Prayers for the Dying: Pam of Babylon Book #4

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “I blame myself. I felt comfortable at your dad’s and they may have picked up on my discomfort at dinner,” she said.

  Tom shook his head. “I have played this game for years now, where I pretend my father doesn’t exist so my mother won’t be hurt. It’s been long enough since my dad left; they should be over it by now. Maybe this is a good thing; I can start being myself again and stop allowing my sisters to walk all over me. You never have to go there again.”

  Sandra looked out the window so he wouldn’t see her give the eyeball-roll of relief. Thank God. “I can’t wait to get home. My stomach is never going to be the same,” Sandra said. They’d weathered yet another storm and come out with new respect for each other.

  25

  After Jeff and Nelda called asking to come to dinner, the phone didn’t stop ringing. Marie called; she wanted to make sure it was okay that Steve was bringing Nelda, Bernice, and herself. Then, surprisingly, Dave from Organic Bonanza called. He was fishing for an invitation and Pam just couldn’t be so mean as to not invite him. The good thing was that he would bring whatever food from the deli she wanted. But she warned him that Jeff and her mother also had called, so the entire Manhattan crowd would be there. He could attend at his own risk. The mention of Jeff’s name seemed to cement his determination not to be left out.

  “I’ll be there!” he exclaimed. So what was supposed to be an intimate family dinner with her children and their friends was slowly taking on the dynamic of a three-ring circus. The only preparation she gave the kids was a warning that Marie had been ill and looked awful, and that a man she’d been dating was going to come. They would figure out everything else.

  Thursday morning, Pam woke up early. She lay in bed, the one she’d shared with Jack for so many years. It no longer felt lonely without him. She’d successfully removed all of what reminded her of him so the room was truly hers now. The first hour that the kids were home, she invited them into Jack’s closet and instructed them to take what they wanted; the rest was going to Goodwill the following Monday. She was surprised at what they took. Although Brent was more slender than Jack, he took—with Pam’s blessing—the Armani suits. They would go to the tailor to see if they could be taken in. Lisa took all of his college sweatshirts, threadbare rags that she remembered him wearing around the house while she was growing up. All of his silk ties, and there were hundreds of them, and his handkerchiefs went. The only things they left were his shoes (he wore size twelves and Brent wore thirteens) and his underwear, although both kids took some of his undershirts. They took armloads of Jack’s things to their rooms. She told them to stash everything; she didn’t want to go to into their rooms to clean after they returned to school and have to deal with it all. And then to Pam’s surprise, they returned to help her box and bag and rest of the stuff for donation. With their help, the task was accomplished in less than an hour. Pam felt sad; before the disclosure to them of AIDS, she was sure the experience would have been bittersweet. But now, neither child seemed saddened at all. As a matter of fact, Jack’s name was only mentioned in passing. He’d brought it on, Pam reminded herself. It was his doing.

  The comfort of her bed had taken care of her for months. She rarely had insomnia; the minute her head hit the pillow, she was out. She’d even taken to sleeping on what was formerly Jack’s side of the bed because it was closer to the hallway. She’d moved her personal items to the bed stand. The impressive stack of books she was reading was piled on the floor. She’d never have done that when Jack was alive. Slowly, she was taking her favorite artwork from the rest of the house and mixing it with things she’d bought since he died. Her bedroom was reflecting more of her personality; it was less a sterile, showcase room. The children noticed right away.

  “Wow Mom, your room looks great! It’s so interesting!” Lisa said, looking around. “Where’d all this come from?” She touched the frame of photograph of the beach.

  “Oh, just stuff I picked up here and there that means something to me,” Pam said. There was never much evidence that Jack lived there and now it was lessened, but his presence was powerful with the children home. It was the place where he’d come each weekend to see his family. Lisa seemed to be on the same cosmic plane that Pam was at that moment, and she walked to her mother and embraced her. Pam could feel the slight shaking of her slender body as Lisa began to weep.

  “He did love you Mom. I know he did. He told both Brent and I he loved you and that you were a wonderful wife.”

