The Way of Women

by Lauraine Snelling

  All the other stations had gone to commercial breaks also.

  After they’d watched the same film clips enough times to send Lissa hunting for her rabbit, Mellie forced herself to her feet, then clutched the sofa arm. Her right foot refused to function, nearly pitching her to her knees.

  “Ouch.”

  “You all right?” Mr. Johnson half rose.

  “Just my foot’s asleep. Oh, ahh.” She wiggled her toes and flinched some more.

  “Nothing to do but wait it out.”

  “You mean my foot? Or …?”

  “Either.”

  She took a tentative step. And stopped until the needles quit dancing.

  “Can I get you anything—coffee, tea?”

  “No, thank you. I should be getting on home, but …” He stared at his hands clasped between his knees. His bony face made his eyes look even deeper. “If there’s any way I can help, well, you’d ask wouldn’t you?” Now those eyes pleaded for an answer.

  Mellie nodded. “But what can anyone do right now but wait?”

  “True, for right now.”

  When Lissa left her place in front of the television and cuddled next to her mother on the sofa, Mr. Johnson heaved himself to his feet.

  “Think I’ll head on home.”

  “But you’ll come back for dinner. It should be ready about five.”

  “You sure it won’t be a bother?”

  Mellie shook her head. He always asked that question. “Never.”

  “I’ll see myself out. You just take care of that little sweetheart there.”

  “Bye, Mr. J.” Lissa waved, a small flicker of her hand.

  “I’ll bring you back a surprise.”

  “Really?” The word surprise always perked her up. “What is it?”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?”

  Mellie smiled at their ritual, knowing he got as much pleasure out of it as she did.

  “You rest a bit, and the surprise will be here before you know it.”

  He gently closed the door behind him, leaving Mellie to wish for the only surprise that had any meaning right now. A call from her husband saying he was all right, Harv walking through the door right then. She stroked Lissa’s fine hair, grateful at the ease her daughter slipped into sleep. If only she could do the same. If only they’d been able to go to church, but with Lissa being so vulnerable to any kind of infection, that pleasure, too, had been taken from her. Usually, she watched one of the television preachers, but they’d slept in due to a restless night. As if any night were not restless.

  Sometimes she listened to the Lutheran Hour, but if she moved now, Lissa would wake. Mellie chewed on the inside of her cheek, far too tense to sleep now, her usual habit when Lissa dozed. Otherwise, she would not have been able to keep going.

  She leaned her head against the cushion and closed her eyes. Traveling back in time, her well-used antidote for overcoming the pain of the moment, she blotted out the visual of the mountain in agony. Had it only been a year ago when she and Harv took Lissa to Point Defiance for her fourth birthday? Not even a year.

  “Harv, don’t let her touch them.” She’d shuddered at the thought of octopus tentacles touching her skin.

  Harv whispered over his shoulder. “You want her to grow up to be a scaredy-cat like you?” The love in his eyes sucked the sting from his words.

  She shook her head and brushed the fine tendrils of ash-blond hair from her face, locking the straight strands behind her ears. “Just don’t ask me to do that.” She watched as Harv leaned over the concrete lip of the petting pool and, reaching down in the shallow water, stroked the tentacle of the octopus, who had suctioned himself to the side.

  “Me, Daddy. Me too.” Lissa nearly climbed up his leg so she could see better. When he hoisted her up to sit on the ledge, she leaned over with absolute trust that he would hold on to her.

  “Ooh, Mommy, look.” One hand in the water, Lissa glanced over her shoulder.

  Mellie took two steps forward and forced herself to do as her daughter pleaded. The tip of a suction-laden tentacle wrapped like a string about Lissa’s tiny finger.

  “Easy,” Harv whispered, his face painted with pride in his gutsy little daughter.

  Mellie swallowed a shriek and, clutching Harv’s shirt sleeve, buried her face in his upper arm. “That’s good, sweetie.” No, that’s bad, get her out of there.

