by T. Greenwood
I let myself into Eva’s house, and Calder met me in the foyer, leaping with excitement. “I’m happy to see you too, Calder!” I exclaimed, as she stood up, her big paws pushing at my shoulders. She wasn’t a puppy anymore; she had to have weighed nearly seventy pounds now. “Where’s Eva?” I asked her.
She dropped back down to all fours, her ears perked up, and she looked around, confused, jerking her head around as though she were looking for her.
“That’s okay, girl, I can find her. Eva?” I hollered up the stairs.
I could hear the shower running, and I took the stairs two at a time. I peeked into Rose’s room and saw that she was asleep in her crib. I stood outside the bathroom door and knocked gently.
“Teddy? What are you doing back?” she said.
“It’s me,” I said, gently pushing the door open.
The room was steamy and smelled of her. I breathed her in, let her fill my lungs. I opened the shower door, and it took my breath away. Her back was to me; I studied the familiar curve of her waist and hips. The endless expanse of her legs. The two dimples on either side of her spine. She was so beautiful, I felt my entire body tremble and my heart fly to my throat. She turned toward me, her arms covering her chest.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to hide.”
She slowly, tentatively, lowered her arms, and I felt tears welling up hotly in my eyes. I blinked them away. It was so disconcerting: this obliteration, this elimination. I felt the way I had as a child when my father’s farmhand, Link, lost his arm in a thresher. My mother had taken us to see him when he came home from the hospital, and I couldn’t seem to make what I was seeing and what should have been coalesce: that spectral limb somehow more present in its absence. I knew I needed to touch her, to make this real for myself: to make her real.
She stepped out of the shower, dripping water on the linoleum. She stood before me, her skin still hot from the shower as I touched her, gingerly, tenderly, tracing the scars that ran like violent red rivers across her pale skin. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. I knew that I was the first, the only, person to have touched her like this since the surgery.
It was several more months before we were alone in this way again. But I dreamed those scars nearly every night, the shimmery red rivers on her flesh.
Ted did not get that job, or the next three he interviewed for either, and so while the winter of 1962 was harsh and long, the days of spring and early summer of 1963 passed by even more slowly, dripping like sap from a maple tree into a cold bucket. Calder started coming with us on our walks again, and so we stopped going to the movies. I couldn’t wait for August, but August seemed far away, distant and unreachable. August teased us with its possibilities, its promise of freedom. Of being alone together at the lake again.
In the hazy, early summer evenings, our two families sat outside watching the children chase fireflies: Ted and Frankie drinking too much, and Eva and I always dreading the possible aftermath of these binges. Ted was a live grenade since he’d lost his job, always on the verge of explosion. And you never knew what would ignite his fuse. What little spark. I was afraid of Ted, and worried for Eva. Still, Ted and Frankie enjoyed each other’s companionship, making these weekend get-togethers possible, and I would have tolerated just about anything if it meant getting to spend time with Eva. Even Ted.
On the Fourth of July, we had the Wilsons over for a barbeque. Our plan was to head into town for the fireworks after the sun went down. That summer Frankie had found a Ping-Pong table in a Dumpster and brought it home. I told him he was not allowed to put it up in the basement. There would be no room for the Girl Scouts if he did, no place for the girls to play. And so he’d reluctantly set it up in the backyard, covering it with an old tarp when it rained. Ping-Pong was not my game, but Eva was a stellar player, a match even to Frankie, whose Ping-Pong skills were remarkable.
“It’s all reflexes,” he said, grinning. “And I’ve got great reflexes.”
And so Ted and I sat watching them compete.
Frankie and Ted had been drinking all afternoon, and so had Eva. I noticed that she did this sometimes when Ted was drinking. Perhaps it bolstered her, made her less afraid of him and his tirades. I watched her confidence and bravado grow with each sloe gin fizz, her need to appease him slipping away.
Before she served, she took a long sip and set her glass down. “Ready to lose?” she said to Frankie, playfully, winking.
