by Maggie Estep
Alice stared up at me without blinking. “By a woman?” she asked, deadpan.
“By that fucking asshole.”
“You mean William?”
“Yeah. Him.”
The skateboard kids were now all listening in, so Alice got up.
“I parked behind Haust,” she said, motioning at the hardware store.
We walked across the street, avoiding colliding with a homeless-looking woman in a giant winter parka who was standing in the middle of the road, directing traffic.
“You’re gonna have the kid?” Alice asked after putting Candy in the backseat of Mom’s Honda.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
“Don’t ask me, Eloise. I’m not a kid person, but obviously someone has to have them.”
“Where’s the asshole anyway? Have you talked to him?” I asked.
“Not a word. Two e-mails and one phone call unanswered.”
“This may sound uncharitable but I admit I’m glad.”
“Yes. That not only sounds uncharitable but it actually is uncharitable. Though I guess since the guy impregnated you, there are extenuating circumstances. But does this mean he doesn’t know he knocked you up?”
“It does. Yes.”
“Shit,” said Alice as she pulled out of the parking lot and waited for the seemingly endless flow of cars on Tinker Street to let her turn. “That’s a pretty valid excuse for a meltdown. I’m sorry, Elo. You know I had no idea that William was your Billy and of course I had no idea you were pregnant by him.”
“I know,” I sighed, “I know.”
We fell silent for a bit, ignoring the five-hundred-pound gorilla of our dying mother as we drove up Rock City Road, left at Glasco Turnpike, and onto Upper Byrdcliffe Road, with its peaceful overhang of branches and dappled sunlight.
The dogs all went bonkers as we entered the house and Alice, doing an impressive imitation of Mom, went about quieting them down.
“I’m going to put my stuff upstairs,” I told her, “I might as well stay until Mom gets back.”
“Good,” Alice nodded.
I trudged up to the guest room where I put my overnight bag on the unpleasantly hard bed then sat down and stared out the window at the massive evergreen that stood guard in front of the house. After a few moments, Alice appeared in the doorway.
“You should call that asshole, I think. Don’t you?”
“Yeah?”
“Probably, yes.”
“Won’t he think I’m trying to get something from him?”
“I have no idea what he’ll think, but I suppose, as awful as he is, he has a right to know.” Alice shrugged.
“But know what? I don’t even know if I’m going to have the kid.”
“I think you are.”
“I am?”
“I think so.”
“Oh,” I said, glad that my sister knew what I was doing. While her knowing what I’m going to do before I know is one of the things that gets me angry at her, it can also useful. “Then I suppose he should be told.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing about her either.”
“Eloise, you’re in love with the girl. Call her. Better yet, go see her.”
Alice had never counseled me quite this extensively. We’d had a lifetime of gruffness between us. Love, yes, occasional snippets of something that could be construed as advice, but heartfelt counseling? No.
“What should I do first? Call the asshole or see if Ava still wants me?”
“Call the asshole. Go use the phone in Mom’s room for privacy.”
“Okay,” I said, shrugging. I went into Mom’s room and closed the door. Timber was asleep on the bed and Carlos, the one-eyed Chihuahua, was lying on a pile of laundry on the floor. Even though Alice’s stuff was strewn around the room, it still felt like Mom. I lay face first on the bed and started weeping.
I was still crying when I sat up and pulled my cell phone from my jeans pocket to look up Billy’s number.
I dialed and it went straight to voicemail.
“Hi, Billy,” I said, hoping I didn’t actually sound like I was weeping. “This is Eloise, could you call me please? It’s important. I’m at my mother’s house for a few days.”
I left the number. Hung the phone up. Lay back down.
Timber licked my tears.
Alice eventually came in and found me like that, on the bed, puffy-eyed, with the black dog snuggled up next to me.
“You all right?” She came to sit at the edge of the bed.
“No.”
“Mom, Billy, or Ava?”
“All of the above.”
“Did you talk to Billy?”
“Left a message.”
Alice sighed. “I’m going to play the late Pick 4 at Santa Anita,” she said, “meaning I’ll be absorbed for a couple of hours with the TV blaring, etc., so I wanted to see if you needed anything before I zone out.”
“I’m going to go to Ava’s.”
“Good. She’s there?”
“I don’t even know. I’m just going to go over there.” I said it a little defensively, daring Alice to tell me I should do otherwise.
She did not. She just nodded then went downstairs to gamble.
I washed my face, brushed my hair, then changed my underwear and T-shirt. It occurred to me I had no way to get to Ava’s unless I braved it and drove Mom’s Honda. The idea of driving all the way to Ava’s, which had to be at least six miles of winding roads away, was a bit terrifying. But then again, so was the idea of not seeing Ava.
“Can I take Mom’s Honda?” I asked Alice as I came down the stairs, half a dozen dogs on my heels.
She was slumped in front of her laptop. The TV was going and she was staring at the horses on the screen. She did not seem to hear me. I tried to see what was happening on the TV. I waited for the horses to cross the finish line, at which point my sister cursed volubly.
I cleared my throat. Alice, at last, noticed me.
