‘I can believe anything of you and your family, Nancy. Strangest bunch of people I ever met… I’ll take the portrait, by the way.’
‘Of Arnold?’ Nancy asked, somewhat surprised.
‘No, of you, you clutz. It’s hanging right there above the fireplace.’
‘Sure,’ Nancy said. ‘If that’s what you want. I never thought it was all that flattering of me, to tell you the truth. The nose is nothing like mine. I think the artist spent more time painting the bowl of fruit on the table than he did considering my face.’
‘I think it captures you just fine,’ Doc said. ‘But do me a favour, will you: can I take it with me tomorrow?’
Doc had reason to ask for it now. Once Nancy was dead, he wasn’t sure if he’d need anything to remind him of her.
The next day, Doc drove home with the portrait of Nancy propped on the backseat of the car and the cow song going round in his head. For some reason, Arnold’s final words also kept popping into his mind: ‘Dust, where does it come from? Money, where does it go?’
A Visit to the Doctor’s
Doc made two more trips to Hershey and then Nancy visited him. He picked her up at the airport.
‘Good journey?’
‘So far,’ Nancy replied. ‘Don’t you think you’re driving a bit close to that car in front?’
‘What car?’ Doc asked.
‘God in Heaven, Gene! How bad are your eyes? I don’t want to die just yet!’
‘You won’t die with me at the wheel, Nancy. This car’s got the best airbags on the market!’
While Doc manoeuvred erratically through the afternoon’s traffic, Nancy glanced at him nervously and held on to the door handle. She gave a sigh of relief when, eventually, he pulled into his driveway.
‘Oh shit!’ Doc said. ‘Frisbee’s out front. Don’t make eye contact!’
Dennis Frisbee was Doc’s next-door neighbour and Doc had disliked him from first meeting. It wasn’t the man’s stupid comb over or loose bottom lip that caused Doc’s aversion – though, in truth, neither of these helped – but the fact that Frisbee was a crashing and self-centred bore, inconscient and uncaring of the discomfort his rambling monologues caused others.
‘Hey, Doctor Chaney,’ Frisbee called out to him. ‘Are you going to introduce me to your lady friend?’
‘No!’ Doc said. ‘And I’ve told you before: either muzzle that dog or I’ll have it put down!’
Doc took Nancy’s bag from the trunk and ushered her into the house.
‘That was a bit rude of you, wasn’t it, Gene?’ Nancy said. ‘All the man wanted to do was say hello.’
‘Believe me, Nancy, I did you a favour. That man’s a menace, and so too is his dog – the damn thing bit me last year.’
‘What kind of dog is it?’ Nancy asked.
‘Part pit bull and part West Highland terrier, but don’t ask me which part is which because I haven’t a clue, and I doubt Frisbee has either.’
‘He’s not invited to the barbecue, then?’ Nancy smiled. ‘Who will be coming?’
Doc looked at her puzzled. ‘Just you and me, Nancy. There is no one else to ask.’
Doc carried Nancy’s bag upstairs and showed her to the guest room. At Nancy’s request, he then reluctantly gave her a tour of the house. ‘They’re just rooms, Nancy. You’ll find the same in all houses.’
‘Stop being so stubborn, Gene, and just show me!’
Gene led her through the house and ended the tour in the living room. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I can’t get over how neat and tidy everything is. Maybe I’m misremembering how you used to be, but I thought you’d be living more like a slob, especially when you dress the way you do.’
‘Give me a break, Nancy! There’s nothing wrong with the way I dress. Coffee?’
They stood for a while in the kitchen and then took their cups through to the living room, where Nancy’s attention was drawn to the framed photographs arranged on the sideboard. She moved towards them and picked one up.
‘Oh Gene, this is beautiful! Is this a photograph of Beth and Esther?’
‘Yes,’ Doc said. ‘It was taken on Esther’s first birthday, shortly before the accident.’