Ted stiffened next to me. His anger was a palpable thing. It filled his body, but it also filled the air around him. It buzzed like the cicadas that had come that summer. It was electric.
“I’m ready to beat the pants off of you,” Frankie joked back.
“But I’m not wearing pants, Frankie!” Eva said, swiveling her hips, her pencil skirt hugging the curves she had been able to keep.
Eva had prosthetic breasts, pads that she inserted into her bras. With clothes on, she looked exactly the way she had before the surgery. The illusion was perfect.
As she leaned forward to grab her paddle, kicking one leg up behind her, Ted stood up. “Time to go home,” he said, grabbing her arm.
She turned to him, scowling. “But the sun hasn’t even gone down, Teddy,” she said. “What about the fireworks?”
“I said, it’s time to go home.” Ted’s words were mushy in his mouth: oatmeal, soggy grits.
“Well, I’m busy playing a game right now,” Eva said, tottering a little on her heels as she pulled away from him. She picked up the paddle and tossed the ball into the air. But Frankie wasn’t watching the ball. He was watching Ted.
Ted yanked her arm back, and the ball bounced off the table and landed in the grass.
“Ow,” she said, jerking away from him again, and I stood up, feeling my own sloe gin fizzes in my knees. I felt weak, dizzy, and sick.
“Stop,” I said, my voice softer than I meant for it to be.
But he didn’t stop. Instead he grabbed her shoulders, and as she twisted away from him, he held on. Her bra strap slipped in the struggle, and her breast, that fake breast, shifted. When she stepped back away from him, she looked deformed. Wrong.
I felt my whole body grow hot in shame. In anger. But as I was about to hurl my body at him, to start pounding my fists into that enormous chest of his, Frankie stood up.
“It’s time for you to go home, Ted,” he said.
“What’s that, Mailman? You think I’m going to leave my wife here with you?”
Frankie’s chest expanded. He was trying to be taller, bigger, stronger. That too filled me with white-hot shame. And then Frankie was pushing his hands against Ted’s chest. “At least I’ve got a job.”
“Don’t, Frankie,” I said, reaching for him.
“Stay out of this, Billie,” Frankie warned.
The children came running around the side yard just then; they had been playing “house” out front. Rose was nearly three now, and she led the way.
The children. My first instinct was to get the children away from this. I rushed to the back porch and ushered them all through the back door and into the house. “Let’s make those root beer floats I promised,” I said. “Who wants a float?” Distracted, they all squealed, “Me! I do! I want one!”
“Why is Daddy pushing Mr. Wilson?” Francesca asked once we were inside the kitchen.
“They’re just playing around,” I said, and Chessy scowled.
“Just come on,” I said, handing her a corked bottle of Frankie’s homemade root beer. “I need you to help me.” Obediently, she nodded and grabbed the tub of vanilla ice cream from the icebox and went to the kitchen table.
From the kitchen window, I couldn’t see what was happening outside. It was horrific listening to the muffled sounds, unable to make out what was going on. I could hear Ted bellowing and Frankie trying to match that voluminous voice with his own, but what really bothered me was Eva’s silence. Strain as I might, I couldn’t hear her at all.
Not long after I’d scooped ice
cream into six tumblers and poured root beer over each one, Ted barged through the back door and said, “It’s time to go home.”
The children seemed to know better than to protest, and they silently gathered their things, leaving their ice cream melting in their cups.
“Where’s Eva?” I managed to squeak out.
Ted either didn’t hear me or chose not to acknowledge me. He ushered the kids out into our foyer toward the front door. I was staring at the back of his head.
“Ted,” I said again, louder this time. “Where is Eva?”
Ted turned on his heel and growled at me. “She’s not feeling well. She’s gone home to get some rest.”
Frankie had come in through the back door, and he was sweating. He kept slicking his hair back nervously with one hand. I knew this meant something terrible had happened outside. Something awful that he had not managed to stop.