  Pam remained silent, wanting Lisa to feel that her words were important, although Pam didn’t believe them. What her daughter said to her, repeating more lies from Jack, hurt intensely, the words ricocheting around inside her head. He did love you. He told us you were a wonderful wife… Pam put her arms around her daughter. Jack’s daughter. How was her child’s life going to change as his secrets were revealed? Pam remembered the carefree days of Lisa and Brent’s childhood. Surely, Jack, in his ignorance, never planned on hurting them the way they were bound to be hurt.

  She stretched as she lay in bed and debated trying to sleep a little longer; daylight hadn’t peeked over the tops of the drapes yet. She rolled over, reaching for her glasses. The bedside clock said five-thirty. If she got up now she’d be exhausted by dinnertime. She curled up and pulled the covers under her chin. The hum of the furnace was a comforting sound that took her to a different time.

  She’d awakened in the middle of the night with the sense that she was alone although it was the weekend, and Jack should be lying next to her in bed. She’d reached over and felt his side of the bed. He wasn’t there. She’d gotten up, taking her robe from the chaise, and as she’d walked across the hallway to the kitchen, she saw lights on. Jack was standing in his underpants, bare-chested, leaning against the counter with a glass of juice in his hand. Pam was about ready to ask the inane, Can’t you sleep? when a naked Marie started coming out of the children’s wing.

  “Oops!” she yelped. “I didn’t know anyone else was up!” and Pam could hear her running back to her room and sound of her door closing. At the time, she and Jack had laughed.

  “I guess we scared her!” he’d said. Pam shook her head and turned to go back to bed.

  “Coming?” she’d asked her husband.

  “Almost done,” he’d said, lifting his glass to her. She’d never given the incident a second thought.

  But now, years later, the impact of that night hit her fully. Her children had been asleep, or not, in the next rooms. It was obvious that Jack and Marie had been together. Pam closed her eyes and allowed her imagination to take over. She tried to remember every detail of that night, or her husband standing there, so totally out of character, in his underpants. She looked at his face, which had failed him because he was clearly surprised, but at the time, she just thought it was because he didn’t except her. In her memory, she saw his smooth chest and tight abdomen, and the waist band of his underpants. Her eyes moved down to his crotch. Did he have an erection? She rolled over in bed. God damned Jack. He always seemed to have an erection! You stupid jerk. But that was meant for herself.

  Several minutes later, Jack did come back to bed. He went into the bathroom and she could hear water running and teeth brushing. He came back in the dark and she could feel the mattress shift as he got into bed. Without hesitation, he crept over to her side of the bed and began to kiss her, sticking his tongue in her mouth. His breath was tangy with toothpaste and orange juice. She wanted him to climb on top of her, but as was their usual procedure, he started kissing her neck with his tongue, going down lower and lower and lower. Jack was so unselfish, she used to think. But this morning, the realization dawned that Jack probably was spent from screwing her sister all night and couldn’t do it again. She laughed. “You stupid jerk!” she said out loud. And then she started to cry. One last time, she thought. I’ll cry one last time.

  She fell back to sleep and the sun was up, shining through the cracks in the drapes when she woke up again. It was after ei
ght. She got up and went to the hallway; silence. The children were still sleeping. She made a cup of coffee and took it back to her bedroom. Everything was under control. All she had to do today was put the turkey in the oven at about ten. She’d told people to come at four; in the old days they’d be arriving by noon, the children going down to the recreation room in the lower level to play pool and Ping-Pong, usually with a movie blaring away in the background. The men and some of the women would pile onto the ample leather sofas and chairs in the den to watch football on Jack’s gigantic television. Before flat screen, they’d had projection TV that covered the area above the fireplace. Its size was ridiculous, but Jack had to have it. Pam would spend the entire day standing behind the island in the kitchen like a robot, making coffee, washing glasses, putting out trays of snacks. It didn’t end. She ran up and down the stairs to retrieve glasses and make sure her kids were okay every thirty minutes or so and if she was up to her elbows, she’d get one of her sisters to go and do it.