“Mom’s car? Mind if I take it?”
“Oh,” Alice said, “of course not, go ahead.”
I told her I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. I don’t think she heard me.
I took the keys from the little hook in the kitchen and, after shuffling dogs away from the door, walked to the car thinking about Alice’s strange behavior. The main reason Mom and I had never worried too much about her gambling was that she never seemed strung out on it. We’d known her to have bad days, bad weeks, even bad months, but she never seemed to sink into a pit of depression about it. She just studied that much harder, took a deep breath, dove back in, and usually came out ahead sooner or later. She frowned on things like slot machines or any game that was purely chance. She never seemed to lose herself in gambling. Until now. She was gone, inside some other world, a world where, I’d guess, her paramour wasn’t in jail, Mom wasn’t dying, and she and I had not slept with the same man.
I got in the car and cautiously drove along Upper Byrdcliffe Road.
Pulling into Ava’s driveway, I saw an unfamiliar Jeep parked at a haphazard angle in front of the house. It looked like whoever had driven the thing had been in a big hurry.
I hesitated at the front door. Part of me wanted to just barge on in and see what Ava was up to in there with this Jeep person. Though I didn’t truly think she was up to anything with any person.
I was wrong.
After knocking several times, I finally heard Ava’s voice call out, “Who?”
“It’s Eloise,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
I heard nothing else for what felt like many minutes. I was slightly sick to my stomach as I stared forlornly from the door to Mom’s Honda wondering if I should hightail it back to Mom’s, wondering if I hadn’t made some terrible error in judgment, if, in fact, Ava had never loved me and was now shacked up with someone she did actually love.
Ava eventually opened the door. Her hair was all over the place and she was weari
ng only a long T-shirt. She looked at me and said nothing. Didn’t invite me in, didn’t greet me, just looked.
“Hi. I’m sorry,” I said, “I had a meltdown.” I opened my hands in an apologetic gesture.
“I have a friend over.”
“I should have called, but I didn’t want to have an awkward phone conversation.”
I saw a battle in her eyes. I heard someone moving in the room behind her.
“Anyone I know?” I motioned with my chin at the insides of her house.
“Mark.”
“Oh.” I had no idea who Mark was but she said his name so unequivocally, he had to be meaningful.
“Can I come in?” I asked. I didn’t want to come in, didn’t want to see this Mark. I didn’t want to see the end of Ava and me.
“Eloise,” she said softly, looking up at me, “what are you doing?”
“I want to see you. I want to be with you. I didn’t expect you to take up with some guy five minutes after I’d left. You should have known I’d come back.”
“How should I have known that?”
“You just should have.”
“That’s asking a lot. You hurt me badly.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.”
“You think this sudden bout of humility will fix it?”
“I’m hoping.”
“Come in, I guess,” she shrugged and stepped back from the doorway.
The guy was standing in the middle of the living room. He was wearing khaki shorts, no shirt. He had dark wavy hair and was about Ava’s height. He had a beautiful, lean upper body. He was handsome. I hated him.
“Mark,” Ava said, “this is Eloise, my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? I thought ecstatically. Really? Still?
“Hello,” said Mark, looking a little confused.
“I met Mark on the trail,” Ava explained, waving her hand toward the outside.
“You meet a lot of people on that trail,” I said, slitting my eyes at her.
“Yes,” Ava replied solemnly, “that’s true.”
“She met my mother on that trail,” I informed the illustrious half-naked Mark, “that’s how Ava and I ended up meeting.”
“Oh?” He was trying to be polite but seemed to be realizing he had fallen over his head into some pool of lesbian psychodrama.
“Mark’s a composer,” Ava said.
She had lit a cigarette. I didn’t see where she’d gotten it. Maybe Mark the half-naked composer. Those types always smoke.
“That’s nice,” I said. I stared at the man, willing him to put his shirt on and leave.
He smiled at me, and, when I failed to smile back, looked away.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I have to find my shirt.”
Ava and I watched him walk up the stairs toward the bedroom.
“He’s cute,” I said resentfully. “Has a girlfriend,” Ava shrugged.
I felt relief.
“And you’re not planning to have him fall in love with you and leave his girlfriend?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in my planning,” Ava said.
Her eyes were sparkling now. She was enjoying herself. Then, suddenly, her eyes went dark.
“You’re not here because of your mother … because your mother …”
“Died? No. Not yet. I’m here to see you.”
The sparkle came back to her eyes and she took a step closer. I wanted to reach under her long T-shirt, cup my hands over her small but nicely shaped ass.
“I’m pregnant,” I announced. “By that stupid guy. The one I had sex with once.”
“What?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I heard that part. I just can’t believe it. You had unprotected sex with a one-night stand?”
“Apparently.”
“You’re a whore.”
“Not really.”
“You’re going to have a baby?”
“I guess.”
“You’re not saying it with much conviction.”
“There are a few variables.”
“Such as?”
“Such as what you would think about such a course of action.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Okay. Can you and I be together if I have a kid?”
Ava looked at me through her long, light-brown eyelashes.
