by Pamela Morsi
Brent agreed. “You’re the one who doesn’t know anything about them, Amber,” he said. “I guess you’re waiting until they turn Howl at the Moon into a cybercafé.”
His words angered Amber so much, it was almost possible to see steam coming out from her ears. Amber glanced toward Jet as if to make certain the child was not looking in her direction, then to Brent she mouthed the words “fuck you.”
Brent smiled, not particularly nicely and replied, “No, thanks.”
Hastily Ellen changed the subject. “Well, Jet, you got some really nice presents. Do you think this was a very good birthday?”
The little girl agreed enthusiastically.
“And you’re not done yet,” Wilma said. “I still owe you a gift, don’t I?”
Jet smiled at the older woman.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get out and get you a present yet. But you remember I promised you that I’d give you whatever you want.”
Jet nodded. “I remember you promised, Wil-ma,” she said.
“So you have even more birthday wishes that may come true,” she said.
“This is the best day ever!” Jet declared enthusiastically. “Don’t you think so, Mama?”
Amber looked up. “Of course it is,” she said. Her smile was brittle, but she maintained it.
18
After the birthday party, Amber decided to stay home for the evening. It wasn’t some monumental decision. She went downtown every day. It was stupid to have the night off and go downtown anyway. She’d actually spent a pleasant evening. Jet seemed so delighted to have her home.
They dressed and undressed her Groovy Girl a dozen times, winning both the champion soccer game and the beauty pageant. Amber even played Harriet Tubman, pulling the donkey cart with the girl and her baby in it. Jet named the bloodhound Poochie and Amber didn’t have the heart to tell her he was supposed to be the villain of the story.
Jet was irrevocably drawn to the computer. She wanted to play her Blue’s Clues game and she insisted that Amber help her. She was, of course, not nearly as ignorant of the digital universe as Brent Velasco might believe. The work schedules, sales reports and inventory at the store were all on electronic spreadsheets. And Amber had brought with her from high school a rudimentary understanding of operating systems. She could see immediately that in five years things had gotten a lot fancier, but it all seemed easier as well.
Brent was right about Jet. She had absolutely no hesitation about the equipment. She set her CD into the drive and was ready to go. He’d set up shortcuts on her desktop that even a four-year-old could follow. Amber watched and listened as her daughter went through the clues and hollered out the answers to the questions.
Amber thought she shouldn’t have been so sharp with Brent about it. It was a nice gift and it was nice of him to give it to her. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from being snippy with him. He was sure to believe that it was the result of their argument the other night.
Amber was honest enough with herself to admit that was only a part of it. The real issue was a lot less straightforward. It was a kind of jealousy. That was the only way to describe it. It annoyed her that somebody else got to give her things that Amber didn’t think about giving her. She hated the feeling that when it came to Jet, everyone knew better than she did. But wasn’t that the reason she was giving Jet up? That was the excuse, but Amber didn’t like to think it was the reason. She was torn. She wanted it both ways. Part of her needed to be the main person in Jet’s life, to have the final say, and be the ultimate authority. But there was that overwhelming temptation that lured her out to have fun and live the life she might have had if things had somehow worked out differently.
Jet abandoned the computer to set up a tea party for Harriet and Groovy Girl. Amber watched for a few moments and then began clicking through the computer herself. She was looking for Spider Solitaire when she realized that Brent’s Internet service was still set up, including his stored password.
“So he thinks I know nothing about computers,” she muttered to herself before plugging the phone line into the back of the unit and logging on to his account.
She checked his e-mail, hoping to find some incriminating love note or a vital message that she could delete. There was nothing but spammy junk. Even after checking his site visits history, there was nothing funny, embarrassing or defaming that she could really enjoy eavesdropping upon.
With a sigh of defeat, Amber pulled down a search engine and just began to surf a few sites. She called up her company’s Web page and looked at some of the merchandise. It was mostly older than what they were carrying in the store. She saw they were posting career opportunities and she clicked on that, just to see what kind of hype they were putting on their job classifications.
As she read through the assistant manager position she noticed an Educational Opportunities button on the navigation bar. Curious she clicked on it.
According to the Web site, full-time employees with positions of assistant manager or above were eligible for loans, grants and scholarships to attend college. It was the stated policy of the company to encourage higher education, and work schedules could be adjusted to meet classroom needs.
Amber raised an eyebrow at that. It had never occurred to her that she might be able to get tuition money from her job. But, she reminded herself hastily, she was probably going to change her job. She was going to work at the hotel with Gwen, so they could get a car and furniture and nice things for their apartment.
As she supervised Jet’s tooth brushing and hair braiding bedtime ritual, she convinced herself once again that leaving Jet was going to be best for her and best for Jet. Her heart melted at the little girl’s obvious delight at having Mama home to put her to bed.
She crawled in eagerly, obediently, but with her eyes still bright with birthday excitement.
“What do you want me to read you tonight?” Amber asked.