As Ted and the children disappeared out the front door, I said to my girls, “Why don’t you take your floats upstairs?”
“We aren’t allowed to take food or drinks upstairs,” Chessy argued.
“I said go.”
They slipped up the stairs, and I watched as their feet disappeared through the railings. Frankie was sitting down at the table, head in his hand.
“What happened?” I said, sitting down next to him. “What was that all about?”
Frankie shook his head. “He’s crazy,” he said. “A worthless drunk.”
“Did he hit you?” I asked, peering at Frankie’s long, sad face. It didn’t look as though Ted had touched him.
“Nah,” he said. “But he’s awful rough with that woman. A man shouldn’t touch a woman like that.”
I bristled. “What is he so angry about?” I asked, trying not to think about what might happen after Ted got Eva back inside their house.
Frankie laughed. “I think he thinks Eva was flirting with me.”
I almost laughed too, but the laughter bubbled up in my throat and then caught short, making me lose my breath. “That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“I know,” Frankie said. “As if she’s flirting with anyone anymore.”
My eyes widened. Frankie knew about the surgery apparently. Ted must have given him the details. And I was suddenly so filled with disgust. So angry at him, at Ted, at the world, I thought I might burst into flames.
“I’m going over there,” I said. “He’s going to hurt her. I need to get Eva the hell out of that house.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Frankie said, pounding his fist against the table, and I realized that he was just as drunk as Ted was. Not as violent maybe, not as crazy, but just as goddamned drunk. “You realize this is your fault, don’t you?” he hissed.
I caught my breath and held it, waiting for the accusation. Waiting for him to say that he knew what had been going on between me and Eva, that he knew. I dreamed myself admitting for the first time to anyone other than myself that I was in love with Eva. That whatever the world thought, whatever my husband thought, that I wanted only one thing in the world, and that was Eva.
“If you’d just keep your mouths shut, if you girls just did as we say, then none of this would have to happen. Everyone would be happy. Everything would be fine and dandy. It used to be a woman respected her husband.”
He didn’t know. He wasn’t talking about me and Eva. He was, as always, oblivious. And for a moment, I was actually disappointed that it hadn’t finally come out into the open, that my secret was still safe, still imprisoned inside me as I was inside this house and as Eva was inside her own.
“Go to bed, Frankie,” I said, sitting down, shaking my head sadly. “You’ve got to work in the morning.”
Frankie grumbled and finished off the last swig of wine in his cup before lumbering up the stairs. After I heard the creak of the bed frame accepting his weight, I quietly went upstairs and told the girls to get on their pajamas, to brush their teeth, to get in bed.
“What about the fireworks?” Mouse asked.
“Next year,” I said. “I promise. And maybe we can shoot off some of our own when we get to camp.”
Vermont. It was only a month away, but it felt as far away as someone else’s dream. Untouchable and private.
On my way back down the stairs, I peeked into our bedroom to confirm that Frankie had, indeed, passed out and then made my way to the front door. I sat on the porch in the porch swing, but I was too afraid to make it move, not wanting to cause any disturbance in the odd peace that had descended on the neighborhood. It was a deceptive peace though; this I knew. Because faintly, faintly, I could hear the sounds of explosions: the crackle and hiss of fireworks in the high school’s football field, followed by the oohs and aahs of the crowd and behind the Wilsons’ closed door, Ted’s fuse hissing and curling. The loud crack of his detonation and the soft sounds of Eva, crying. Of Donna and Sally and Rose, and even little Johnny, awestruck at the display.
When the plane starts its slow descent into Pittsburgh, I realize that Hugh and I will be parting ways in just a few minutes. I think about him heading off to meet his Internet girlfriend in Hoboken. I picture her waiting for him at baggage claim, her expectancy and hope matching his as they meet for the first time. Will she be disappointed? Will he? His face is so full of boyish optimism, I could cry. At what point does this go away? This belief that the world is a good place, that love is yours for the asking? The taking?
