“Let’s see what happens.”
“Right, it’s still four days away.”
“I’d better get going. Joe will be home soon.”
“Why don’t you take some leftovers for dinner. There’s plenty.”
“That’s OK. I don’t think he’s ever had spaghetti without red sauce. But I’ll tell him about it, then maybe I’ll try your recipe another night.”
The sound of the freight train faded, the sisters said goodnight, and Lily walked away.
Iris held the reins loosely in her right hand, and rested her left on the horn; she loved how smooth and worn it felt, loved knowing it was there if she needed it. The saddle creaked and groaned between the seat of her jeans and the horse’s wide back as they walked through the meadow. Iris breathed in the inebriating scent of open space, one of the things she missed most in overpopulated, overbuilt Italy. Growing up in a crowded household, she had developed an appreciation of space at an early age, and it was a luxury she would never take for granted. Rolling her pelvis with the gelding’s slow gait, she patted his neck, sending clouds of dust into the sunlight, as she tightened her thighs around his muscular body.
She watched how Jasmine rode, a short distance in front of her, and pulled herself up tall in the saddle to imitate her, while drinking in the earthy spring air. It smelled of pine resin and bark and soggy grass and caking mud, blended with leather and horse. Iris thought of Gregorio and the sterile hospital smell he brought home with him; from here, they seemed part of another planet, rather than part of her daily life. In the beginning, she had thought it a pure, clean smell, and even liked the way it reminded her a little bit of hugging Auntie Rosa, back when she used to rush over straight from work in her nurse’s uniform. Lately, Iris had found herself looking forward to the odor of Gregorio’s evening smoke which would kill the sterile smell, and had gotten into the habit of handing him a filled pipe as soon as he got home. Now if she was busy doing something else when he walked in the door, he jokingly accused her of neglecting him. She wondered if there was a way of preventing little acts of kindness from turning into habits, then routines, then duties.
“Are you with us, Iris?” Jasmine called from the head of the formation, as they entered a copse. She was the most accomplished equestrian among them, having made great progress since the days of the pony she had kept behind the chicken coop at Chestnut Crest. She now had a real barn, and a real paint mare. Not to mention a second husband, two children, a goat, three dogs, and as many cats as it took to keep mice out of the hayloft.
“I’m coming!” Iris said, gently jabbing her horse in the ribs with the heels of the boots Violet had lent her. She had asked for a quiet horse, and had gotten her wish. Her mount had been just as content as his rider’s mind to wander lazily behind the others.
Iris observed her three sisters in front of her, each with a long braid swaying to and fro against their backs, like a trio of pendulums. As they came to a clearing, the horses fanned out, and Iris stepped up her pace to bring herself alongside them. All her life, Jasmine and Violet and Marguerite had been clustered together, on the far side of Henry and Louis, while Iris had only had one sister by her side: Lily.
“I still can’t believe she didn’t come,” she heard Marguerite say as she approached. “I mean, I came all the way from New York to do this together.”
“Iris said she told her that maybe her period was late, so she didn’t want to risk it, just in case.” Violet said. “Of course, if that’s the case, she certainly shouldn’t be smoking like a fiend.”
“Or doing manual labor, like hauling boxes and crates around, or loading people’s cars, or whatever a discount store assembler does,” Marguerite said.
“If you’re talking about Lily, I can see her point. I know what it’s like,” Iris said, bringing her horse abreast. She was very disappointed that Lily didn’t join them, and wondered whether funerals would be the only way for all five sisters to get together from now on. Though she spoke in Lily’s defense, a part of her wanted to run over to her house, grab her by the shoulders, look her in the eye, and make her swear she wasn’t just making up excuses. You didn’t just lie about things like possible pregnancies and risking miscarriages.
