by Diane Nelson
Robert growled, low enough so only I would hear, “She’s awake. Don’t upset her.”
Etty said, “Dad,” as if she knew. “Let’s go down to the gift shop.” My daughter glanced at me with understanding and continued, “They’ll be moving her to a private room. I want her to have flowers.”
God bless.
Tonia Hillman McMahon had always been a towering figure packaged in a diminutive body. A restrained dynamo, a passionate woman with iron-clad will and an icy exterior. I’d never chipped through the façade to discover the woman beneath.
“Well, are you coming in or not? And stop staring. You look like you’re measuring me for a coffin.”
Did everyone know what I was thinking?
Pulling the chair away from the wall to make room for my long legs, I used the diversion to consider what I wanted to say. Strangely enough, the urge to say thank you settled on my shoulders, an unusual burden for me when it came to dealing with that woman.
“Shut the door.” Watery grey eyes hardened slightly. “There are things to say and we do not need an audience, wouldn’t you agree?”
Doing as she requested, knowing she’d once more taken the offensive position and put me categorically back on my heels, set me squarely back in the safe zone. The doormat Jessamine zone.
What would Coach Jack Ryan do? What would the man say to me if he knew…?
“Jessamine?”
She said my name … kindly. With concern.
The least I could do was inquire as to her health, make small talk, and avoid what was coming at all costs. So I did. For a microsecond.
“I want you to stop, dearest.”
Dearest?
“Stop talking, stop thinking. And just listen.”
She had my full undivided attention.
“I am not about to apologize for my actions. Not before. Not after.”
Ah, yes, good old Tonia. Back in fine form. What more did I exp—
“I said, be quiet. Please.”
She patted my hand. How it got onto the bed, close enough for her to reach it was a conundrum for another day.
“He is my son. And I will do what is necessary to protect him.” She glared at my tell me something I don’t already know face but went on. “However, I also cannot condone his behavior. It was immature and…”
She sucked air and something off to our left beeped and chittered. One heartbeat, two… It settled back down to a pleasant hum.
You may redirect, counselor.
With the cloak of epiphany guiding my thoughts, I said, “It wasn’t the first time, was it?”
She sighed. “I thought you knew. I assumed you were aware of Robert’s … indiscretions and chose to remain silent for the sake of our Loretta.”
Great. Because I was a clueless idiot, the woman was going to despise me for not knowing and not measuring up as a paragon of suffering virtue for the sake of God, family and the precious McMahon good name.
She withdrew into herself briefly, developing some internal calculus as I twitched in my seat, ill at ease at the prospect of going to the woodshed in a wholly creative way.
Lacking the joint weapons of checkbook and ball point pen, Tonia still had psychological thumbscrews to apply. For the last twenty-two plus years, they’d worked every time.
At least they had … until Jack.
Seventy-eight tomorrow.
Resigned to the same old litany, I hunkered down for the gospel according to Tonia. The woman was dying. If sending me through one more gate along the path of diminishing self-esteem eased her journey, who was I to say otherwise?
“For your information, Jes, I do not plan to die. Not today.”
Damn.
Other than pulling plugs, I had no Plan B.
Tonia grinned. Yes, a movement that bared even white teeth, meticulously capped and maintained by a fleet of dental experts. Anomalously white against parchment skin. Skin that crinkled with age.
Tonia did not do botox. A bit of honesty in a dishonest universe.
“I’m getting tired so let me cut to the chase.” Unsaid was I’ll use small words so even you can understand. “You will return to campus with Loretta. She must not be distracted from her studies.”
“Tonia, no. I can’t. You don’t understand…”
“This is not a discussion, girl. Listen carefully. Here is what will happen. Robert will not contest the divorce but…”
Uh-oh, here it comes.
“…you will agree to certain concessions. The election is on November 4th. Until that time, you will assist Robert in executing his campaign. You will appear with him at limited engagements and I will require your co-operation in preparing the next rounds of televised ads.”
Bitterness and bile colored my voice with spiteful, sharp tones. “That means pretending to be his loving wife.”
“That means being his wife. Once the election is over, then you may re-file for divorce with my blessing. Until then, as time and your studies permit, you will present the proper image.”
The air slowly drained from my lungs, leaving a burning sensation and a frisson of hope. The election was two months and change away.
It would mean resetting the clock, putting my life on hold once more.
I can do this. Can’t I?
“I will have my assistant inform the department that you and Loretta will be here for the weekend, tending to my needs. You shall return and resume your classes and your teaching assistant duties on Monday.”
I nodded, agreeing to the terms, burying the yes but deep, so deep it would not poke its ugly head out until I’d fulfilled the terms of the verbal contract.
Robert could not be trusted to keep his vows. Thank God, Tonia could and did.
Perverse Jes had to say it, “How are you going to guarantee little robert will stay where it belongs,” making the requisite finger quotes to emphasize my point.
What I didn’t say was if little robert came anywhere near me ever again I’d beg, steal or borrow enough money to buy pruning shears and make His Right Honorable Judge McMahon the first eunuch to ever preside on the bench.