When I met Lou, I had already lost this optimism; after Eva, I believed that love (real love) was a dangerous thing, and I wanted nothing to do with it again. But Lou was tenacious. Persistent and patient. And finally, she convinced me that love could be a quiet, easy thing. Ours was a predictable kind of love. A safe love. She was my friend first, and everything else was an afterthought. We were never secretive about our relationship, but people still assumed we were simply companions. There was never fire between us, only slow-glowing embers keeping the hearth of our home warm. I know this decision to see Johnny would pain her. It would have confirmed that even after all these years, after a lifetime, Eva still possessed me. Obsessed me. That I’d never ever truly let go.
My ears ache and my stomach plummets as the plane tilts toward the earth. I hate this part. I long for distraction.
“Chewing gum?” I ask Hugh, holding out the pack I bought at the airport.
He shakes his head.
“I hope I have time to get a bite before my next flight,” he says nervously. “I’m starving. I thought they were supposed to give you snacks.”
“I think that’s what these are.” I gesture to the packet of peanuts on my tray.
A flight attendant leans over and says, “Can you please raise your tray? We’re going to be landing soon.”
“Would you like my peanuts?” I ask, offering him the little foil packet and putting the plastic tray back up. I hand the flight attendant my empty plastic cup and napkin.
“Thanks,” he says, and tears into them with his teeth, emptying the packet directly into his mouth with one shake.
“What’s her name?” I ask him as the wheels lower loudly from the belly of the plane and we hurl, finally, toward the earth. His face is ghostly and pale; I am trying hard to distract him. Trying to distract myself.
“Who?” he asks, not looking at me, staring instead down the corridor between the seats. I can tell he’s trying to see if he is the only one panicking.
“Your girl,” I say, smiling and reaching for his hand.
He turns to me again at this, and color suddenly returns to his face. “Marcy,” he says, smiling.
Marcy, I think. The name conjures bright blue eyes and a ponytail. A fresh-faced girl in blue jeans. Pink cheeks. I imagine she’s a little pudgy. Young.
“Marcy,” I say, repeating her name. I know the power of incantation to soothe. I understand the magical potency of a name. I realize that sometimes, the only thing in the world that can save the day is the recitation and repetition.
“Marcy.” He nods.
“Welcome to Pittsburgh,” the captain says over the loudspeaker.
“Certainly was a pleasure meeting you,” Hugh says, releasing my hand, suddenly seeming a little embarrassed.
“Good luck,” I say.
“You too,” he says, and stands up, with a great amount of difficulty, from his seat, struggling to get his bag from the overhead bin. His sweatshirt rises, revealing the flaccid pouch of his belly. It makes me feel embarrassed for him, as though I’ve seen him naked. He is so vulnerable. I worry for him.
“Y’all have a nice time with your sister,” he says when he finally wrestles the bag free. There are peanut crumbs all over the seat.
I nod and smile.
And then he is gone in the crowd of people, rushing toward his future, while I am falling backward, into my past.
After the Fourth of July debacle, I fully expected that Ted would forbid Eva to come to Vermont as planned. I expected that she would come to me and tell me that she would have to stay behind again this year. I mourned her loss again and imagined another stay in Vermont haunted by what should have been. But he must have felt badly about that night. He must have realized the next day when he saw the evidence of his drunken anger written all over her skin that he was in no position to deny her any happiness she might request.
I didn’t see her for three days. For three whole days she didn’t answer the telephone, and when I went to their front door, one of the children (usually Donna) would apologize and say that her mother wasn’t feeling well and had asked not to see any visitors. At first, I feared that Ted himself had made the leap in logic that I’d wrongly suspected with Frankie. That somehow his jealous rage had turned from Frankie toward me. I lived in fear that Ted was somehow smarter than Frankie, that he had finally put two and two together. But by the third day, when Ted waved sheepishly at me as I worked in the flower bed in our front yard, those fears were dispelled.
