have. I wish I lived closer.”

  “Even if you did, you have a family. You have a business. Rona has nothing.”

  “She has friends.”

  “They’re as lost as she is. Not a one of them has direction, other than to the beauty shop for a manicure. What would Rona do if she didn’t have me to hover over? Two husbands have come and gone, she has no children, no career. I worry about her.”

  “She’s just a little lost. She’ll find herself.”

  “Will you watch out for her, Claire?” Connie pleaded, more pale than ever. “Once I’m gone, Rona will have no one but you.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Offer her a franchise.”

  “I have. She won’t take it.”

  “Offer it again. She’ll go through Harold’s money in no time. Poor thing, she’s nearly as dependent as I was when your father died. Maybe she needs a scare, like I had. Sad, how history repeats itself. You try to save your children from making the same mistakes you did…” The ardor that had been holding her up let her down. She sank deeper into the pillows. “At least I succeeded with you. Talk to me. Where is this newest franchise?”

  Content to be distracted, I told her ab
out the St. Louis store and about the International Home Furnishings show in North Carolina. She smiled and nodded, though I sensed her floating in and out. Still, WickerWise pleased her. So, while she lay there with her head turned my way, I told her about the flood damage to be assessed at our franchise in New Orleans, the possible expansion of our franchise in Denver, the franchisee to be interviewed, and potential locations to be visited in Atlanta.

  “Good,” she said at one point, and at another, “The more cities the better—visibility is important,” and finally, predictably, “and New York?”

  We had a store in East Hampton that was thriving, but East Hampton wasn’t Manhattan, as far as Mother was concerned. She wanted a WickerWise on Fifth Avenue.

  “Not yet,” I said. “Maybe in a few years.”

  “Now that would be success. Don’t you think so?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Manhattan’s tough. The overhead alone would be a killer. Maybe a boutique in a department store—”

  “All by itself on Fifth Avenue. No less. Now. Tell me everything the children didn’t.”

  I told her about Johnny singing with the church choir, about Kikit’s Brownie troop’s flower sale, about their teachers and friends. I talked until she wilted again. She seemed angry this time, resentful of wasting my visit. So I left her to her rest, promising to be back at dinnertime.

  Rona was a scant two years my junior. We had grown up sharing a bedroom, clothes, even friends, and we should have been close. That we weren’t stemmed from the fact that we also shared Connie. Sharing her wasn’t hard for me. Connie and I were so much alike that I always came out on top when comparisons were made. Rona was the different one, the one out of sync, the one who wanted Mom’s approval and tried so hard that she bombed every time. Still she came back for more, determined to get it right.

  Thinking to rescue us all from poverty, at twenty she had rushed into marriage to the richest, most eligible bachelor she could find. Three years and two mistresses later, Jerry became her ex. Not to be discouraged, particularly since I was on the verge of marriage, she found husband number two. Harold was the richest, oldest eligible bachelor she could find, and he didn’t cheat on her. He died.

  My children loved Rona, and she them. While I visited with Mom, she took them to movies, to toy stores, to the science museum, to restaurants where anyone who was anyone in greater Cleveland took their kids. The need to be moving that came across as restlessness when she was with adults, came across as stamina when she was with children. And why not? She was a child herself when she was with them, albeit the one with the open wallet. There was defiance in what she did with Kikit and Johnny, as though the goal wasn’t so much to do one thing or another, but simply to do what I wouldn’t. Rona might live to please Connie, but she loved challenging me. I was the Scrooge, the disciplinarian. I was, when all was said and done, the cause of her deepest angst.

  I was also the one in charge of answering questions, of which there was a nonstop stream. Rona was suspicious, demanding to know what the doctors had told me, convinced they weren’t telling her half as much. Johnny was evasive, asking about the fate of his grandmother’s cat when he couldn’t ask about that of his grandmother, but Kikit had no such qualms. If it wasn’t, “What was in that shot?” it was, “Did you see her hand shaking?” or, “Why is the machine beeping that way?” or, “I heard her cry when they were turning her to the side. Why was she crying, Mommy?”

  The children joined me at the hospital twice each day, short visits designed to be light and cheery, but they were upset by their grandmother’s frailty. So Rona, quite happily, took off with them. My arrival was her escape, which she made no effort to hide. Sometimes she said a dry, “Good luck,” or a teasing, “We’ll be thinking of you.” Other times there was only a look of satisfaction that said it was payback time.

  And she was right. Not only was she in the hospital all those days when I wasn’t, but she saw a different, more judgmental side of Connie. She was the one who bore the brunt of Connie’s frustration.

  No, I didn’t blame her for wanting time off. Given a choice, I’d have been anywhere else, too, because it was painful watching my mother die. No matter how often I visited the hospital, each time I turned into that room and saw her suffering, it hit me like the first time. No matter how long I sat studying her pallor, the next visit I was shocked to find her so pale. No matter how deftly I distracted my mind when I wasn’t with her or how tired I was climbing into bed, I lay awake grieving.

