by Dianne Dixon
“I’m doing ‘Poor Me.’” Lily made a funny, wry face. “I hate people who do ‘Poor Me.’ The truth is, the doctors say Barton and I are healthy, and relatively young, and that all we need to do is keep working at it.” Lily briefly rested her head on Caroline’s shoulder, watching her dry the last of the tomatoes. “Is there anything in the world more delicious than ripe summer tomatoes?”
Lily’s skin was cool against Caroline’s, and her breath smelled fresh and sweet.
“I knew you’d love them,” Lily was saying. “We’re alike, you and I. We’re both kitchen people, food people.” As she moved away, Lily left a light kiss on the back of Caroline’s neck. “We were destined to be girlfriends.”
To Caroline, the feel of Lily’s kiss and the sound of the word girlfriend had an intoxicating effervescence. They had been delivered casually. But they had been received as if they were magic.
In the rootlessness of her growing up, Caroline had never remained anywhere long enough to establish a place in the company of other girls. She had always been the new girl, the one who had arrived late in the school year, or had left early. There had been no access to best friends. And certainly no opportunity for a friendship with anyone as lovely and refined as Lily.
“There was this roadside farm stand on the way back from Lake Arrowhead … bushels of the most beautiful tomatoes. I couldn’t resist,” Lily told her. “But I think I bought way too many. I don’t know what we’re going to do with all of them.”
Caroline was already gathering up the tomatoes. She was feeling wondrously happy as she said: “We’re going to make spaghetti sauce.”
Then Caroline and Lily opened a bottle of cold sparkling cider and they filled and refilled each other’s glasses and told each other funny stories as they took the bounty of summer and created a feast for the people they loved.
The time she spent cooking with Lily had brought Caroline such pleasure, and taken her out of herself so completely, that she hadn’t thought to put on an apron before beginning work in the kitchen. Now she was upstairs in her bedroom, shedding her sauce-splattered shirt and shorts and preparing to take a shower before dinner.
Through the open bedroom window, coming up from the lawn, Caroline could hear the sounds of a raucous game of tag—wild bursts of laughter from Lissa and Julie and cheerful hoots from Barton and Robert. Julie’s voice was loud and triumphant: “You’re out, Uncle Barton!” It was followed by a shout from Lissa: “Daddy’s turn to be it. Daddy’s turn! I want Daddy to chase us now.”
Caroline went to the window. She saw the oak tree, and the lawn, and Robert darting across it—Julie and Lissa racing after him, Barton cheering them on. Robert was keeping his movements quick enough to make the girls’ chase exciting, but never fast enough to carry him completely out of their reach. He was doing what he always did when he and the girls played together: He was seeing to it that they would win the game.
Barton caught sight of Caroline at the window. “Caro, come down here. Robert and I are getting slaughtered, we need backup.”
Before Caroline could respond, she heard Julie call out: “Mommy never plays games anymore. Only Daddy does.”
Caroline quickly moved away from the window. The lightness she’d felt in the kitchen with Lily disappeared and was replaced with the weight of all the things that were wrong on Lima Street. It made her feel singed and shredded. She went into Robert’s newest addition to the house—the master bathroom that now adjoined the bedroom. She was looking for painkillers. But none were there. She had taken them all.
The pain Caroline was trying to kill was rooted in the heartbreak of having come of age in a world where being pregnant and unmarried was a scandal. She now understood how that restricted world had consigned her to a powerless place in which she had received a wedding ring instead of a college degree; in which she had never once in her life held a job; in which, if she were to leave her husband and take her children, she was not equipped to provide a decent home for them. Caroline had no way to survive beyond the walls of Lima Street—walls that were both a fortress and a prison.
She returned to the bedroom and stood near the window. She watched Lissa temporarily abandon her pursuit of Robert and run across the lawn toward Barton. When Lissa came to a stop in front of him, Caroline heard her say: “It isn’t always just Daddy we play with. Sometimes we have fun with Mommy, too … just never with Mommy and Daddy together.” Lissa’s expression was exquisite in its sweetness, and in its wistfulness.