“I’ll bet Joe just didn’t want her to come,” Violet said. “He’s always mister nice guy. A real charmer. Especially if you’re in the market for a new bedroom set. But I don’t think he really likes our family. Or at least he doesn’t like her to spend time with us, for some reason. You guys don’t live here, so you may not realize it. But whenever there’s a holiday, she can only stay half an hour, tops, then she’s whisked off to the Diotallevi family. Easter, Christmas, whatever. As if they were the goddamn Kennedy clan waiting for her at the freaking Compound or something.”
Iris swallowed. She wished she knew whether Lily was hiding something. She wished she had the courage to ask her just that. But something always held her back, that same something that made her wonder whether she really had the right to just breeze back into town, expecting everyone to find time for her, feel close enough to spill out their guts to her, then just watch her disappear again for another year.
“Speaking of families,” Marguerite said, “how are the Leales treating you these days, Signora Iris?”
“Oh, fine,” Iris said. “They’ve all been very concerned and supportive, doing their best to help. I purposely didn’t say anything to them when I went in for the GIFT procedure, but both Isabella and Cinzia showed up at the hospital. I didn’t want to be stuck in a conversation with Gregorio’s mother and sister where the topic was his sperm and my eggs. Apparently he had no qualms about explaining it all to them himself, though.”
“I really wish you would have spoken to that fertility specialist here in town, Iris,” Violet said. “I’m quite certain he would have steered you toward in vitro rather than gamete intrafallopian transfer, especially with compromised tubes. I know of one hospital in Italy where they are already doing it.”
“Yes, there’s a center in Turin. But Gregorio is against in vitro.”
“Why on earth is that? He’s a medical man himself.”
“Ask the Pope. The Catholic Church closes an eye on GIFT because fertilization still occurs inside the body, and not in a petri dish.”
“How fucked up is that?” Marguerite said.
The horses walked four abreast through the meadow, swishing their tails, trying to lower their velvety lips to the tall, sweet grass. It seemed to Iris they were enjoying the saturated colors and smells of the mild spring morning as much as she. Iris said a silent prayer of gratitude for this day, for the sun above that warmed her back, for the sisters at her side that warmed her heart.
“I’ve done what I could,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. An awareness was budding inside her, as spontaneously as the wildflowers all around them. She cleared her throat. “I’m told I still might get pregnant one day,” she said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “But I’m through with all the fertility drugs, the laparoscopies, the probing and poking and consulting. All the years of trying and waiting and hoping. And now I find myself with no baby, no college degree, no career.”
“But you still have a beautiful life,” Violet said. “And you still have Gregorio.”
“Yes, I still have Gregorio,” Iris said. Nods of agreement and encouragement were exchanged all around. “Right.”
She took a deep breath, loosened her hold on the reins, and said, “I think I feel confident enough for a run now.” She jabbed her horse in the ribs with her heels, and he broke into a canter. Iris raced across the field with her big sisters, her loose hair flying, her heart pounding.
8. Lily
Three years after Lily’s father’s death, his estate finally passed out of probate and the house on Chestnut Crest was sold, with one-twelfth of the proceeds going to Lily. She immediately earmarked the funds for a new home.
“What’s wrong with this house?” said Joe.
“It
was a nice starter home,” said Lily. “But this neighborhood is no place to raise children, Joe. Plus, none of our neighbors are ever home, and with you working so late, I just get so bored and lonely. Maybe it would help me to live in a neighborhood with children running around, with women my own age who I can hang out with. I’ve heard that when you’re trying to get pregnant, being around little kids stimulates your hormones and everything.” Maybe it would also stimulate whatever it took to stay pregnant. She would need all the help she could get.
“Still, there’s no reason we can’t spend some of that money,” said Joe. “Let’s take a thousand and go on a trip - have a little fun. Maybe even turn that thousand into three or four. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”
“Look,” said Lily, surprised at her own sense of self-possession. “There is no way I am going to let you gamble any of that money.” She girded herself for the trouble she knew her words would cause.
