by Cathy Holton
The sun was setting as she drove down the mountain, a glorious display of red and purple clouds above the city skyline. She drove with her window down, one arm resting on the sill. The air was balmy and fragrant with spring. Days like this reminded her of her earliest childhood, when it was just her and Candy traveling through the Deep South. Late spring was when they always moved, when Candy tired of her job or the man in her life, and got itchy to move on. There was a gypsy-like feel to spring, a sense of hope that things would get better, that a new life waited for them just over the next green hill.
Stella propped her elbow on the sill and leaned her head against her hand. She felt listless, depressed. Cell phone texts from collection agencies, moments of introspection could do that to her. She felt as if her life was slipping away and she was powerless to stop its inevitable slide. She had read case histories where children, even those who had been horribly abused by a parent, will choose to be returned to that parent. Fedderson had written considerably on the subject.
It seemed sad to Stella that with all her experience and education, she still had days when all she wanted was her mother.
Eleven
Bill Whittington was becoming more and more visible. He no longer shimmered at the edges with diffused light but came through clear and solid. And he came more frequently, too, standing in her bedroom doorway with one shoulder pressed to the jamb. Sometimes he was in a suit but usually he was dressed in his golf clothes.
“We had a good life, Old Girl,” he said to Alice one night as she was drifting off to sleep.
She opened one eye and stared at him. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” she said.
“All things considered.”
She readjusted her pillow behind her head and lay back down. She could see him between her feet, hovering several inches off the ground.
“I’m not saying it was perfect. I had my,” he hesitated here. “My indiscretion,” he continued. “And you, of course, had yours.”
She sighed. It seemed unfair that the dead were privy to the secrets of the living. She wondered what she would learn about Bill Whittington once she passed over.
“Nothing you don’t already know,” he answered.
“Hush,” she said. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“All in all, I’d have to say it was a good life.”
“I suppose so.”
“Not everyone can say that.”
“No.”
“I knew from the first time I saw you that you were the girl for me.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes.”
“You have to admit, Al, there aren’t many who’ve had the chances we had.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose not,” she said in a quiet voice. She could hear footsteps coming along the hallway. He shimmered in the doorway, beginning to fade.
“Leave the regret behind you. Let it go.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
The hall light clicked on suddenly and Alice raised her head from the pillow, blinking. Elaine’s thin, startled face came into focus.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked Alice, her tone wary, suspicious. “I heard you on the monitor.”
Alice closed her eyes and lay back down, turning her face to the wall.
“No one,” she said.
Bill had made Alice pack his leather-cased traveling bar so they could stop for highballs at cocktail hour. He was a man of custom and ritual and he refused to leave the trappings of polite society behind him when he traveled. They were driving up to Charlottesville to see Roddy graduate. Sawyer was still in prep school and he couldn’t come, so it was just the two of them setting out on a lovely May morning. The azaleas were in bloom and everywhere the city was ablaze with riotous color. Alice, who, as a good Presbyterian, often made do with a splash of ginger ale and lime, would have been happy to leave the bar behind. But after twenty-five years of marriage, she had learned that it was easier to simply give in to Bill’s demands.
“Damn it, I wish we hadn’t told Froggy we’d stay with them,” Bill said. His snowy white shirt was spotless, ironed and starched. His cufflinks glittered in the sunlight.
“Well, we couldn’t very well tell them ‘no’ when we’ve stayed with them every time before.”
“Guest beds are always so wretched.”
“He’s your fraternity brother,” Alice reminded him.
They drove for awhile in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
“Never thought I’d see this day,” Bill said, smoothing his school tie against his narrow starched chest.
“Nor I,” Alice said.
Roddy had taken six years to graduate, not because he wasn’t as smart as Sam, but because he was less willing to apply himself.
“I swear, if Sam hadn’t come up and done so well, I don’t think Roddy would have ever finished. He couldn’t bear the idea of his younger brother doing better than he did.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s it at all.” Alice was a fiercely protective mother. When the children were small they had been cared for by a colored woman named Leta while Alice volunteered at her various charity organizations. Working with underprivileged children she had seen first-hand the damage visited on children by irresponsible, uncaring parents. “It just took Roddy a little longer to find himself, is all.”
Bill sighed. “Well, it takes some longer to get over fool’s hill than others.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Roddy’s intelligence,” she said quickly.
He looked at her and grinned. “Now, now, calm down, Mother.” He patted her fondly on the knee. “They’re all fine boys.”
“Yes, they are.”
“And I’m proud of all of them.”
“Of course we are.”
“I’m especially proud of Sam for being chosen to live on the Lawn. That’s quite an honor.”
“Yes,” Alice said.
Sam was a rising senior and had been chosen to live on the Lawn next year. Roddy had applied but had never been accepted. They were both tall and good-looking but their temperaments were very different. Sam had an easy, carefree manner that made him popular with students and faculty alike, and assured him entrance into one of the best secret societies, The Raven Society. Roddy tried too hard and inevitably rubbed people the wrong way. He had a tendency to brag about the branch of the family who had married into European nobility, and Sam would never have done such a thing. Sam wrote and performed in a skit held during Easters, a hilarious spoof that made him a legend on campus. He had effortlessly pledged Delta Kappa Epsilon while Roddy had had to make do with SAE, Bill’s old fraternity.