Later, they all gathered around the table in the dining room. The girls ate mountains of spaghetti. Lily talked for a while about her life with Barton in New York, and Caroline said very little. Barton and Robert discussed politics and got into a trivia contest over their knowledge of old war movies and Robert announced that he knew more about them than Barton could ever possibly know and Barton laughed and said he could bring Robert down in one move. Barton bet Robert the last meatball remaining on the spaghetti platter that Robert couldn’t name the movie Barton was thinking of. And Barton said: “Here’s your clue, name the movie … Ping, ping, ping,” and he reached his fork toward the last meatball and Robert grabbed the fork away from him and with a flourish speared the meatball from the platter and said: “Run Silent Run Deep.” Then Robert jumped to his feet and waved the forked meatball in the air and proclaimed, “To the victor belong the meatballs!” The girls and Lily applauded and Barton held up one of the three empty wine bottles that were on the table and announced that the party was going downhill at an alarming rate—he was being deprived of both meatballs and wine. Robert went into the basement to bring up the only expensive bottle of wine in the house, one that a client had given him and that he had been saving for a special occasion. When Robert opened it, he asked Lily to take the first sip and she said the wine was superb.
Barton raised his glass. “To Robert. A terrific host. A fantastic human being, and a good friend.” Lily, too, raised her glass. And Lissa and Julie chorused, “Yay for Daddy!”
Caroline, meanwhile, dabbed at a spot of spaghetti sauce that was on her dress. Then she sat up straight and finished off her fourth glass of wine.
Barton draped his arm across the back of Lily’s chair. “I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.”
“Probably not since the last time we were all together,” Robert said. “That’s our magic, Barton. The three of us.”
“The three of us, you, me, and Caro. We were always something special. The Three Musketeers.”
Lily laughed. “Don’t tell me you were corny enough to call yourselves the Three Musketeers.”
“Be kind,” Robert said. “We were young and stupid and from California. For us, that was being pretty damn erudite.”
“Oooh,” Julie crowed. “Daddy said ‘damn.’”
“Daddy meant ‘darn.’” Robert looked at Julie and feigned a scowl.
“Daddy, are you guys going to start talking about olden times again?” Julie’s scowl was genuine.
“Oh, I hope so.” Lily caught Caroline’s eye and smiled. “I’d love to hear about what the three of you were like in your wild youth.”
“Nothing to hear, really. It was a long time ago, Lily. And anyway, Barton must have told you all of it already.” Caroline was tired and on the edge of being drunk, and in no mood to hear the old stories.
“He’s shared a few tales with me,” Lily said. “But I have the feeling he hasn’t told me the truly interesting ones. I want to hear them all.”
Julie began to recite in an apathetic monotone: “Daddy was a really good surfer and Mommy was really really pretty and all the boys liked her and Uncle Barton was Daddy’s best friend and they all did a bunch of dumb stuff together. I want to be excused if that’s what you guys are going to talk about. It’s boring.”
“Then you’re excused,” Robert said. The girls were already rushing past him.
Lily was refilling Barton’s wineglass. “Wait a minute,” she said. “How come it was the Three M
usketeers? Weren’t there four of you? It was you. Robert. Caroline. And Mitch. Right?”
“Mitch came later,” Barton said. “Then we were the Four Musketeers. But Robert, Caro, and I were the founding members. The three of us met on the first day of Caro’s freshman year, and—”
Lily interrupted him. “I know how the three of you got together. But what about Mitch? When did he come into the picture?”
Robert glanced at Caroline. “You should probably answer that, Caroline. You’re the one who knows the most about when Mitch came and went.”