“Oh, you’re not going to let me?” Joe looked up from his fried bologna sandwich, and stared at Lily with raised eyebrows. “Is that what you said - ‘let’ me?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, Joe.” Lily felt emboldened by the fact that it was legally her money, and how she chose to spend it was limited only by her ability to take ownership of it. She pulled on her rubber gloves and stepped up to the sink, with her back to Joe. She felt braver if she didn’t have to look at him.
“After all, it is my money.”
“Your money? Is that how we’re playing it now?”
“That’s how we’ve been playing it, Joe.” Lily squirted a stream of dishwashing liquid into the flow of hot water. “Do you ever ask me before you blow your paycheck at the track?”
“I don’t blow my paycheck at the track, don’t exaggerate.” Joe took a bite of his sandwich, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh, that’s right - you don’t even have to go to the track to lose it all anymore. I forgot about last Saturday. I still can’t believe you guys leave work in the middle of the day to go to OTB.” Lily scrubbed at the flecks of Wheaties that had dried like cement onto the inside of a cereal bowl. The least he could do was rinse out his breakfast dishes, but then again if she could only win one battle today, she would rather not waste it on matters of housekeeping.
“You have no idea what it’s been like during the market slowdown these past few months - standin’ around all day, in an empty showroom. We just rot some days, staring at each other. It’s enough to drive ya crazy. Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that, because you don’t have to worry about paying the bills.”
“I worry plenty,” said Lily. “And I know people aren’t spending money right now - don’t I work at a store, too?
Joe rolled his eyes.
“When things are slow, why don’t you read a book or something? Or make sales calls? If you’re not going to use the time to make more money, at least don’t use it to do more gambling.” Under her breath, she added, “God knows you do enough of that already.”
“Why do ya gotta bust my chops, Lil, huh?” Joe shook a pile of potato chips onto his plate. “I work really hard - and I make more money now than I ever have. ”
“You’re spending more, too, Joe - money leaves this house faster than it comes in. If you think I’m going to let my father’s money get frittered away like that, you’re crazy. Either we put the money into a new house, or you go on a budget.”
“I am not going on a fuckin’ budget,” said Joe.
“Then I guess I have my answer,” said Lily.
By the following Christmas, Lily and Joe had moved into their new three-bedroom split level, located precisely at 44 Trevi Way, in the heart of Gates. The schools had a great reputation, and almost every house on the street had a woman Lily’s age with at least one child. Lily quickly became acquainted with her new next-door neighbors Steve and Donna, who had been transplanted to the area from Texas. Donna was a buxom blond with a four-year-old daughter, and the remnants of a drawl that reminded Lily of Grandma Whitacre.
Besides the neighborhood, Lily’s favorite feature of the new house was the tree that gracefully danced outside the kitchen. She knew that if she took a twig to the garden store, they would be able to tell her what kind of a tree it was, but Lily preferred to think of it as “my tree.” She sat beneath its branches to unwind at the end of the day, or to have coffee in the early morning. She hung a variety of bird feeders throughout its limbs and loved listening to the coos of the mourning doves, and watching the blue jays and cardinals streak their bold colors across the yard. Even in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, she would slip downstairs, quietly slide the patio doors open, and sit listening to the feathery twigs bobbing and swaying in the breeze, the way her hair used to do when it grazed her waist.
Joe’s favorite feature of the house was the family room, which provided the perfect space for his recliner, a comfortable couch, and the biggest television set they carried at La Casa Bella. The advent of cable television sports was a gambler’s dream, and Joe, Alfonso, and Anthony spent frenetic Sunday afternoons crammed onto the couch like a three-headed, six-legged monster, monitoring their football bets and screaming at the TV.
“Son-of-a-bitchin’-bastard!” Joe shouted one Sunday, as the final score of the game flashed on the screen. He clicked off the TV and flung the remote control across the room, knocking a lamp off the end table.
“I knew I shouldna sat next to you,” said Alfonso. “I ain’t never seen such a jinx - I can’t win when I watch a game with you.”
“It’s not me,” shouted Joe. “It’s those goddamn Vikings. I picked the right team, didn’t I?”