  “What does it feel like?” Harv asked.

  “Like … like he likes me.”

  “Lissa and her friend, the octopus?”

  “Uh-huh. His eyes are open.”

  “Hold still.”

  “I am.”

  I’m not. Mellie tried to stop the tremors that lightninged up and down her entire body. What if the creature …?

  “Don’t worry.”

  How many times had Harv given her that advice through the years? Don’t worry. I’m not worried, I’m terrified. And he doesn’t get it.

  “What does he eat, Daddy?”

  “Oh, crabs and fish, sea creatures.”

  “He’s gone. Bye.” Lissa straightened up and wrapped her arm around her father’s neck. She stared at her straight finger, decorated with tiny pink suction marks, then into her daddy’s eyes. “Can we do it again?”

  Harv hugged her to him. “Someday, let’s go look for a book about octopuses.”

  “Octopi.” Mellie turned from the concrete pool wall and stuck her arm through her husband’s. “ ‘Octopi’ is the plural.”

  Her mind switched from happier days to the burgeoning clouds she’d seen on the television. Harv, where are you? Please call. I need you to call.

  A knock on the door brought her back from nightmare-ridden sleep, her neck cramped from lying sideways on the couch. Lissa still lay with her head in her mother’s lap, sound asleep, her breath puffing out lips that had once been rosy. Mellie held her daughter’s head while she slipped out and laid her back on a pillow, for a change without a cry of protest.

  Mr. Johnson gave her an apologetic smile. “I woke you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. You need your rest whenever you can get it.”

  “That’s all right.” They both were whispering.

  “I’ll come back later.”

  “No.” She laid a hand on his arm. “She’ll be awake by the time I make the gravy.” They tiptoed into the kitchen, and Mellie gently closed the door behind them.

  “Have you heard anything new?”

  Mr. Johnson shook his head as he set a box wrapped in pink paper on the table.

  Mellie pulled the roaster pan from the oven and set it on a cold burner. With each motion of dipping potatoes and carrots from pan to bowl, she reminded God that Harv should be walking in the door any minute now. She set the crockery bowl in the cooling oven to keep warm, and with the meat on a platter ready to slice, she turned on the burner to start the gravy.

  “Can I help you?”

  She nodded. “There’s a salad in the fridge, covered with plastic wrap, that you could slice some tomatoes into.” She pointed to the two tomatoes she’d been saving for this special occasion. Harv loved tomatoes, even the winter ones. But these were special, grown in Mr. Johnson’s greenhouse, so they were vine ripened and had real flavor.

  Lord, please, let him be here to enjoy the tomatoes, please, please.

  She dumped flour in a cereal bowl, added water, and stirred it into a paste to add to the now bubbling juices in the pan. With each flick of the whisk, she repeated her plea. Harv loves my gravy, Lord. Let him come home to enjoy it. Please, please bring him home.

  “Mommy.” The plaintive cry from the living room announced the end of Lissa’s sleeping time. The tone said it was time for more pain pills. With the new prescription, they no longer waited until the pain grew severe but tried to keep a maintenance dose in her increasingly frail body. Even so, sometimes the pain got away from them.

  “Here, let me.” Mr. Johnson took the whisk from her hand and nodded toward the waif now standing in the d
oorway. “She needs you.”

  Mellie took the bottle and dropper from the shelf and the juice from the fridge. Pouring them together, she knelt in front of Lissa and handed her the small glass. “Drink it all.”

  Lissa nodded, downed the drink, and handed the glass back, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Purple streaked her cheek. “Hi, Mr. J.”

  “Hi yourself. That box on the table might be for you.” He gave the gravy another whisking and shut off the burner.

  “My s’prise?”

  “Could be. You’d better check.”

  Lissa glanced at her mother, caught the nod, and, dragging her blanket by one corner, took the box and sank to the floor. “I like pink.”

  “Now, how do you s’pose I knew that?”