“Shut up, Robert.” Her words were thrown at him like a knife. The silence in the room was absolute. Then Caroline said, “You want to know who all of us used to be, Lily? Well, Robert was the simple, good-hearted surfer from a nice middle-class family. Barton was the sensitive intellectual, raised by a widowed father who taught English at a ritzy boarding school. And I was a nothing girl who pretty much raised myself. And as far as Mitch goes, he was a sexy bad boy whose parents were rich and serially divorced. I had crazy sex with Mitch and was hooked on him like a drug. But I thought I should love Robert because he was so wholesome and nice, the all-American boy.”
“Caroline, that’s enough!” It came out of Robert in a growl.
“Oh but we haven’t told our story in such a long time, Robert. And there’s so much more to it now.” Caroline was full of wine. And she was angry.
She turned back to Lily. “I used to keep Barton up night after night whining about not being able to decide between Mitch and Robert. Then I got knocked up. By Robert.” Caroline snapped her fingers. “And just like that, the decision was made. I got married. A quick trip to city hall and a basket of burgers on the way out of town. Why? Because I was pregnant and I didn’t have any money and I didn’t have a job and the only girl I ever knew who had an abortion ended up bleeding to death on the floor of a gas station bathroom on her way back home.”
“Caro—” Barton’s voice was full of concern for Caroline.
She continued, refusing to be interrupted. “I got married because Robert said we should do it, and because I was too weak and scared to see that I had any other options.”
“Caro,” Barton said again. “Don’t do this. It’s ancient history. It’s not important anymore.”
“Since when isn’t the truth important, Barton?”
“What’s not important is how you and Robert began. All that matters is how far you’ve come, that you’ve made a good life together.”
Caroline laughed. The sound was harsh and loud.
Robert threw down his napkin and walked out of the room.
Caroline’s attention was on Barton. Her eyes were wide and fiercely bright. “You want to know how far Robert and I have come? Not very far. I’m still doing things because Robert says I should do them. But now instead of just doing mindless things, I’ve graduated to unforgivable things.”
Robert reappeared in the dining room doorway, his attention fixed on Caroline.
“I’ve done the unforgivable because I’m weak and I’m stupid.” Caroline’s voice became louder, and then it became a shriek. “If I was stronger and smarter, Justin wouldn’t be gone now. I would never have allowed Robert to take him away from me!”
The color drained from Robert’s face.
Barton instinctively put a comforting hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Some events are beyond our control, Caro. We can’t blame ourselves for the randomness of things that can happen to a child.”
Caroline turned on him with furious hostility. “It’s easy to feel blameless when you don’t actually have any children to be responsible for, isn’t it, Barton?”
“That’s not fair!” Lily’s response flew at Caroline like a bullet.
“You want fair?” Caroline shot back. “Go to Pomona.”
Lily looked at Caroline, then at Barton, puzzled.
“It’s the county fair,” Caroline said. “Pomona’s the only fair there is, Lily.”
Robert watched as Caroline sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She looked depleted and tired. He saw that the rage had gone out of her. And he left the room.
Barton was offering Caroline a glass of water. She pushed it aside. “Barton, don’t even think about talking to me about God and his infinite love for me. The things that I’ve done are things that I’ll never be forgiven for. Never.”
“God’s love for us is limitless, Caro. It’s the reason he allowed Christ to die on the cross. To forgive us our sins.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Caroline’s voice was low and weary. “God put Christ on that cross to show us the truth about what we can expect from life. It’s God’s way of saying to us, ‘If I’d do this to my own son … what do you think I’m going to do to you?’”
Caroline didn’t wait for a reply. She shoved her chair away from the table and went upstairs.
As she lay down, she could feel something bunched beneath her. It was the half-finished costume she’d been constructing for Lissa—an outfit for a musical version of Goldilocks. As Caroline was dropping it onto the floor beside the bed, she heard the girls across the hall arguing. Then there was the sound of a door being slammed and a shout of “I hate you, you idiot! I’m going to tell!”
Caroline sat up, intending to go out into the hall and explain to her children that shouting and name-calling were ugly, uncivilized things to do. But she dropped back onto the bed, laughed at the irony of her message, and let the wine and her emotional exhaustion overtake her.