‘It must have been awful for you. How did you hear of the accident – or would you prefer not to talk about it?’
‘No, it’s okay,’ Doc said. ‘I was at the surgery when the call came through, getting ready for some home visits. I don’t know why, but I had a feeling it was bad news even before anything was said. I couldn’t let go of the phone – another doctor had to prise it from my grip. Damn near broke my fingers.
‘But, you know what they say: life goes on. And it did, but it’s never been the same, and I never expected it to be.’
Nancy stroked his back comfortingly, and then carefully replaced the photograph. She moved on to the next one, hoping for happier stories. ‘Who are these people?’
‘The old guy’s Sydney Guravitch, and the young one’s his son – and my godson – Jack.’
‘Couldn’t they come to the barbecue?’ Nancy asked.
‘Jack lives too far distant, Nancy, and Sydney’s tied up at the cemetery these days.’
‘Is he a groundskeeper there?’ Nancy asked.
‘No, he’s a resident,’ Doc explained. ‘He was my best friend, too. Died of a heart attack the same year you phoned. It’s a pity the two of you never got to meet.’
Sydney had been two years younger than Doc and displayed none of his friend’s academic ability or ambition. He’d followed his father into portrait photography and continued to work in the studio after his father had died. His world view was finite; he’d stayed local and married local. He’d been there when Doc went away to university and there when he returned; there when Doc left to practise medicine in Maryland and still there when Doc returned from Maryland. Sydney had, in fact, been the only constant in Doc’s life, and Doc told Nancy how much he missed his old friend: the ease of his company, the minutiae of their conversation and the unreserved nature of his loyalty.
‘I’m sorry, Gene. I didn’t realise. What about Jack? Are you close to him, or is it just the usual godparent–son relationship? You said he lived far away.’
‘He does. He lives in Arizona, but we’re still close. He’s a good kid, a friend more than a godson. It’s a good relationship.’
‘Shall we move away from the photographs?’
‘Yes, let’s do that. It’s not wise to have more than one dead person ganging up on you at any one time.’
‘What a strange thing to say. Are you mad at me for asking about them?’
‘No, of course I’m not mad at you, Nancy. It was just a throw-away comment. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
He changed the subject. ‘I’ve booked a table for eight o’clock, so you have time to shower if you want.’
Nancy went to her room, and when Doc heard the sound of running water he returned to the sideboard and stared at the photographs.
They ate in an Italian restaurant, small and noisy. They talked easily but aimlessly during the meal, and it was only after the dessert dishes had been cleared and coffee served that Doc asked Nancy if she’d noticed any changes.
‘It’s words mainly,’ Nancy said. ‘I see objects I’ve seen all my life and I find myself struggling to remember what they’re called. It could be something as simple as a pan or an ice-cream scoop. I keep misplacing things, too, and God knows how many times I’ve keyed the wrong code into the alarm system. I’m thinking it might be easier just to have it disconnected. It’s frustrating, but at the moment that’s all it is. It’s manageable.’
‘Sometimes it’s difficult to know what’s caused by Alzheimer’s and what’s caused by old age,’ Doc said. ‘I have to search for words these days too, and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve gone into a room and then wondered why I was there. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, if I were you. Are you on any kind of medication?’
‘The doctor wrote
me a prescription, but I don’t know if the pills are helping or not. Don’t worry though, Gene, I still have a few good years in me yet.’
‘I hope so,’ Doc said. ‘It’s nice having a friend again.’
Nancy smiled and took hold of his hand. ‘It is, isn’t it? It was only after Arnold died that I realised how important it was to share an experience with another person. If I hadn’t been there with Arnold, I’m sure the Grand Canyon would have been no more than a big hole in Colorado and Venice just a crumbling and waterlogged city in Italy.’
‘Nicely put, Nancy. It’s as if you studied literature at university. You didn’t by any chance read the works of the nineteenth century English poets, did you?’