Jet immediately scrambled off the bed to search through her stack of books on the shelf above her toy box.
“Here it is,” she said after a couple of moments of diligent searching. “This is the one you read to me.”
Jet climbed back on the bed. She snuggled up against her mother and handed her the book.
Smiling, Amber recognized Goodnight Moon, the story of a not-so-sleepy little bunny.
“I know this one,” she told her daughter.
Jet nodded. “This is the one you read to me, Mama,” she said and putting a small hand beside her mouth, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t let Gramma read this one anymore. It’s between you and me.”
Both the words and the sentiment were unexpected. Amber hugged her daughter close for a moment and then read her the story. As they said good-night to each and every thing, she felt her daughter’s body relax beside her. When they reached the end, she was yawning. The little girl scooted down in the bed and Amber covered her with the sheet and tucked it around her the way she liked.
“Good night, Jet,” Amber said, leaning down to plant a kiss on her daughter’s nose.
“Good night, Mama,” she said.
Amber snapped off the bedside lamp, but she didn’t leave immediately, she sat in the darkness gently stroking her daughter’s forehead until her breathing deepened in sleep.
She let herself out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Ellen was seated alone in the living room.
“Is Wilma outside for a smoke?” Amber asked.
“I suppose so,” Ellen answered.
Amber started in that direction.
“Don’t go,” Ellen said.
Amber hesitated. “Mom, I’m not going out there to have a smoke with her,” she said.
“I know you’re not,” Ellen assured her.
“Wilma and I are kind of buds. She and I, you know, we’ve got a lot in common,” Amber said. “I’ve always been more like her than I am like you. But I’d never sabotage her health.”
“I know you wouldn
’t.”
“In fact, I’ve decided to quit,” Amber said. “I can’t really afford it anyway and I never liked it that much.”
“I’m glad,” Ellen said. “I’d hate for you to end up as sick as your grandmother. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
“What is it?”
“Could we sit down here for a minute,” Ellen said. “I’m sure this will go a lot better if we’re both more relaxed and comfortable.”
“Okay, sure,” Amber said. She seated herself in the rocker and crossed her legs casually. Her mother looked weird. She had that strange, heartsick but determined expression that she used to have when she’d given Amber updates on her father’s condition. She said it wasn’t about Wilma. So it must be that she had finally become resigned to losing the house.
“So have you heard anything on the eviction?” she asked.
“Not anything helpful,” Ellen answered.
“Is that what you want to talk to me about?” Amber asked.
“No,” her mother answered. “I want to talk to you about your plan to move out,” Ellen said.
Amber nodded. “I have to talk to Gwen,” she said. “She’s paid the deposit and the rent is due on the first. We have to decide on when we’re going to move in and what exactly we’re going to need. We haven’t worked out all the details.”
Her mother’s elbows were on the arms of the chair, her hands steepled together thoughtfully.
“One of the details you have to work out is Jet,” she told Amber quietly. “You can’t leave her with us.”
“What?”
“You can’t leave her with us,” Ellen repeated. “I’m afraid we’re not really in a position to take her now. It’s best that you keep her with you.”
Amber’s first reaction was that her mother was joking.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Wilma and I have discussed it,” Ellen said. “And we are in agreement that Jet should go with you.”
“You’re throwing me out?”
“No, of course not. You’re welcome to stay, or you’re free to go,” Ellen explained. “But either way, Jet is your daughter. She will be with you.”
“Because of Wilma’s illness?” Amber asked. “She seems to be getting back on her feet pretty fast. But I can help out around here with Jet until she’s a hundred percent.”
“It’s not about Wilma’s illness,” Ellen said.
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about a child being with her mother,” Ellen said. “It’s a very simple concept.”
“Mom, you’re not serious about this?”
“I have never been more serious in all my life,” Ellen said.
Amber was momentarily speechless. She’d expected an argument, she’d expected threats, scolding and recrimination. But if she had thought anything, she’d have thought that her mother would fight to keep Jet. Not come up with an ultimatum to send her away.
“Jet can’t come with me,” Amber said. “This place is not right for her. It’s a singles apartment.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to find something different. You and Jet are a family. If families aren’t welcome, you’re not welcome.”
“This won’t work,” Amber said. “You can’t turn me into a family for Jet.”
“I didn’t turn you into a family,” Ellen said. “You did that yourself when you gave birth to her.”
“You’re still holding that against me?”
“Not at all,” Ellen said. “I am so glad you had that little girl. I can’t imagine a world without her. But she’s your child and you have to take responsibility for her.”
“I can’t take care of Jet, you know that,” she said.
Ellen shook her head. “I think that you can,” she said. “And I believe that you will.”
“Of course you do, Mom, you’re a total optimist,” Amber said. “You’re always just disgusting with hope, assured somehow that everything will work out. My life is not going to work out, Mom. I live wild. I party all the time. Gwen, my other friends—we’re not ever going to be the ladies from the bridge club. Gwen’s a slut. And I’m…well I’m not the kind of person who needs to be an innocent kid’s mom. I can’t offer her any kind of decent, stable life.”