“Are you asking me to be the father of your baby?”
“Something like that.”
“Wow. We’re really lesbians now,” she grinned. “Do you like that idea?”
“Of being breeding lesbians? Sort of, yes.” She had finally stubbed out the cigarette.
“Can we kiss and make up?”
“It’s not going to be as easy as that, Elo. I’m damn glad to see you here, flattered that you’re making these sorts of grand proposals, but you fucked me a few days ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ava was sitting on the couch now and I went to kneel in front of her. I put my hands on her bare knees and peered up into her vivid blue eyes. I slowly moved my hands up her thighs and a few inches under the T-shirt. She touched my face. I got up off my knees, straddled her, and kissed her.
Which is when the composer saw fit to come back down the stairs.
“Um, sorry … I … uh …”
He was standing at the foot of the stairs, turning from Ava and me to the door, as if afraid we’d attack him like wild dogs.
Ron, who must have been sleeping in another room somewhere, materialized at that moment, rushed over to greet me, then stood slowly wagging his tail, looking from me to the composer to Ava, registering his confusion by tilting his head.
Ava pushed me off her lap and stood up. The back of her T-shirt got stuck in her panties and her ass was hanging out as she walked over to Mark, put her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Sure, yes,” he answered, lightly pecking Ava on the cheek. “Nice to … uh … meet you,” he added, smiling at me tentatively.
“Yes,” I said, “a pleasure.” I gave him a genuine smile this time.
As Ava saw the composer to the door, I called Ron over and hugged the furry blond beast. He licked my hands and forearms.
“I didn’t actually have sex with him,” Ava said after Mark closed the door.
“No? Why not?”
“Well,” Ava shrugged, “we just hadn’t gotten there yet when you knocked.”
“Slut.”
“He was a great kisser,” Ava shrugged.
“No more kissing boys, okay?”
“Providing you don’t pull any more stunts.”
“Agreed.”
She folded me into her arms.
10. KIMBERLY
Joe and I were lying on the beach outside Ginney’s Motel on the tiny island of Nevis. The sun was setting, the ocean was calm, and I was losing strength by the minute.
I was resting my head on Joe’s chest as he smoothed what was left of my hair that, between the humidity and the salt water, had to feel like a Brillo pad.
“I know you love me. You don’t have to prove it by touching my hair.”
“Shut up,” he said, kissing my head.
His tenderness was heartbreaking.
When I’d finally told him about the cancer, he’d been furious. There were a few dark days when he wouldn’t speak to me. I could see him, if I looked out my picture window, but he wouldn’t look back across at me or answer the door. After three days, he walked into my kitchen one morning, stood with his head bowed to his chest, and started weeping.
I held him. We got through it, as much as two people can get through one of them dying.
Now Joe was watching me wind down. On the beach of a tiny, sweet Caribbean island where goats wandered and little Paso Fino horses plucked mangoes from trees.
This was our last night on the island after already extending our trip by three days. I had to go home and face all the people I hadn’t told I was dying. I would have preferred driving shards of gla
ss under my fingernails.
“What are you thinking about?” Joe said softly in my ear.
It was the kind of question teenage sweethearts asked each other, not half-dead people in their fifties. It made me smile.
“I was thinking of driving shards of glass under my fingernails.”
Joe’s head swiveled. “What?”
“I’m dreading facing my daughters. And my NA friends. Everyone.”
“Just tell them. Tell them you were convinced that keeping the cancer to yourself would make it go away.”
“But it sounds so ridiculous now.”
“It’s the truth. It’s what you thought.”
I shrugged, then ran my palm down Joe’s chest, feeling the hollowness of his belly, letting my hand travel inside his bathing suit.
“Kim, the goats will see us.”
I put my face inches from his and looked inside him, trying to read what was there, wondering if it wasn’t sick-making for him to be molested by a cancerous old woman. Death’s approach has made me sexually rapacious. As if making love to Joe can stall the inevitable, the big black rabbit hole I am hurtling toward. Even though I spend most of the day feeling too sick to even move, I still want to ravage Joe. One always hears about great loves that come late in life. This one is almost too late. But it is here. I love Joe.
“Is my rapaciousness grossing you out, Joe?” I asked even though I didn’t want to.
He sat bolt upright, displacing me from his chest.
“How can you ask such ridiculous questions? More to the point, how could you think something like that? You’re the woman I love. You’re dying. Touch me.”
That shut me up for a while.
“Do I have to do this?” I asked Joe as he pulled into my driveway.
We’d been traveling all day, making our way back from Nevis to JFK Airport, where Joe had left his car in long-term parking. We’d hit snarls of traffic and I wasn’t feeling well, physical illness compounded by emotional unease as we got closer to Ulster County and the moment drew near for me to walk into my house and tell my daughter Alice that I was going to die.
“I don’t think you’ll feel good about yourself if you just up and die without warning your daughters.”
“But I won’t feel anything about myself. I’ll be dead.”
“There’s no telling what goes on in the world of the dead. Feelings are certainly a possibility. Unlikely, I admit, but not entirely out of the question. Tell your daughter.”