At some point, Caroline fell asleep and began to dream. She and Barton and Justin were on a stage, dressed as the Three Bears. Their costumes were loose and fastened down the back with ties, like hospital gowns—everyone could see that they were naked inside of them. Barton’s was billowed and balloonlike, and because of that, he floated above the stage—above Caroline and Justin, not seeing them, gazing heavenward and humming the song “Blue Skies.” And in front of the stage, in the midst of the audience, Robert and Mitch were engaged in a brutal dance contest. The song was a cruelly sped-up version of “California Girls.” Their feet were bleeding and the auditorium was filled with the sound of their bones snapping and shattering. A Judge was loudly banging a coffin-shaped gavel and shouting: “Justice. Justice.” A bricked, ovenlike arch began to belch with flame and The Accused was being led toward it. Caroline struggled to see through the mask of her Bear costume, to see who it was that had been found guilty. But she could see nothing. She could only feel the heat of the flames.
And then she woke up. Someone was knocking on the bedroom door.
When Caroline opened the door, Barton was there, holding a bowl of ice cream. “All of us were worried about you,” he said. “I’ve been sent up with a peace offering.” Caroline took the ice cream and went back to the bed. Barton came and sat beside her. “I’m not exactly certain how we got so off track at dinner, Caro.”
“My fault. I had too much to drink. Drinking and grieving don’t mix.” Caroline tried to smooth the skirt of her dress; it was covered in a confusion of wrinkles. The fabric looked bunched and dull, so different from what it had been when she’d put it on before dinner—when she had wanted to look as fresh and pretty in lemon yellow as Lily did in summer white.
“What’s the story with you and Robert and Mitch? Why was there such tension when his name came up?” Barton’s question took Caroline by surprise.
He plowed ahead without waiting for an answer. “I know there’s a problem, but when I asked Robert all he would say is that you aren’t in contact with Mitch, that neither one of you has seen him in almost ten years.”
“We drifted apart, that’s all.” Caroline went into the bathroom and filled the air with deliberate clatter, rooting through drawers, rattling hairbrushes and lipsticks. It didn’t deter Barton. He simply raised his voice and said: “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Years ago,” Caroline answered. “That time when he was in town just before you left for New York. Remember? That day I came
by the church. Your last day.”
“That’s not true.” Barton’s voice was louder than she had expected it to be. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom. “I know that he was here, in this house, about a month after Justin’s death.”
Caroline felt as if she had been slapped. “How do you know that?”
“Mitch told me. I ran into him right after he’d gotten back from seeing you. His law firm has a branch office in Manhattan. We bump into each other every now and then. But the question is, Caro, why didn’t you tell Robert?”
“This is none of your business.”
“You and Robert and I have been friends for a long time. And you, Caro, you’re part of me. That makes everything that happens to you my business.”
Caroline studied Barton for a minute. She needed to know how much danger she was in; how much of the truth he suspected. She waited before she said: “Mitch did come here. But I sent him away. So, there wasn’t anything to say to Robert.”
“And that’s it? That’s all you’re going to allow me to know?”
“It’s all you need to know. Because even if I am part of you, Barton, I’m only a part, only Caroline. I’m not Lily. Lily would owe you more. I don’t.”
It wasn’t clear to Caroline whether it was irritation or hurt in his voice as he said: “Come downstairs soon. Robert and the girls are waiting to have ice cream with you.”
When Barton had gone, Caroline closed the door of the room she shared with Robert, and she thought about the last time she’d seen Mitch.
It had been on a day in late winter, shortly before noon, and Caroline had answered the door wearing a lavender-colored nightgown that had floated around her ankles like a cloud. Her hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a lavender ribbon. The nightgowns and the tying back of her hair with matching ribbons had become a sort of uniform for her.
Justin had been gone for almost a month. Since returning from his funeral Caroline had not once left the house. She was pale, and her expression was dreamy and unfocused. She moved as if she were floating in fog. When she saw that it was Mitch who was at the door, it took her a long time to comprehend the reality of his being there.
