by Minot, Susan
When the patients saw other deceased entering the room or sitting in chairs he or she wouldn’t last for more than twenty-four hours after that.
Do you have a husband, Nora?
I’ve got Fred.
Fred Brown? Do you love him?
Sure, he’s my husband. Maybe not like at first but I do.
I’ve had lots of husbands. It was different with each one.
That sounds right.
One could keep on having different love, if you had enough energy. It takes a lot of energy. A woman throws herself into it more than a man does, I think. She lets it take over. I let men take over my life many times. She laughed self-consciously. You must hear a lot of life stories.
Not so much. Usually sick people are more interested in what’s coming for lunch.
I did, said Ann Lord. I let them take over.
But it’s the women who move on, said Nora Brown. They have that. Much harder for a man to move on. Not easy for a man to change.
I don’t know if I’ve seen that, Ann Lord said.
No, said Nora, not unkindly. You wouldn’t have.
A wave of pain appeared on Ann Lord’s face. Nurse Brown had seen many patients weep. It was a natural human response to pain and it was notable when she came across someone, man or woman, who did not weep. It gave you a different idea of them. Ann Lord was one of the ones who didn’t weep.
One day after Ann Lord had not been out of bed for a few days Nurse Brown heard noises in the next room and stood up and listened. She didn’t like to disturb a patient, a patient needed privacy as much as the next person and got it less. She heard footsteps moving across the room. She had seen patients who could not lift their hand off the coverlet one day the next day be able to walk downstairs. A piece of furniture scraped the floor, the footsteps creaked. She heard a drawer open then realized it was a window being lifted. She can call me if she needs me, Nurse Brown thought, and pulled her chair near the door. She heard a restrained groan and continued to listen as she sat down, and heard more sounds but none that Nurse Brown had not heard before.
FOUR
10. THE VENETIAN CHANDELIER
In the center of the ceiling was a roundish plaster mold with a pink and black glass chandelier Mrs. Wittenborn had brought back from her honeymoon. It was poignantly out of place in the little guest cottage with the molded bedposts and braided rugs and its transparent shadows looked glamorous on the ceiling. Ann Grant lay looking up at it and thought how sweet it had been with Harris Arden and went over again all the things he’d done and where his hands had been on her and saw his face and again heard his voice in her ear. She thought of their standing in the dew of the rock garden, and of the crumpling sound of sailbags, how he’d not let her turn around on the porch and of the bark pressing against her back in the fog. She felt again the jolt she got each time he’d made her feel a new thing. She relived it thinking, I will always have this, this will always be with me, his hand flat on my chest, no one can take it, I will never forget it. Nothing would alter its vividness, she would never lose it. As she went over each sensation her understanding grew of what life was for. It was for this.
She knew a change was taking place in her, she felt linked to the world. The change took place inside and no one saw it and that it happened only she knew.
Something cracked across the ceiling.
The certainty she’d felt that night remained intact. A shell had formed around it and now was cracking open. It had disappeared and yet had never gone. Was that proof of its importance or simply its lack of resolution? And what was she to do with it now after forty years? She didn’t know where it came from so how could she put it back?
The house was streaming with people carrying boxes and paper bags and coffee machines into the pantry. Ann saw Mrs. Wittenborn’s blue kimono flapping up the stairs. In the dining room was Buddy wearing sunglasses offering her his muffin with a bite taken out. Upstairs oblivious of the activity was Lila, the eye of the storm. Ann found her standing very still in the center of the room with her pensive expression, bottom lip cupping her top lip. The twin beds were strewn with clothes and clothes tags and tissue paper and skirts laid out. Ann pushed aside an alligator bag from a crowded armchair.
Mummy’s driving me out of my mind, Lila said in a calm quiet voice.
In the next room her dress was draped like a sea monster over a chaise and hat stand and lamp.
Did you sleep at all?
I did, but I was wide awake at five. She looked into the next room. I can’t wear that veil.
About when I went to sleep, Ann said.
Are you aware you have an idiotic smile plastered across your face? Lila said, relieved to change the subject.
Ann nodded.
But isn’t he …? Lila started shirting piles of lingerie, satin things her bridesmaids had given her which she’d probably never wear.
What?
Engaged?
Yes, but it’s O.K.
Is it? Lila looked straight at Ann and for the first time Ann found Lila Wittenborn’s level-headedness irritating.
Yes, it is. Insistence always had a hollow ring. I mean, it may not look that way but it’s going to be fine.
There must be a better way to put it, Ann thought, she just wasn’t putting it the right way.
I sort of thought he was flirting with Gigi, Lila said, picking up a peach bedjacket.
More like Gigi flirting with him.
Oh, Lila said.
Li, said Ann.
Then that’s good. Lila inspected the quilting on the sleeves.
This is big, Ann said.
Lila put down the jacket and sat on the bed. I like Harris. I think he’s great. She took a deep breath. But I also think that—
Lila! Her mother called from the hall.
What?
Mr. Conti’s here!
Lila looked at Ann. The hairdresser, she said.