  “I told you.” She glanced down at her pink overalls and shirt. “And my clothes are pink.” She dug into the wrapping paper folded at the sides.

  Mellie watched, keeping her hands in her lap when they longed to make things easier for the little one.

  With the tip of her tongue peeking out from between taut lips, Lissa finally got the paper loose without tearing it like so many other children would have. She loved pretty things and would often draw on the back of wrapping paper, tracing around the designs and coloring them in herself, then folding the paper into hats and boats and even butterflies. Harv had taught her such folding when she was too ill to play but well enough to want something to do. Harv had taught his daughter many things.

  “Mommy, look.” Lissa held a foot-long stick with a heavy string attached to a bit of brown-gray fur.

  “For Kitty and me.”

  “You’d better look deeper.”

  “ ’Kay.” Lissa pulled more pink tissue paper out of the box before raising another wrapped package. Her eyes sparkled as she set to unwrapping it.

  “You are so good to her. Thank you.”

  “Most welcome. Seeing her excited gives me great joy.”

  “Ooh.” Lissa held up a card with a pink bead bracelet and a ring with a pink stone attached to it. “Thank you.” Lissa stood and leaned against him. “Please, help me put it on.”

  Mr. Johnson, I love you. Mellie wanted to hug the man herself.

  While the other two admired the new jewelry, Mellie glanced at the clock: 5:00 p.m. He should have been home by now. Or called.

  God, what will I do if he never comes home?

  MAY 18, 1980

  Surely he’ll call as soon as they get out.

  At the ringing of the telephone, Katheryn turned from her pacing and flung herself across the room. Please, God, let it be them!

  “Katheryn?”

  “Yes.” She slumped against the wall, needing the solidity to hold her up.

  “Have you heard?”

  “Yes, Mother, if you are referring to the eruption.”

  “Did they go up there after all?”

  “Yes. And no, I have not heard from them.” She closed her eyes and expelled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Please, I have to get off the line so David can get through. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Are you going down there?”

  “I don’t know. Goodbye, Mother.” Katheryn hung up the phone, knowing she’d cut her mother off, but right now the incessant questions were more than she could bear.

  Back to the pacing lit by flashes of anger. Why had he insisted on going to the mountain when experts proclaimed it unstable? David, I swear when you get home, I’ll kill you myself. Oh, God, Brian, my son. Please, I want to see my son again. Surely you wouldn’t take my son.

  She switched on the television, turned it off when nothing new was reported, then turned on the radio only to hear “Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it.” If she heard that one more time, she’d rip the cord from the wall and heave the thing across the room. No sense listening. He’d call. Or someone would call. But what if they were injured so badly they couldn’t call?

  The front doorbell rang, but before she could get to it, Susan used her key to enter. “Mom! I came as soon as I could.” The two women met in the middle of the room, arms locking them together.

  Tearless, Katheryn held her daughter as Susan cried on her shoulder. Fury burned hotter than a cutting torch, drying her tears before they reached her eyes. She stroked her daughter’s back with one hand, choked out the comforting phrases her mother heart could do without thought, and fought to keep the rage not only under control, but undetected.

  Susan had always been her father’s favorite, his princess back in the days before the depression had fogged his world. His pride in her academic accomplishments knew no bounds.

  Katheryn used every micron of her will to keep thinking about the past, to pay attention to her daughter, even to pet the dog, who whined plaintively at their feet—anything to keep thought away from the mountain and the events exploding there.

  The phone rang again. She tore from her daughter’s embrace and leaped again for the receiver.

  “Mom, where’s …”

  “On the mountain. That’s all I know. I have to keep the line open so they can call me as soon as they reach civilization.” She knew her tone was abrupt and rude, but anything further was impossible at the moment.

  “Wait!”

  She could hear the tears in his voice.

  “Their camp was right in the blast zone.” His voice choked. “Unless they camped somewhere else.”