Tonia snickered.
Oops.
“Speaking of funds. You will understand that the, uh…”
“Bribe?”
“…offer cannot be extended until after all the conditions have been satisfactorily executed.”
Executed. Good word.
It was time for full disclosure. “I can’t stay with Loretta. It’s not right. And, besides, she has a…”
“Boyfriend. Yes, I know.”
A look of vague displeasure crossed her face and my belly clenched, wondering if she knew about Chazz. Really knew.
“He’s a good man, Tonia. I couldn’t have chosen better for her myself.”
And you know…?
“Of course I know. Despite what you think of me, I am not the heartless martinet you consider me. Nor am I a hypocritical racist.” I sucked air at that, shocked. “Loretta talks with me. Frequently. And while a poor boy with modest upbringing from Alabama is not my first choice for my grand-daughter, it appears he has prospects.”
Tonia lay back on the pillows looking spent. Yet, in spite of her obvious exhaustion, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth.
Voice noticeably weaker, she said, “I see I finally got you to shut up.”
That little revelation put me in a tailspin, no doubt about it. But the issue of managing my life under her conditions simply did not compute … in more ways than one.
“Jessamine, I want you to stay with your daughter. I have my reasons.” I sputtered an objection but she spoke over me with conviction, “Suffice it to say, they are necessary reasons. And I will lend you sufficient funds so that your presence there will not be a burden. On any of you.”
I sat back, hands clenched, thinking on everything she’d said. Tonia always had reasons and it was quite clear she was not in a sharing mood.
Desperation gnawed at me. I wanted … craved my o
wn space. Especially if I were forced to interact with Robert on any level, no matter how innocuous. If forced to live with Etty, I’d have to choke down the fireworks, put a lid on my bile and suck it up.
Be bigger than, better than.
Once more for the Gipper. But this time it looked like the Gipper was going to be me. Or Tonia. The jury was still out on that one.
“Are we agreed?”
Measuring time in units of pain was no way to live. But I refused to give up and give in. Not completely. So I said the only word that would kick start a semblance of a new life. I said, “Yes.”
“Good. Now go get Robert. I want you both down at the recording studio this afternoon.”
Recording studio…
Jessamine Cavanaugh McMahon did it in the recording studio with a microphone.
With an evil grin I motioned for Robert to come in. I had no doubt in my mind what I would do with that microphone.
Even if it didn’t fit…
****
“Do you want to head home on Interstate 80? Just for something different?”
Etty nodded but continued staring out the window. She’d been oddly reticent to talk, either to me or to her father. Especially to Robert. I’d gone the friendly wassup route to no avail. Pulling the mommy card wouldn’t work me into the bonus round either so keeping my mouth shut about ‘issues’ seemed prudent.
After all, she could be pining for Chazz.
If I were in her shoes…
Oh, wait a minute. I was.
Pining. Yearning. Thirsting. Aching.
Crap, I could fill a notebook with frilly phrases sure to please and inspire any and all of my favorite romance authors’ requirements for emotive descriptions.
What wasn’t going to happen was the thing I wanted most … hot honking mad thrusting pounding lunging balls-to-the-wall fuck-me-senseless sex.
The man said, clear as day, he wouldn’t wait forever. I’d just had an extension added on to make that ‘effectively forever’. And whether or not he came for me, I would not be free, no matter how many days I counted down.
My thumb straddled the intersection of smooth metal and unyielding flesh. The evidence of my contract was there—hard, solid, incontrovertible. And there it would stay until the final decree officially released me from bondage.
In the meantime, Coach Jack Ryan would be nothing more than the director of the program. A teacher, even perhaps a colleague but nothing more, because the man was temptation personified, a devil without horns who would niggle at my resolve until I caved.
If I caved, if I gave in to my feelings, Robert would win. It was that simple.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, hon.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Mind what?” I glanced over but she still had her face turned away. I exited the on ramp, blending smoothly into light traffic.
“Staying with me. Actually, I want you to.”
Reaching over to pat her thigh, I sighed and muttered, “It’s an imposition.”
“It’s a condition.”
Cattle prod me. I nearly drove off the road. She could not possibly know…
“I told you. Grams and I talk. She explained it all. Sort of.” Her voice bounced off the window, echoing back, muted and filled with … something. “I kinda read between the lines.”
“Are you a psychologist now?” That was said half in jest.
“Um, about that.”
Setting speed control at seventy, I focused as much attention as I could on her next words.
“I, uh, talked with Grams and she agreed.”
“About…?”
“Changing majors.”
Oh, thank you gods of scholarship and opportunity!
“Before I asked the obvious question: which major, before I explored how and why she’d changed her tune, even before I gave a single thought to Tonia even being willing to entertain that heresy, I asked, “Is that what you and your father were talking about?”
Silence. Long, drawn out.
Finally, she turned and faced me enough that I caught her expression out of the corner of my eye and didn’t like what I saw. Blank, tight, stone-faced and … determined.
“Yeah, among other things.”