Ann didn’t stand up right away, suddenly feeling her lack of sleep.
Could she sing?
A little.
She could? She could sing?
Not like you.
She was pretty though, and had style. I could see how you’d fall in love with her on a tramcar. I wonder if you would have fallen in love with me on a tramcar. I doubt it.
I don’t.
I wouldn’t say I was at my best on a tram.
I would have fallen in love with you anywhere.
I was hoping she wouldn’t be pretty and then she arrived looking so stylish. I mean, not too chic but with a style. She had good taste, didn’t she.
So do you.
Hers was classic.
It was different.
Well, it was her job after all, she said. Fashion.
She was good at her job, he said.
Right away I could see why you liked her. I don’t know if that made it better or worse.
I hope it made it easier, he said.
Darling nothing made it easier.
They were on the driveway unloading the car. Through the wavy glass of the hall windows one could see the blue bay. Ann came up slowly from the cottage and saw a woman with short dark hair leaning on a railing with a sweater thrown over her shoulders. She was looking up at Harris and smiling.
She said hello to the Tobins first. At another time they would have kissed Ann hello, now they merely shook her hand. Mr. Tobin didn’t seem to remember who she was, but Mrs. Tobin did. Ann was the one who’d thrown her son over. Spring Tobin, Vernon’s little sister, gave Ann a tight hug, holding no grudge.
Ann stepped up on the porch.
Maria, this is Ann, Harris said. He had his hand on Maria’s shoulder. The woman leaned forward smiling with a dark red painted mouth and shook hands and leaned back closer to Harris.
You finally made it, Ann said not looking at Harris.
It took us a while. Her eyebrows went up. She had a high voice. Her posture was good, like a dancer’s. Things always go wrong when I travel, she said sm
iling at Harris. Ann looked for something wrong in her. Wasn’t her head a little big? Her eyes a little close together?
Aren’t you going to say hello?
Ann turned around to the abrupt face of Vernon Tobin. Vernon was her same height so she always felt as if she was looking down at him.
Vernon, how are you? She kissed him on the cheek and started to introduce him to Harris and Maria but of course they all knew each other. Vernon stared at her.
How are you? he said in dull tones.
Very well.
You look well. And New York, how is it?
Good. It’s New York.
Not a place I could live, Vernon said.
I know. Vernon had been clear about his opinion of New York.
So, he reported, we stayed last night at the Blue Hill Motel. Spring and I shared a room, and Maria was sick all night.
Oh no. Ann looked at Maria who was still smiling.
I feel better now, she said.
Vernon went on. We think it was the clams. None of us got sick, but Maria must have gotten a bad clam. He continued to stare at Ann.
The last time she’d seen Vernon Tobin had been the winter night at the Ritz when they’d met for a drink. She’d broken off with him a few months before and they’d exchanged a few stilted letters and when he heard she was up seeing Lila he wanted to see her, there was something he needed to clear up. They met in the upstairs lounge. Vernon talked about common friends and about a trial filling the newspapers and while he was telling her about changing offices at the bank he slipped something out of his pocket and put it down on the low table in front of them next to the silver bowl of nuts. It was a square velvet box. Her heart began pounding in a sort of sickened way. He continued talking about a new person they’d hired whom he’d known at prep school. He did not mention the box.
Vernon, she said finally. What’s that?
Look and see.
She picked up the box and opened it. Vernon, she said not happily.
It’s a ring.
Yes I see.
It’s for you.
Vernon—
Do you like it?
It’s very pretty, but Vernon—
It’s an emerald.
I know. Ann did not touch it. On either side of the emerald were diamonds. It was tilted into the little ring slot. It was a very nice ring. She was surprised Vernon had come up with such a good ring.
I’m glad you like it. His shoulders were hunched, braced for a blow and he was rubbing one hand with the other. He didn’t look at Ann. Try it on, he said.
Vernon, I can’t take this.
I want you to marry me, he said. He spoke so softly she could hardly make out the words, but she knew what they were.
We haven’t been seeing each other. I thought you understood that I—
I take it that’s a no? He still didn’t face her.
I’m sorry. She closed the box and held it out to him. It’s beautiful though.
He looked at the box. I don’t want it.
Vernon.
You keep it. I don’t want it. What do I want with an emerald ring? Nothing believe me.
Return it, she said. Or give it to … another girl.
He looked at her now. I got it for you.
Yes but it’s an engagement ring. I can’t keep it if we’re not engaged.
Then don’t think of it as an engagement ring. If that’s what’s stopping you.
She put the box down on the table.
Vernon looked impatiently for the waiter and quickly paid the bill. They took their coats from the backs of the armchairs and stood up. Ann started to walk away.
Are you going to leave your ring there? he said.
She turned around, buttoning her coat. Vernon.
What.
I can’t take the ring.
His mouth was pinched. Then I guess no one will, he said and swept past her. She hurried after him and caught up with him on the white curved staircase.
It’s still there, Vernon.
He didn’t stop. She followed him down through the lobby and out the revolving doors to the sidewalk where it was cold and dark blue, and dirty snow was heaped on the curb.
