The Eves

by Grace Sammon

  “Over here we have the battery closet. You saw something similar in the barn. Here we can turn on and off sections of the house or the whole house if it’s not in use for a period of time. All energy-efficient appliances, of course. I think we’ve come awfully close to CC’s goal of being kind to the earth, not taking any of its dependable resources. Come over here and I’ll show you on the spec sheet how the gray-water system works.”

  I don’t think I’ve said a word, taking in the feel of the place, the sheer idea of it, running my hands along the recycled paper-turned-granite-like counter tops, noticing all the attention to detail.

  Simultaneously with us moving to the large kitchen table and the spec drawings the back door of the solarium blows open to Ali and behind her, Roy’s “Greetings, greetings!”

  Roy? Really? How much have I missed? Ali and Sonia being BFFs? Roy, working here too? Of course, he’s the “other contractor” Ali mentioned. The attention to detail, the panel revealing the straw bale construction, that’s pure Roy. With the arrival of Roy, I suddenly feel like a fish out of water. There are too many dots that I’m not connecting. I gratefully accept Ali’s invitation to take me back to The Grange house, leaving Roy to finish up some specs with Malcolm.

  The drive to The Grange house takes us through the solar fields and through Ali’s glowing description of Gene and the Martins’ fields. Ali shows me the Martin house and describes it, inside and out. She shares how Tobias bought additional property some years back when the rest of the white Martins’ descendants were leaving. She adds that Gene leases it, bartering products and services with Tobias.

  When we get back to The Grange house, once again the aromas are enveloping. I’m momentarily surprised to see Sonia and Erica here. Perhaps, nothing should be surprising me about The Grange. Deirdre, and a wan brown woman with a headscarf—who can only be Sydney—are playing Mah Jongg. Sydney is Shari Belafonte- or Halle Berry-beautiful, even with the effects of the chemo.

  Jan states that cocktail hour has started, and I should help myself. I pour myself a vodka, feeling Sonia’s eyes on my back.

  I get hellos from everyone and introduce myself to Sydney. She gives me a sincere welcome, saying she looks forward to talking with me.

  Walking over to Jan, I tell her I marvel that she’s already got a pie in and out of the oven. She replies by telling me that when she’s in a pinch Roy has finally convinced her that Pillsbury pie crust works just as well. She tells me he uses it himself when he’s in a hurry.

  “I didn’t know he baked, too. Pretty impressive. Hey Jan, I’d love to stay for dinner, but I really have to get back. I totally forgot about my cat.”

  “Aunt Jessica, Roy told me to tell you he took care of Gabler before he came down today,” Erica comments.

  Of course, he did, Erica, I think. “Thanks.”

  My escape route is cut off. I try to become invisible and simply help Jan prepare for dinner. I hear Tobias tell Tia he’d take his “highball” now as he joins CC on the couch. Funny, I haven’t heard that term since my own father died. Dad liked a whisky or bourbon and ginger, served in a tall, or “high,” glass. There’s a railroad connection to the name “highball,” too, something about the pressure in a steam engine, but I can’t recall what it is.

  The Mah Jongg players finish up. Soon Malcolm and Roy come over from the new house. I try to spend time with the haughty Margaret Mary, whom I have barely met, but quickly return to ask Jan about needing any help. Roy is clearly comfortable here, like a host, trying to make sure everyone has a beverage. Deirdre is talking to CC about the llama fiber. Sydney and Ali are chattering away with Jan about the homeopathic garden as Jan continues her cooking.

  It is time for our meal, and I wait to sit until others have taken their places. Pavarotti helps Elizabeth to her feet. Tobias takes the table’s head. CC to his left, Tia to his right. Immediately, they are holding hands. Sydney takes her place next to Tia. Margaret Mary next to CC. Deirdre next to Sydney. Elizabeth next to Deirdre. Ali and Malcolm sit next to Margaret Mary. Sonia pulls Erica back until the rest of us sit. I take a place next to Elizabeth. Roy, Sonia, and Erica fill in. Erica takes the place at the foot of the table, to Sonia’s raised eyebrows.

  I look around. Thirteen at table. Unlucky, unlucky! My mother never let us be thirteen at table. She would cite the superstition about Jesus Christ and his twelve Apostles at the Last Supper. Since that dinner of thirteen, the omen goes, one person at such a table will die in the coming year. “Dinner didn’t work out very well for JC,” my mother would say. As I chuckle to myself, remembering my mother’s sense of humor, it sounds like this is the type of thing I can share with Deirdre when we chat.

  Looking around at the ages of the diners, of course, someone will be likely gone in the coming year. But who? It’s an old superstition, but it still creeps me out. Unlucky.