Lily heart sank. The Vikings game was the last one on Joe’s football parlay. She was hoping for a win; the mortgage was two weeks past due.
“I thought you bet on the Vikings,” Lily said to Joe, confused.
“I did.”
“They won, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, but they didn’t beat the spread. They only won by a touchdown, and I had them minus six, which means that bad kick for the extra point just cost me three thousand dollars.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Lily. “If they won, you should collect.”
“OK, Lil – I’ll go to my bookie and tell him you said so. Maybe he’ll pay me the three thousand out of the goodness of his heart.” Alfonso and Anthony laughed.
“We’re gonna take off,” said Anthony. “We’re gonna watch the next game at Alfonso’s house. Our only shot at winning is gettin’ away from you - you’re a Jonah.”
“What’s a Jonah?” asked Lily.
“It’s from the Bible,” said Alfonso. “There was this guy named Jonah and God had it in for him - he was on this boat full of people and God was going to sink the whole boat because of him, so they were forced to throw him into the ocean where he was eaten by a whale.”
Anthony cupped his hands around his mouth. “Man overboard!”
“You goddamn guys are real funny, you know that?” said Joe. “Real goddamn funny.”
“And don’t call me until after the clock runs out on the next game, you hear me?” shouted Alfonso, as he pulled the front door closed behind him. “I don’t even want to hear your voice at halftime.”
“I ain’t no Jonah,” said Joe, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. He looked down at his parlay slip, ripped it up in pieces and threw them into the air. Picking up the receiver of the phone in the kitchen, he pounded out a series of numbers with such force that the wall seemed to shake.
“Yeah - this is number one-thirty-seven,” he said. “What’s the line on the late game?”
Joe muttered a string of numbers and cities and sports team names and hung up the phone.
“I have a good feeling about this next game, baby,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “When do we eat?”
The first half of the late game passed in a blur of cussing and screaming, which Lily heard from the kitchen as she prepared Sunday dinner,
using Lucy’s “secret” recipe for sauce, which had become one more thing that most women seemed to be able to do without trying, but that Lily just couldn’t seem to master. Even after six years of marriage, Joe would take his first mouthful of pasta, wipe his mouth, and proclaim, “You’re getting there, baby!” Replicating Lucy’s sauce was a rite of passage as a Diotallevi wife, and Lily would not give up until she got it right.
At halftime, Joe came into the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and paced in nervous circles around the table.
“How’s it going?” Lily asked. She stood at the sink washing dishes, steeling herself for the answer she had come to expect.
“Those goddamn officials are crooked,” said Joe. “Every last one of ‘em has money on the Jets, I can just tell. I’ve got no shot, not a goddamn chance in hell. It’s all been fixed.”
Joe pulled a slice of Italian bread from the loaf that sat on the counter and dipped it into the pot of bubbling tomato sauce. He took a lusty bite, then grimaced and tossed the rest of the bread into the garbage can. He walked up behind Lily, cupped her left breast with his left hand, and with his right hand he reached down and clasped the flesh between her legs.
“If we hurry, I can get back down there before the third quarter starts.”
Lily knew that if she didn’t submit to him now, she would have to later, when she would be more tired and he would be more angry. Besides, according to the personal ovulation calendar she kept, it was day thirteen of her cycle, and getting her pregnant was something that Joe would not give up on until Lily got it right.
Three weeks later, Lily purchased a home pregnancy kit, paying cash so it wouldn’t show up on their credit card statement. It was much easier to go through the process alone. That way, she only had to deal with her own anxiety, and console her own disappointment. The agony of the fifteen minutes she had to wait before that glorious pink line appeared on the detection strip was dwarfed by the days that inched her ever closer to the two-month mark. One more month to go before she would be in the clear and could triumphantly tell Joe - and the rest of the world - that she was finally going to have a baby.
[Iris and Lily 01.0 - 03.0] The Complete Series Page 75