Vernon, I’m sorry. She reached for his shoulder.
He turned around. There were wet streaks on his face. He wiped them with a flat palm, and his gaze shot upward to the windows of the lounge where they had sat, considering something—how things might have gone otherwise—thinking what he left behind.
A freckled woman came out on the porch, smoking.
This is Kingie, Vernon said as if the subject had already come up.
Hi. The woman said, frowning and tilting her mouth. She sucked on her cigarette and glanced critically around. So this is Maine, she said.
Kingie’s from Memphis.
Nice to meet you, Ann said.
Kingie nodded. She’d think about that later.
I might go lie down before lunch, Maria said, and Ann saw her gaze at Harris.
They walked together down the lawn. Harris carried Maria’s bag.
Harris! Gigi burst from a screen door. Aren’t you playing tennis with us?
Not wanting to shout Harris turned and walked back to Gigi and Ann saw that he was a man women sought out. How will it be when we see each other … She’d not met his eye all morning.
After conferring with Gigi Harris returned to Maria who slid her arm around his. They went past the red barn over the black shadows on the grass toward the children’s house. Maria’s navy blue sweater slipped and he caught it, and Ann found herself watching the man she loved adjust the sweater on the shoulder of his fiancée and seeing her slender ankles at the end of her slim pants as they passed by the red barn and over the green grass. Why was it this man? It could have been anyone. Two days ago she didn’t even know him. Why wasn’t he someone else. Like so many things in life there was no explaining it.
I love you. Very much.
Wait. Which one was that. It was snowing in the canals, it was Venice. Was it Oscar or Phil? Not Ted. It was January and snowing and snowflakes drifted down and disappeared in the green water. Warm me up, she said. There was a long warm body and fresh cotton cold at first and the bed made tight and a tray of coffee. Warm me up It was Phil who liked the neatness of hotel rooms and grew irritated as the packages collected and the maps were spread out on the bed. He was proud of bringing her to Venice first and watched her face. Phil Phil warm me up She wished she could have loved him better, her heart when she met him was shut like a safe, and having the girls didn’t help, she stayed home and he went to his clubs, so when he turned to other arms she could not blame him. Summer heat blew up from the lapping alley below and it was Venice with Oscar standing again at a latched window, he said you need to get away, but she should not have left the children so soon, she should not have left Teddy, she should not have been without the girls. There had even been a Venice with Ted who was impatient in the dark churches, preferring Harry’s Bar morning noon and night.
They all took her to Venice. It was full of water, each time full of a grieving water, increasing, the quiet clopping of the streets at night. And Phil came back to her watching her face when the window swung open with the snowflakes when he saw that she did not need him the way he hoped she would, that she was sealed off from him and he could not warm her. She should not have gone back, it belonged to a place where she should never have gone. Venice, so beautiful everyone said, ah my favorite city. Venice was children left behind, children gone, it was love not found, it was love missing. She was stupefied in Venice, breathing loss. Venice. Everyone talked about it and everyone adored it. She wished she’d never seen the place.
Constance Katz gave the short version of her romantic crisis. She’d kicked out Luc who said his affair with his photography assistant was a passing thing and she should just be patient.
If you want him, her mother said, you can get him back.
It’s not that simple.
I’m afraid
it is.
Mother, you don’t know.
I know more than you think, Constance.
It was not easy to argue with a woman lying motionless under the covers. You don’t know Luc, Constance said.
They’re all little boys, said Ann Lord. If you really want him back, treat him badly.
Great, Mother.
Treat him badly and he’ll come back. I promise.
Is that how you got Papa back? Constance said, folding her arms.
Sweetheart, you know I didn’t want him back.
She dreamed every ring she’d ever worn had left its imprint on her fingers and she could see the traces of all of them, the oval ring with the seal, her mother’s sapphire, the jeweled guard rings, the square diamond from Oscar, the three opals in a row, the enamel dome, the Plexiglas cube, the gold wedding bands. Each time a ring was put on her finger she’d had the illusion of safety. If you believed in safety you were more likely to find happiness. In the dream it was the impression the rings had left, not the rings, which remained. They left their imprint the way kisses did not. They left an imprint while the impression left by a man’s arms worn around one’s body night after night for years was not left.
She woke and thought of what was left. She had always believed in the accepted wisdom that what was important would endure and in the end survive and what mattered would last and be recognized and saved. But she saw now that was not true.
Ann Lord’s children sat in the kitchen drinking tea.
I think she’s gotten sweeter, Margie said.
I wouldn’t go that far, Constance said, turning the pages of a newspaper and not reading. It’s just the drugs.
Lauren thinks she’s gotten nicer, Teddy said.
Constance became interested in an article and folded her arms on her lap and lowered her profile nearly touching her chin to the table.
Is Lauren coming over? Margie said.
She’s bringing the girls.
Is that a good idea, do you think?
They don’t have to go up, Teddy said.
I didn’t mean that. I just meant Mother might not be up for it.