  “Kevin, I don’t know. All we can do is hope and pray. Truly, we need this line clear.”

  “I’m on my way over.”

  “Susan is already here.” Katheryn stared at the receiver after it clicked in her ear. He hung up. Never had one of her children hung up on her, but then never had she told them to get off the line either.

  Except during their teen years when the two fought over the phone and David finally put in a second line so he could call home when he wanted to. Back in the days when he called home.

  Not like now. With that she jerked back to the present to find herself standing in front of the coffeepot. David would need fresh coffee when he got home.

  She needed coffee. And besides, her hands needed action. Concrete, useful action before they tore her hair out.

  “I can do that.”

  “Thanks, honey, but I will.”

  “Kevin’s coming home?”

  “On his way. Let the dog out, will you?”

  Lucky refused to leave her side, ignoring Susan’s cajoling.

  “Your tulips are glorious.” Susan cupped her elbows with her hands, remaining in the open door.

  Such inconsequential things. Tulips, coffee, a dog needing a run. The things of life that go on even when death is stalking unknown numbers not a hundred miles south.

  If only there were something I could do. She set the full teakettle on the largest burner and took the pot over to the sink to rinse out. Measure the coffee, make sure the lid is secure on the green can. Wait for the kettle to whistle. Wait—a four-letter word worse than any cursing. Wait for the water to boil. Wait for the phone to ring. Wait to hear if her son and husband still lived.

  “We could call the hospital in Longview.”

  “There isn’t one in Castle Rock?” Susan turned from her contemplations, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.

  “I doubt it.” Wait.

  “The news said not to call. All the lines are tied up or needed for emergency calls.”

  Katheryn cocked an eyebrow. Easy for them to say. Did not her fear qualify as an emergency? “I’m going down there.”

  “When? They said to stay away.” Susan took the now screaming kettle and poured the hot water in the upper level of the dripolator.

  “Now.” Katheryn froze for an instant when the phone rang. Her stomach strangled her windpipe. “Hello.”

  “Katheryn, you hung up on me.”

  “Mother, please, I have to keep the line clear.”

  “You haven’t heard anything, then?”

  “No.”
>
  “Whatever possessed David to—”

  Katheryn clicked the phone back in the cradle, whispering, “Goodbye, Mother,” as she did so. She shook her head, then leaned against the cool wall, her forehead absorbing the comfort where her heart was unable.

  “Grandma?”

  A faint nod.

  “You want me to call her back?”

  “Please.” Katheryn hesitated when the phone rang right beside her ear. She stared for an eternal moment, then forced her hand to obey the signals from her brain that said pick it up.

  Why did “hello” seem like such a monumental stumbling block?

  “Katheryn, have you heard anything?” David’s father this time.

  “No.”

  “They did go camping, right?”

  “Yes.” She knew David had spoken with his parents last Thursday and presumably told them he was going back up on the mountain.

  “I tried to talk him out of it.”

  “Me too.” Katheryn sank down on the chair where she usually sat to pay bills or plan menus. Her gaze caught the picture David had taken on one of their camping trips. He and Brian with a string of trout. Had they caught trout the last two mornings? Or in the evening? Was their last meal fresh trout dusted in corn meal and fried in bacon grease? Stop that! You can’t give up yet! The stern voice brought her back to the conversation on the phone. “Sorry, Dad, but I have to keep this line clear for them to call. Right, I’ll have him call you the second he walks in the door.” She hung up again and stretched her head first to one shoulder and then to the other.

  Susan tapped her on the arm and handed her a cup of coffee laced with cream and a spoon of sugar, just the way she liked it best. Most of the time, she eschewed the cream and sugar in the effort to maintain some kind of decent hip line.

  She cupped her hands around the warmth, sipped half while staring out the kitchen window, and plunked the remainder down on the tile counter. “You stay here for the phone. I’ll call you from pay phones along the way.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.”

  “What good will it do to go down there. You can’t get anywhere near Toutle or 504.”