  “Check on the kids, will you Susan?” she’d ask. After their husbands died, Nelda would sit at the island, having helped with whatever Pam needed, and Bernice watched football with her sons. Nelda was indispensable; she remembered things like olives and napkins. You couldn’t have Thanksgiving dinner without olive dishes on the table. When Harold was alive, he sat alone in the living room reading until the game started. Pam’s dad, Frank, liked being with the kids or in the kitchen while Pam cooked.

  As she puttered around her bedroom that morning thinking of family and friends, Pam realized that it wasn’t the past she was yearning for; it was the desire to release it. All of this drama was making it impossible to move forward. Now with everyone coming here again, which was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid, it was inevitable that Jack’s name would be mentioned. She took a deep breath. It was too late to change anything today; she’d succumbed to guilt. It was out of her control. She’d be strong the next time; if she wanted to be alone with the children, she only had to say no. Wasn’t that the way it worked? Pam laughed out loud. It was never a question before now. She was exploring new territory.

  26

  Holidays were difficult for Ashton. When they were young, he and Jack spent them together, often running back and forth across the park between their respective houses. Once Pam came into the picture, they rarely saw each other. It wasn’t too difficult if the holiday fell on the weekend because he was accustomed to being alone. Long weekends were terrors; three days apart were the absolute maximum for Ashton. He’d call Jack hourly, crying, until they could be together. Jack tried to fit Ashton in whenever he could; often inviting him to golf at his club on Long Island, but Ashton didn’t like leaving the city. Since he didn’t drive, it would mean hiring a car. And then when it was time to say good-bye, it was so depressing to leave Jack there that well, it just wasn’t worth it.

  After Jack died, Ashton dreaded the first major holiday even though it shouldn’t have been any different at all. Ashton’s mother and father were still alive, but they went to Palm Beach in October. He decided to contact Dale; she was just a few blocks away and although they hadn’t gotten together in a while, they often talked about spending holidays together. He dialed her number but there was no answer on Monday or Tuesday. On Wednesday he decided to walk to her apartment. It had been snowing lightly all day, but it was warm enough that it wasn’t sticking on the ground. He bundled up; the wind was biting, and he was glad for his woolen scarf and long wool overcoat.

  He got to her apartment and pushed the button on the intercom. It was answered immediately with the sound of the door unlocking. He quickly glanced at her address; the apartment was on the second floor. He ran up the stairs to her door, which was open slightly. He tapped on it, and an older woman in a nurse’s uniform pushed it farther.

  “Oh! Sorry, I thought you were my replacement. Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Dale,” Ashton answered, frightened at the necessity for a nurse.

  “She’s not seeing anyone,” the nurse answered.

  “Could you tell her Ashton is here? Jack’s friend? I think she’ll want to see me,” he said.

  The nurse pointed to a chair in the hallway and reluctantly retreated to the back of the apartment after she saw that he was going to sit down and not follow her. Less than a minute passed and the nurse returned. “She’ll see you,” the nurse informed Ashton. “Follow me.”

  Ashton got up and walked to the rear of the apartment. He’d expected the faint medicinal smell—the nurse was a dead giveaway. She stood aside and motioned for him to go ahead of her. Dale was propped up in bed, a pink satin bed jacket with a matching ribbon in her hair. It was so Dale that Ashton took in a rush of air that caused him to snort involuntarily, and then out of his control, he started crying.

  He went to her and she was laughing at him with her arms outstretched. “Oh no, Ashton! Not you! It’s not as grim as it looks. I’m just having a rough day because I had a treatment yesterday and it always knocks the wind out of my sails.” She held his chin in her hands and looked into his eyes. Her breath was minty; he saw the tin next to the tissue box on her bedside table. She patted the side of the bed for him to sit down.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered, almost afraid to ask.

  “It’s cancer. But I have to die eventually and evidently this is not as bad as it could be. I’m responding to treatment or something like that. I’m just glad it was discovered after Jack died. He didn’t do well with illness and all that malarkey,” she said.