I waited. For … the other things.
Apparently hell was freezing over so I gave that up and pursued less invasive topics. Etty relaxed, marginally.
“I want to go to med school. It’ll mean an extra year of anatomy and bio but a lot of the schools accept apps from non-science majors.”
I didn’t know that. I also hadn’t realized that for three years she’d been carrying an extraordinary academic load. A load heavy on sciences and psychology in addition to her pre-law history and communications courses.
Getting into med school was no picnic, even I knew that much. And even if more women than men were being accepted that didn’t mean it was a gimme. I said as much. And I asked the logical follow-up, bypassing the fact she’d try for whatever school accepted Chazz, “What happens if you don’t get in?”
Actually her odds of getting in med school were far better than scoring a spot in a school of veterinary medicine. It was the life-after-refusal that had me in a dither.
Mothers worry about that shit.
Etty took a deep breath and said, “Then it’ll be grad school and a PhD in psych.”
Blessed silence took over, each of us deep within our own heads. The landscape turned rolling, then leveled out as we hit the Appalachian plateau, cruising up long hills, barreling past the big rigs, easing back and testing the brakes on the long curving down grades.
Robert had been loath to give me the Audi. Tonia’s assistant, a dour young man of indeterminate age, had done the transfer, affixing the seal and passing the dollar bill to Robert’s outstretched hand.
I thought puce was a good color on him. Too bad we’d finished with the filming and voice overs for the ad campaign.
Practical Jessamine, nearly bursting with pride, felt the need to babble so I opened up the topic of funding.
“Grams said I could borrow against my trust fund. As much as I needed. She’ll see to that before…” Etty gulped back a sob but went on, “…before she, before…”
Shit shit shit.
“She’s not going to die, hon. Not Tonia. She told me so. In no uncertain terms.”
My daughter finally allowed a glimmer of hope to wrap her in its willowy embrace. Willowy embrace … God, I was waxing fanciful in my dotage.
As long as this young woman beside me had hope, then so did I. For the first time in, oh forever, I too felt optimistic.
And in spite of everything, in spite of me … I counted down.
Loretta giggled and said, “You’re doing it wrong. Start at ninety-nine, Mom.”
“No, hon, ninety.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s the rule.”
Chapter 11: Excuses
There were only so many ways a person could delay walking out the door into what loomed as an unqualified cluster fuck.
I’d heard the phrase before, read it in novels and moved on … without appreciating the finer points, the innuendoes and shades of meaning. Pondering each and every one was a satisfying exercise for Tuesday morning, because Tuesday afternoon and my four hours of TA obligations followed.
I’d skipped classes and the Monday workouts, claiming exhaustion and catch-up duties. Coach Bryant understood. Up to the point where he recommended pertinent files to review and defensive strategies to explore. If I’d had any thought of zoning out on the couch, Coach B put paid to that plan.
“You gonna finish that, Mom?” Etty pointed to the half-eaten bagel.
“No, it’s yours.”
“Thanks. Gotta run. Late tonight so you’re on your own for dinner.”
She barreled out the door taking all my motivation and good intentions with her. I needed a bye day. Oh heck, I needed a week, a month, a lifetime.
I so did not
want to run into Jack, my boss, Ryan because if he had Jack, my lover, Ryan still on board it wasn’t going to be pretty. Tonia had given me the gift of time and the promise of the wee pot of gold at the other end of the no fault divorce rainbow. I had a stipend and a goal. A place to live. And a shoulder to cry on.
What I did NOT have was a date on national holidays and a warm body to curl around. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that once I laid eyes on the man, on his smoky blues, my self-control would self-destruct.
Eye on the prize, girl, eye on the prize.
Staggering to the now functioning elevator, I stared bleary eyed as the doors creaked open. Three touseled mops dragging non-descript backpacks lounged against the metallic surface. I recognized one of the kids from the intramural squad. He did a ‘Ma’am’ nod of the head and shoved the other two out of the way, making room for me.
I exited the building ahead of them and swung right. They split left but before I got out of hearing range, the one kid said, “She’s fuckin’ cool, man. Not bad for a beeyotch her…”
Turning down Pugh Street, I must have looked like an idiot with a huge grin on my face.
Not bad for my age, huh?
Well, alrighty then.
****
“I have a request.”
That made me sit up straight. Coach Bryant usually just said ‘do this, do that’ and the expected response was something about how high or how fast. Sir.
So I said, “Yessir.”
“Ya know the Parker kid?”
The rolodex in my head twirled, then I nodded. “Yeah, Traylon. Tray Parker.” He wasn’t a starter, yet, but he looked good on the relief end when the big man, Roddie Fitzgerald, hit the three foul range.
He was also looking to be on academic probation for a significant portion of the school year. He’d already flunked some quizzes we knew about, plus he was playing loose with the concept of required attendance in his core classes. Granted it might be hard to tell in an auditorium filled with four hundred introduction to basket weaving under water students, but at six-foot-eleven, black as night, he was hard to miss.
Or easy to miss as the case might be.