  Sydney asks us to bow our heads. As the rest of us join hands, Sydney speaks.

  “Just for today, I will not be angry. Just for today, I will not worry. Just for today I will be grateful for every one of my blessings. Just for today I will work honestly. Just for today, I will be kind to every living thing. Amen.”

  Just for today.

  e2

  From: SoniaCortezphd@Martinsburgcommunitycollege.edu

  To: JMBarnet@google1.com

  CC:

  Subject: What is wrong with you?

  8:00 PM

  Jessica, what is the matter with you? You practically bolted from the table, even before the dessert. I would not have even let Erica up to leave the table as quickly as you left moments ago. Really, you frustrate me.

  I will see you in the morning. Tomorrow we pick up the pace to a run and you will explain yourself.

  Sonia Cortez, PhD

  Dean of Special Projects

  Martinsburg Community College

  Sent from my iPhone

  Hit [DELETE]. Sip vodka.

  From: JanKiley@TheGrange.com

  To: JMBarnet@google1.com

  CC:

  Subject: Spoons

  9:36 PM

  hello, Jessica,

  Attached, please find the photoshopped picture of the wooden spoons. I think it shows quite well. If you like it, you will need to give Erica some credit. She helped me get the tones and lighting on it after you left tonight.

  Until we see you again, tell stories! - Jan

  Hit [REPLY].

  Write a quick thank you, view and print the really nice photo, sip vodka.

  Clumsily retrieve photo from printer, pin to cork board. Sip vodka.

  From: AllisonBeckphd@Martinsburgcommunitycollege.edu

  To: JMBarnet@google1.com

  CC: SoniaCortezphd@Martinsburgcommunitycollege.edu

  Subject: A favor

  10:17 PM

  Hello Jessica,

  I am so glad we met yesterday. Now that you are on the team, if it’s not too much to ask, on your next trip down can you stop at the Mikado Mercado (M and M) and order a sandwich or a salad or something? We are trying a new project out with our struggling culinary students, keeping it simple, but offering them the opportunity to get a feel for providing some food items. Just go in and order and give me your impressions. I’ve copied Sonia here as it was her idea.

  Thanks, and, like I said, welcome to the team.

  Xxoo, Ali

  Dr. Allison K. Beck

  Dean of Student Services

  Martinsburg Community College

  Hit [REPLY]. Sure, Ali.

  Pour vodka.

  XXoo and ‘team?’ I don’t think so, my friend.

  From: ElizabethJ@TheGrange.com

  To: JMBarnet@google1.com

  CC:

  Subject: Tonight

  11:45 PM

  Dear Jessica,

  Thank you for staying for dinner tonight. I enjoyed our conversation. It is making a difference, I think, to the others, that you want to do this work. But, ar
e you happy doing it? There is a sadness, I think, about you. I hope you are alright. If not, “Whatda ya hafta do?”

  Fondly,

  Elizabeth

  Indeed, Elizabeth, Whatda ya hafta do?

  Close iPad, pour vodka, and head to the parlor, just for tonight.

  next steps

  D

  etermined to derail Sonia’s anger and scrutiny, this morning I am up early, coffee on, newspaper picked up from the front porch and open on the kitchen counter, as if it is being read. I am sitting on the steps of the porch, fully “Sonia-like outfitted” just as she jogs up the road to me.

  “Parking was difficult this morning. I am down at the end of the hill. Why are you out here on the porch?” she pants, slightly.

  “Good morning to you, too, Sonia. Coffee first? It’s ready, or we can head out. I want to tell you about my discussions with the Dean.”

  She takes the bait and I feel I am, at least momentarily, off the hook for leaving early last night. Today, the walking has moved to a jog, but the pace feels good and familiar from too long ago. I tell her about the email confirmation I have from Dean McManus assuring me that all my credits still hold, that all I need to do is update the research findings, and that he will help me put together a new dissertation committee. He and I have set a tentative timetable for one year from this upcoming January to finish up, hold my orals, and have, finally, my doctorate. I ask Sonia her opinion, knowing that she will, willingly, give it. She confirms the timeline is a good one, but she urges me to schedule my oral defense before the holidays so I can really enjoy the break. She wants to know more about my thinking on what research updates are demanded. I’m struggling now with breathing, jogging, talking. Sonia isn’t the least bit winded. In order to get my breathing back under control, I toss her some questions.

  “Tell me about you and Allison. I didn’t know you were BFFs. She certainly talks about you all the time. You, and Gene Martin, and Roy. How did Roy get all up in the mix?”