‘If you value your shins, Gene, I suggest you don’t say another word! Now pay the check and let’s go. I’ve had enough of you for one day!’
Doc smiled broadly – and then did as he was told.
‘You have to bear in mind, Nancy, that this town isn’t Hershey. There’s not much to do here but potter.’
‘Then let’s potter. We can go for a walk.’
They were about to leave the house when Doc saw Frisbee emerge from his front door. ‘Hold your horses, Nancy! Let’s wait till he’s gone.’
‘Oh really, Gene! Don’t tell me you’re a prisoner in your own house because of that man. What if he stays there?’
‘He won’t. He’s already climbing into his car – probably going to visit that new girlfriend of his.’
‘What’s she like?’ Nancy asked.
‘I think he dug her up at the cemetery,’ Doc said absent-mindedly
‘Gene!’
Doc took Nancy to a small park he occasionally visited. They walked for a while, and then sat down on one of its old wooden benches and watched children play softball. Doc’s eyes closed and for a few minutes he dozed, jolted awake by a cheer from watching parents. He glanced at Nancy. She was lost in thought, staring into a distance of a thousand yards.
‘Penny for them,’ he said.
Nancy turned to him and smiled. ‘You used to ask me that all the time. Do you remember? It used to irritate the hell out of me, too.’
‘I might well have done, but from what I remember you never once gave me a straight answer. You used to shut me out – remember? It’s me that should have been irritated.’
‘I wasn’t consciously shutting you out, Gene. It’s just that there were some things I didn’t want to talk about. It was difficult enough just thinking about them.’
‘So, are you going to tell me now?’
‘I was thinking about children, if you must know. I suppose it’s sitting here with so many parents watching their own children at play. They all look so happy, don’t they? I was just wondering what it would be like to be them; what it would have been like if the two of us had married and had children, been able to lead normal lives like everyone else. I’m being silly, I know, but sometimes I get like this.’
‘Do you regret not having children?’ Doc asked.
‘I don’t regret the decision not to have children – but yes, the biggest regret in my life is not to have been a mother. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t consider it.’
Doc took hold of her hand, and Nancy rested her head on his shoulder.
‘Do you hate me for having the abortion?’ she asked quietly.
‘Of course I don’t hate you. What you did was selfless – it wasn’t an act of convenience. I wish you’d have told me at the time you were pregnant, though, and not just disappeared the way you did. It was my child as well as yours and we should at least have discussed it. In all likelihood, I would have tried to persuade you to keep the baby, but for reasons probably no less selfish than Homer wanting Ruby to have his child.
‘At the end of the day I’d have gone with whatever you decided, though. It was your body, so it was always your right to choose. If you’d decided to go ahead with the abortion after we’d talked, then I’d have supported you in that decision. You should never have doubted me on that, and you should never have gone through the abortion on your own.’
There was a lull in the conversation, and then a shout of warning as a ball came sailing towards them. With reflexes Doc was no longer aware of having, he caught the ball one-handed, and to cheers from both children and parents, threw it to the nearest player.
‘Well done, you!’ Nancy said admiringly.
‘It was either catching it or getting zonked on the head!’ Doc said. ‘Let’s move before a ball comes our way that I can’t catch. I don’t want you going back to Hershey with a black eye!’
Nancy took his arm and they walked from the park.
‘You know what you were saying about us getting married if things had been different? Did you mean that?’
‘Yes, I think we’d have married,’ Nancy replied. ‘I’m not sure my father would have approved, and Brandon certainly wouldn’t. He told me if I married you, he wouldn’t come to the wedding – but that was more of an incentive to marry you!’
‘How come your father never warmed to me?’
‘My father never warmed to any of my boyfriends. I’m not sure he even liked Arnold for that matter, but by that time he was more concerned that I wouldn’t get married, rather than who I married. How did you get on with Beth’s parents?’