“Maybe a decent, stable life isn’t what Jet needs,” Ellen said. “You’re always saying I shouldn’t fill her head full of sugarplum fairies. Maybe a dose of harsh reality will be good for her.”
“That’s not what I want for my child.”
“Well, that’s for you to decide, isn’t it,” Ellen said. “She is your child.”
“I have to work nights,” Amber said. “Who would she stay with?”
Ellen shrugged. “Maybe you can’t work nights,” she said. “Maybe you have to work when she’s in day care. Or maybe you have to go on welfare. Those are things you have to figure out.”
“Those are insolvable problems!”
“Other women solve them,” Ellen said. “I’m confident you can, too.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“I think you have to.”
“Mom, you promised when Jet was born that you would help me,” Amber reminded her.
“And I have,” Ellen said. “I have been pulling up the slack for you for four years. I don’t regret it. I loved it. I have a bond with my granddaughter that lots of women would envy. I’m grateful for that.”
“But not anymore.”
“Amber, I’m always willing to be there to support you and back you up,” Ellen said. “But letting you walk away is not the same as helping you. It’s the worst thing I could do.”
“How do you think you are going to stop me?” Amber asked. “I can leave this minute and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”
“Careful, Amber,” she said. “You’re reminding me of when you used to stamp your foot and say, ‘make me!’”
“Well you can’t make me,” Amber said.
“There are laws against abandoning children.”
“You’re threatening to call the police?”
“Maybe the Department of Social Services,” Ellen said.
Amber shook her head. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“If I had to, I would,” Ellen said.
“Mom?” Amber was incredulous.
“Don’t count on my continuing to treat you like a crazy, mixed-up kid,” Ellen said. “You’re a grown-up woman now, just like me. And you’ve got to find your own way in the world, just like I do. Sure you’re going to make some mistakes, have some regrets. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. But you’ll manage to muddle through just like the rest of us.”
“This is not happening,” Amber told herself unconvincingly. “I understand that you’re really pissed off that I’m moving out. But there is no way you can convince me that you’re willing to risk Jet’s happiness this way. You love her and you want what’s best for her.”
“I do love her,” Ellen agreed. “But Jet is your daughter. You are the one who has to do what is best for her. I have my own daughter. I have to do what is best for her.”
The inside of the Empire Bar was dark, cool and familiar. Each of the waitresses took the opportunity to welcome Wilma back and inquire about her health.
“Nothing quite like passing out in a place to make people remember you,” she remarked wryly to one young man.
She was dragging her oxygen tank with her today. It was the only way that Brent would agree to allowing her to go alone. And she simply had to be here. This was Max’s place. She was hoping that he would show up. But even if he didn’t, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
At least she was feeling better. The medicine had helped her breathing. The laying off cigarettes for a couple of days might have been good for her lungs as well. But the rest of her body certainly didn’t like it. She had been, in turns, both jittery and lethargic. Nothing tasted right and she’d been constipated. Now that she was back smoking, the rest of he
r life had returned to normal.
Or as normal as a woman can get when she knows that she is killing herself, one pack at a time.
“You don’t see any evidence of cancer,” she pointed out proudly to that stuffed shirt Reberdi.
“None whatsoever,” he assured her. “And I don’t think you’ll develop any—you’re probably not going to live long enough. You don’t have to get cancer to die of smoking.”
So she was on her way out. Wilma could accept that. Nobody lived forever. Everybody knew that. Wilma just couldn’t quite get past the fact that she was needed here. Ellen, Amber, Jet, they all depended upon her. And with Max she’d thought, she’d hoped, that she still had a life ahead of her.
What would that life cost?
If she gave up smoking, it would be forgoing the most constant and steadfast pleasure of her sixty-one years of life. But, she might live to see Jet’s next birthday. She’d have nothing to do with her hands and no way to really kick back and relax, but she might be more of a help to her daughter and granddaughter. She might have to admit that all those years she’d smoked, she’d been wrong. But then, she had been.
“Wilma?”
She was startled from her thoughts and glanced up hopefully, expecting to see Max.
She did see him, sort of.
The man standing beside the booth had Max’s lean cowboy frame, penetrating blue eyes and thick hair. But the hair was dark, not white, the eyes were not wearing glasses and the lean cowboy frame was covered with a very chic and expensive Italian suit. He was carrying a sharp leather briefcase that gave him the look of a prosperous lawyer or investment banker. But somehow the moves were not right. He was much too relaxed with himself. Still it was possible and it was best to be on her guard.
“Are you a lawyer?”
“Me? No.”
“Are you here about my house?”
“Your house?” He looked puzzled. “No, I don’t know anything about a house. Are you Wilma?” he asked again. “Wilma Post.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Wilma Post.”
He nodded. “Max told me that I’d find you here,” he said.