“And don’t forget, this is Roddy’s day. Make sure you congratulate him.”
“Well, of course I will, honey.”
Alice loved all her sons. But she was the first to admit that her love had different qualities for each; it was something she hadn’t realized before she had children. That you could love each one in a different way.
“They’re fine-looking boys. I’m glad they got your looks.”
It was true, they were all tall and blonde and blue-eyed. They took after the Sawyers. Bill was constantly having photographs of himself taken with his handsome sons who towered over him. Alice avoided having her photograph made whenever she could. She had begun to put on a middle-age plumpness that bothered her, and she was self-conscious now about seeing herself through the unforgiving lens of a camera.
“My mother told me I should marry you because you’d produce good-looking children.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Alice gave him a cynical look.
“She said the bloodlines would tell.”
“That sounds like something your mother would say.”
“She was a Grand Old Gal.”
“She was a GOG, all right.”
“Now, honey.”
Growing up, as he did, in an all-female house, Bill had been the darling of his mother and sisters. His father had died when he was only ten and he�
�d been spoiled and pampered. Alice had not been fond of her mother-in-law. They’d been wary adversaries, competitors for Bill’s affection. It was her mother-in-law’s constant interference that Alice felt had so spoiled the early years of her marriage. She had finally put her foot down and the old woman, as if to spite her, had promptly sickened and died.
Bill’s sisters were vain, silly creatures who made Alice glad she’d only had sons. Madeline, the eldest, was so stupid she had barely passed through school. It was only her grandfather’s position as head of the county school board that had insured her graduation. Louisa, the youngest, had been married four times, to four different scoundrels who had to be bought off each time in order to keep the divorce proceedings quiet. She lived now in Sea Island, Georgia with her “yard boy,” Antonio, a former golden gloves boxer who did odd jobs around the house and kept her pool clean.
“You were a real thoroughbred,” Bill said, giving her an appreciative look.
“Watch the road please,” she said primly.
“Legs like a goddamned show girl.”
“Oh? How many show girls do you know?”
He laughed and patted her knee. Pleased, she turned her face to the window so he couldn’t see her smile.
At five o’clock they stopped for cocktails. It was in a little town called Orangeville at a city park overlooking a small duck pond. The park was deserted except for two young boys who ran along the edge of the pond throwing bread to the ducks. Their mother sat at a picnic table, reading, occasionally glancing up to check on them.
Alice opened the bar on the seat between them and Bill did the mixing honors. They had stopped at a local drive thru and picked up cups of ice. She took a package of crackers and a container of olives out of a paper sack and set them on the dash.
Bill handed her a drink and touched his glass to the edge of hers.
“Mud,” he said.
“Mud.”
Alice drank her highball in silence, watching the boys. The alcohol relaxed her; she felt a pleasant warmth seeping through her limbs, a sense of contentment and ease. She knew women who drank alone in the afternoons while the husband was at work and the children were at school, but she had never been one of them. Not that she hadn’t been tempted. The long slow days of summer were the worst, when the children were home from school, and she had too much time to sit and think. Increments of time were built up like wooden blocks, one atop the other; breakfast, a walk in the park, lunch, nap, all carefully constructed to make up a day. The memory of her past was like a raw wound then; she had not yet learned the trick of packing her memories away like so much well-worn baggage.
She had known, instinctively, how easy it would be to surrender to the habit of drinking alone, to sink into the pleasant oblivion of intoxication, and so she had denied herself. She kept her feet firmly planted on the straight and narrow path laid down by her staunch, self-denying Presbyterian ancestors.
It was only now, when the children were grown and the painful memories of her youth had subsided to a dull insistent ache that she sometimes allowed herself the pleasure of drinking with Bill. Never alone.
“Congratulations,” he said, touching his glass to hers again.
“For what?”
“For getting our first child through college. One down, two to go.”
She smiled and sipped her drink.
“I thought we’d stop for dinner at that little café in Waynesboro.”
“All right.”
It was a good place to eat. Warmed by the alcohol, she felt a stir of anticipation. She felt peaceful, oddly disconnected from her normal life. It was as if she was viewing the two of them from a distance, as a stranger might; a middle-aged but still attractive couple, prosperous, content, safely optimistic. She had a sudden vision of her life opening up to infinite possibilities; travel to exotic places, meals in foreign cafes with unpronounceable names. Her youth had been spent in the rigors of raising a family but surely now she and Bill could lead their own lives. Surely they were entitled to that golden period she had heard slyly referred to as the “Second Honeymoon.”
Bill leaned over and touched her on the knee. “Do me a favor and get that map out of the glove box, will you?”