  “Well, I was calling all week to see if you want to spend tomorrow together. I think Jack would have liked that,” Ashton said.

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it, resting her head back on the pillow. Nodding her head yes, she said, “Let’s. I probably won’t be up for a big turkey dinner, but we can spend the day together, absolutely.” She closed her eyes, intending just to rest for a minute, but when she opened them, Ashton was gone. There was a note on her table that said, “See you tomorrow! Love, Ashton.”

  27

  Steve Marks woke up, later than he planned, to ringing of the telephone. He knew who it would be before he reached for it.

  “Jesus, don’t tell me you’re still in bed,” Marie said. “I’ve got to get out of here. Should I tell them I’m leaving and get Ben to bring me home?”

  “No! Stay there. I’ll get myself together and come right up. What do you want to wear?” He hoped Thanksgiving dinner in Babylon didn’t mean Sunday best. He wanted to wear sneakers and jeans.

  “I’m wearing sweats,” she said. “Look, if we leave by noon we won’t get there until two. She won’t mind that we’re early, I don’t think. I could be wrong. I heard my mother talking to her yesterday and she was begging admittance for us.”

  Steve wished they could stay home; Marie uptown and he in his apartment, alone with a bottle of scotch. “Okay, well, do you mind if I take the time to have some breakfast?” Or is she expecting me to rush up there to get her fed and dressed?

  “No, go ahead and eat. That bitch Candy will be in here in a few minutes raggin’ on me to get up and get showered. I really hate her.”

  “She’s just trying to help you,” Steve said, glad he wasn’t in the caretaker role.

  “Don’t take her side! Hurry up and get me out of here or I am going to leave and take the subway,” she threatened.

  Steve snickered. She didn’t have the strength to sit on the toilet by herself let alone walk to the subway. But there was no arguing with her. “Okay, get up and get a shower like she says and I’ll be there in half an hour,” he promised. He didn’t relish driving for two hours with two old ladies bitching at him in the backseat. He wouldn’t be able to smoke, either. Oh shit, why’d I ever chase after her?

  Pam spent the morning getting the turkey stuffed and into the oven. When her children finally got up, the three of them went out for a late breakfast. They had a great time telling their mother all the wonderful thin
gs they did at school that parents are never supposed to find out about. Several times, Pam laughed so hard she had tears coursing down her face. The hostess gave them a “look” saved for unruly customers. The worst involved a long story about alcohol consumption; passing out in the back of a strange, unlocked car; and waking up to find the president of the college scared to death that his wife would find out there was a half-naked girl sleeping in his backseat. He drove the young woman to a McDonald’s parking lot, pulled around behind the Dumpsters, gave her a shirt he’d dug out of his dirty laundry bag, a fist full of money, and begged her to get lost.

  “Oh my!” Pam exclaimed. “She could’ve said he got her drunk, or worse! Lock your cars, people!”

  “What time’s everyone coming?” Brent asked, yawning.

  “Not till four,” Pam replied. “Look you two, there are few things I should probably explain. Marie is ill and looks awful, and she is pregnant.” She paused to let the full effect sink in.

  “Great! That’s just great. She is about as ready to raise a kid as Brent, here, is,” Lisa said.

  Brent laughed out loud. “How’d I get involved? Jeeze!” he said. “You’re right, though, she can’t even fend for herself.”

  Pam let the kids have their say before she went any further. She was slightly surprised; they’d never voiced negativity about Marie before, and now she wondered if they’d always had such contemptuous feelings toward her.

  “She is very frail,” Pam added, curious that they hadn’t inquired about who the father was. “Her boyfriend is a very nice older man. You’ll meet him this afternoon.”

  “Who is he? I can just imagine,” Lisa said with a sneer.

  Wow, Pam thought, where’s this coming from? “Someone she met at work. He’s really devoted to her, you’ll see,” Pam said, trying to smooth things over. Brent wasn’t saying much, but Pam could see the wheels turning.