  The children stayed until Tuesday. Saying good-bye to their grandmother was only the first of our trials. We arrived at the airport to learn that incoming planes had been delayed by hurricane rains whipping up the East Coast. Departure times were moved back, and back, and back. I called Dennis—at work, at home, once, twice, three times—and left messages when he didn’t answer.

  Johnny started worrying about missing practice.

  Kikit started worrying about Dennis missing their plane.

  Their departure time was delayed yet again. I left new messages for Dennis.

  Johnny cried that he really didn’t want to be benched, because the team they were playing that Saturday sucked, so his had the best chance of winning.

  Kikit cried—repeatedly—that Michael, Travis, and Joy were in her suitcase and scared to death of getting lost, and what did happen to luggage during delays?

  I wasn’t any happier than the children. I didn’t like them flying alone to begin with, but when I suggested they wait for better weather the next morning, Johnny got so upset about missing practice that I relented. The airline finally rerouted them through Baltimore, which made Johnny even more nervous, which had him poking at Kikit, who came crying to me, and all I could do was to leave another message for Dennis and put the children on the plane with lingering hugs and the sworn word of the flight attendant that she would hand-deliver them to Dennis at Logan.

  I returned to the hospital with one eye on the clock and continued to try Dennis. Mostly, accessing the messages on our answering machine, I heard myself. It wasn’t until shortly before their original flight would have landed that I reached him.

  “You’ll be there?” I asked, giving him the new information.

  “Of course I’ll be there,” he answered.

  But he wasn’t. The children landed at Logan at six. Dennis didn’t arrive until six-forty. He claimed that was the time I had told him.

  It wasn’t. But arguing was pointless. All I wanted to do was to calm the children as best I could long distance, then fall into bed. I hadn’t slept well all week, never did when I was away from home. I was beat.

  I put St. Louis off until Thursday to allow an extra day with my mother. One phone call to Brody, and the arrangements were made. Friday, he and I met at the International Home Furnishings show in High Point and put in twelve-hour days from then through Monday, moving from exhibit to exhibit, meeting with sales rep after sales rep. I knew which designs I liked and which would work in our shops. Brody knew which products were well-priced and which would complement our list.

  Attuned to my worry about Connie, Brody did Denver and New Orleans for me. I did Atlanta, and, late Tuesday, returned to Cleveland. Rona was thrilled to have the added day off, but I didn’t do it for Rona. I didn’t even do it as much for Mom as for me. No matter that I was anxious to be home. Connie Grant was the only mother I would ever have. For too long I had lived too far away. Too soon it wouldn’t matter.

  The children were disappointed, but understanding. They were that way with most all of my traveling, but then, having spent their youngest years toddling around the shop, they felt personally involved in my career. They knew the merchandise, knew the jargon, knew a startling amount about each franchise as it opened. They also knew they could call me wherever I was.

  In this instance, having just seen their grandmother, they knew how ill she was. If my being there could make her happier, Kikit vowed, I should stay, even if she was missing me to bits herself.
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br />   I wished their father had been half as gracious. He made me swear to be home on the Thursday afternoon flight.

  That last Wednesday, Mother seemed stronger. She actually talked of coming east for Thanksgiving, and, while the doctors thought it improbable, I clung to the thought. Meeting Grandma at the airport had become standard holiday fare. The kids counted on her coming. So did I.

  She insisted I call them so she could talk, and was disappointed when we got the answering machine. I figured that getting the machine was good news. “Dennis must have them out doing something good.”

  Mother’s expression grew wistful. “So easy, with those two. They’re wonderful children—articulate, mature—different from each other but so special. You’re a better mother than I was.”

  “No, I’m not. I’ve been lucky, that’s all.”

  “Luck has little to do with it. People make their luck.”

  “Maybe some of it. But not all. We have been lucky, Dennis, the kids, and me. Aside from Kikit’s allergies, we’ve been healthy. The children have nice friends, they do well in school. Johnny worries me. He pressures himself to do well. But bless him, he does do well.”

  “Takes after his mother,” mine said. “My friends see your stores all the time. They ask about buying stock.” Her brows rose in question.

  “No, no. No public offering.”

  “Why not?”

  “No need. We’re not expanding so fast. I like having control. I like being personally involved with my franchisees. Much bigger, and I’ll lose that.”

  “But think of the money.”

  I already had plenty of money. Connie knew I thought so, since we’d had this discussion before. In the past she might have argued anyway. This time, looking weak, she let it ride.

  “Well, anyway, I am proud of you, Claire.”

  I knew that. Not once, from my childhood to the present, had her faith in my competence wavered. She trusted me. She believed in me.