Alice took it out and handed it to him and he set his drink on the dash and opened the map on his lap, smoothing the edges. “Now, Froggy says we’re to ignore the road construction signs coming into Charlottesville. He says to proceed as usual.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“He says the signs are only for the tourists. And if we have to go around the city and come in the other way, then we’ll have to drive all the way through town to get to Froggy’s.”
They had another cocktail when they stopped for dinner. The restaurant was crowded with well-dressed, middle-aged couples who, like them no doubt, were on a pilgrimage to Charlottesville to watch their children graduate. Looking around the crowded room, Alice had the pleasant sensation of feeling herself intimately connected to things outside herself; the jolly crowd, the hum of conversation, the flickering candle light. She was not drunk but she was mildly relaxed. Twice she giggled at Bill’s off color jokes.
When they set out again, evening was falling. Faint stars shone above the dark ridges of the distant mountains. The traffic was heavier now than when they first started out, and Bill was quiet, concentrating on the road. When they came to the turn off they usually took, he slowed the car and pulled to the shoulder. A large detour sign straddled the two-laned road in front of them. Cars hurtled by on the highway, their headlights illuminating the detour sign like a spotlight.
“I don’t know,” Alice said hesitantly. “I almost think we should go around.”
“Froggy says we’ll be fine.”
“If there’s a detour sign, there must be a problem. We don’t know this road well enough to chance it. What if there’s a bridge out?”
“Well, Froggy lives here,” he said stubbornly. “He should know.”
Alice sighed, knowing that further argument was fruitless. He always became more certain and insistent when he drank.
“You get out, Al, and walk ahead of me.”
She looked at him. “Are you crazy?” she said. “I have my good pumps on.”
“I’ll drive slowly and keep you in the headlights.”
“I know that must be the whiskey talking because no sane man would suggest such a thing.”
“Go on now.” He leaned across her and opened the door. “Out you go.”
She got out and began to walk purposefully down the center of the road. He followed slowly behind, brakes squealing, headlights casting a half-moon of light around her feet.
“See anything, Al?” He leaned out the window, resting on one elbow. Insects swarmed the blacktop. Tall trees rose on either side of the road, blocking the starry sky.
“I can’t see a thing. It’s pitch black.”
“Damn it, Al. Walk out ahead a bit so I don’t hit you with the bumper.”
“There are bugs out here I don’t even know the name of.”
“Your comment about the bridge being out has got me thinking. I’m pretty sure there is a bridge on this road.”
She turned around and faced him, her hands on her hips, and he put his foot on the brake. “Then why am I out here?” she said. “This is crazy. Let’s go back to the highway and drive around.” She was certain now that she heard the faint sound of rushing water.
“Froggy would have told us if there was a bridge out. He would have remembered that.”
“Then you get out and walk ahead.”
“Aw, come on Al. Be a sport.”
She crossed her arms on her chest. “Who do you think I am? Sacajawea?”
“Sacajawea would have done as she was told.”
“Well, there you go then.”
“Aw, hon.”
She stood in the middle of the road facing him, her white-gloved hands resting just beneath her breasts, her hat tilted at a jaunt
y angle. He leaned out the window, regarding her mildly.
“You do look a bit overdressed for trailblazing.”
“I suppose you think that’s funny.”
The comic aspect of their situation struck them both at the same time. Alice snorted suddenly and put her hand to her mouth. Bill put his head back and laughed. She walked to the car and climbed in.
“You,” she said.
“Aw, you.”
She giggled. “Sacajawea,” she said.
Bill put the car in reverse and began to back slowly along the deserted road. “Wait until I tell Froggy,” he said.
After they arrived, Froggy Murch mixed a batch of highballs. His wife, Mona, pulled out a tray of hors d’oeuvres and set it down on the coffee table. They sat in the Murches’ big pine-paneled den and laughed about Alice trying to find her way in the dark.
“You know, now that you mention it, I think that bridge might be out!” Froggy said.
“They could have been killed!” Mona shrieked.
This comment brought another round of raucous laughter.
Alice had always liked Froggy and Mona. Froggy and Bill had played on the UVA golf team together and they had been fraternity brothers and good friends ever since. When Alice and Bill came up for UVA football games, they always stayed with the Murches. Froggy and Mona had two children; a son Roddy’s age and a daughter a year younger than Sawyer.
Froggy mixed another batch of highballs and they laughed and told stories about their college days. Mona had been at Hollins when Alice was at Sweet Briar. The boys from UVA would come up for weekend parties and dances, although Froggy and Bill had already graduated by then; Mona met Froggy at a Country Club dance in Richmond.
While they laughed and told stories about their fraternity days, Alice watched Bill. In the soft glow of the lamp light, his face was angular, darkly shadowed along his jaw and lower cheeks. He was not handsome but he was attractive, as middle-aged men so often are; self-assured, alert, vigorous. He had a small man’s taut physique, and his sense of humor gave his face a lively appeal. More and more in the past few years, Alice had been surprised, catching a glimpse of her husband across a crowded room or dance floor, to feel a certain stir. An awareness of him, not so much as a husband, but as a stranger, someone she might be seeing for the first time. She wondered if other women saw him as she did. She knew they did.