‘Not a whole lot better, come to think of it. We stayed in touch for a while after the funeral, but not for long. Beth and Esther were the only things we had in common, and I suspect that deep down they blamed me for their deaths. Beth’s mother – she was the force in the family – once told me it should have been me that had been killed. She was drunk at the time and apologised later, but I think she meant it. In my experience, people usually say what they mean after a few drinks.’
They came to a halt in front of a small stone church and Doc pushed open the gate. He took hold of Nancy’s hand and led her to the churchyard at its rear, where his parents and Sydney lay buried.
‘I think this is the first time I’ve been taken to a cemetery on a date, Gene. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.’
‘It’s pretty here, Nancy – peaceful too. Some days I bring a sandwich and eat lunch.’
‘Are Beth and Esther buried here?’
‘No, they were cremated. I keep their ashes in the house.’
‘They’re not in my room, are they?’ Nancy asked, slightly alarmed by the idea.
‘No, the urns are in the garage.’
‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit morbid?’
‘No,’ Doc replied, slightly baffled by the question. ‘I keep them next to the six-inch nails.’
‘But why would you want to keep them at all?’ Nancy pressed.
‘Because when I die I’m going to be cremated too, and I’ve arranged for all the ashes to be scattered in a sandy area of Zion National Park – it’s where Beth and I honeymooned.’
‘You’d look well if there is a spirit world,’ Nancy said. ‘The only people you’d meet there would be Paiute Indians, and I doubt you’d understand a word they said! Anyway, let’s go. All this talk of death is starting to depress me. We could go to a matinee, if you like – maybe take in a comedy.’
Doc slept through the movie but Nancy enjoyed it, laughing at all the contrived slapstick. They drove home and Doc prepared the barbecue he’d promised her.
‘Does the dog next door always bark this much?’ Nancy asked.
‘Yes, and if I had a gun I’d shoot it!’
‘I can’t even envisage you holding a gun, Gene,’ Nancy laughed. ‘Arnold had a big collection, though. I gave them away when he died.’
‘To the police?’
‘No, to the school children. Of course I gave them to the police!’
After the plates had been cleared Doc excused himself, explaining to Nancy that he had meat stuck in his teeth. He went to the bathroom and flossed, and then returned to the living room where Nancy was sitting. ‘If I was a pharaoh, I’d forego the ornaments and treasure a
nd insist they bury me with a box of dental tape in my sarcophagus: there’s nothing worse than having food stuck in your teeth.’
Nancy smiled. ‘You’re not a pharaoh though, are you, Gene, and seeing as how you’re going to be cremated when you die, it would be a waste of everyone’s money. Now tell me, where did you get that piece of artwork above the fireplace?’
‘The Barbed Wire Flag? It was a present from a friend.’
‘Well, he must have known you well. I suspect that the metal bars and barbed wire are meant to be representations of separation and containment, and that’s you Gene. That’s your life.’
‘I’d be surprised if the artist was thinking that deeply,’ Gene replied with a smile. He shook a cigarette from its pack and moved towards the door.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Nancy demanded. ‘I’m talking to you! And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you use cigarettes to escape people and conversations you don’t want to have. Now sit down and listen to me!’
Gene sat down and poured himself a large measure of red wine.
‘And that’s another thing. I’ve noticed you drink to be with people, too.’
‘Jesus, Nancy! I drink to be with myself. What’s all this about?’
Nancy moved to sit next to him.
‘I’m talking to you as a friend now, Gene, and not someone trying to hurt you. One day my mind is going to go, and when it does I won’t make any sense; but while I still do, please listen to me.
‘For most people life is too short, but for you – it’s as if it’s been too long already. There’s no reason why your life has to be so empty and solitary. You’re not the first person to have suffered tragedy and you won’t be the last. People bounce back from such misfortune, and it’s okay to do that: it’s not a betrayal of the people who are dead. Beth would have wanted you to enjoy life, to live it to the full!’
Last Bus to Coffeeville Page 8