  Before she answers we jog a bit more. I am assuming she’s noticed my shortness of breath. Then, she stops. “Jess-cee-ka, you sound like a jealous child. Do not mistake people who work well together with friendship, and do not believe what people say to be true, as true. You should know this yourself. Allison and I are not friends.”

  Before I can ask her to explain, she bolts ahead of me, calling back to me, “Come, we are almost to your house. This has been a good start at a run for you.”

  In pace with each other, again, I feel oddly gleeful, chosen, special. Ali and Sonia aren’t friends. I hadn’t even realized that I was jealous of Allison. Stupid, but I was. I didn’t like how familiar she was with talking about Sonia. But how could you not be friends with a woman like Allison? I’ll find out more about that at another time. For now, I am childishly happy. Sonia and I have been each other’s “go-to” person for a long time. Along with everything else that happened, I can’t lose her, too.

  “Come, Jess-cee-ka, pick up the pace. Just to the top of the hill.”

  Then, her shriek. I hear it as I fall. “Jess-cee-ka!”

  Crash. It happens in an instant. My roll-over ankle snaps, and I’m spilled onto the sidewalk. Nauseous, feverishly hot, I try to pull myself together on the sidewalk. Sonia is at my side. I tell her quickly, “Hey, don’t freak out. I’m going to pass out, but I’m OK.”

  A few moments later I’m back. “Sorry about that, Sonia, same old injury. Crap! This hasn’t happened in years. My ankle just rolled and snapped. It’s going to be a bad sprain. Damn, this hurts! I should have worn the ankle brace if we were running. Stupid! I was due, but it hadn’t happened in so long, I’d forgotten. Can you get your car and drive me the rest of the way?”

  Back at my house, Sonia has me set up on the window seat, orchids overhead, left leg elevated, ice pack on ankle, Gabler in my lap. She’s retrieved the crutches off the back porch and has them at my side. We are sitting sipping coffee.

  Worried that Sonia will want to discuss the events of last night, I hijack the conversation by sharing that the materials for my Africa trip have arrived and that I will be leaving just before Christmas in three weeks. My ankle should be fine by then. If not, it’s the excuse I’ve been waiting for not to go. I point to the complimentary duffle bag, tickets, and the final packing and immunization check list I’ve left on the dining table last night. I feign excitement at all of the above as Sonia flips through the materials.

  “You have highlighted items. This is good. I did not know that you should not wear blue or black because of the Tsetse fly. And it is probably good to know that the lions do not like red. However, I do not like this suggestion that you wear lots of gray and black. This is very, very dull and will leave you without making an impression on anyone. You must think about this.” She pauses. “You are very brave to do this, Jessica. This is a good thing to do.

  “Now, we need to talk about why you should have stayed last night.” Here it comes. I’ve dodged the rapprochement bullet as long as possible.

  Surprisingly, Sonia launches into a totally different topic. She’s in rare form today.

  “It is always good to hear the women talk. I like, very much, watching Erica interact with them. It is so funny the things she does not know. Last night someone brought up an appreciation for the new refrigerator. Then someone else started talking about how the ice man used to bring ice to the house. Deirdre recalled how her mother would put a triangular sign in the window that had the numbers five and ten on one side and twenty-five and fifty on the other, depending on how much ice they needed. She recalled how the ice man would carry the block of ice up the apartment building stairs with huge ice tongs.

  “They all were very amused when Erica pelted them with questions. ‘Was there really a job called ‘ice man?’ How much ice could fifty cents possibly buy? Why did the man need to bring ice?’ And, ‘Why did Deirdre’s family need to have ice delivered? Why didn’t they just make it in the freezer?’ Tobias was kind and explained that ice wasn’t ‘made’ in those days. There was no electricity to do that. Ice had to be harvested. The only thing the ice box did was keep the ice from melting. He gave Erica the type of history lessons I love. Telling her about how the ‘frozen water trade’ came about in the early 1800s, about sixty years before Tobias’ family was given the original forty acres. I love how he always puts things in the context of his land.

  “Tobias told us that the ice on the near-by St. Mary’s River was sold on occasion, but most of the ice came from ponds and waterways between New England and the Hudson River in New York. In a minute Erica is using her iPad, pulling up the online encyclopedia and looking at maps and pictures. Each of the oldies had a story about ice, ice machines, ice skating, and so on. Erica said later that we should call these things ‘her-stories’ and that you, Jessica, should hear them and write them down. Jessica, this simple talk about a refrigerator led to bigger topics. This is what we must discuss.

  “This is why I was angry that you left. The conversation was exciting, and I wanted you to hear it. I know you do not think you have a project, but it is unfolding now. It is what Jan says, this is unfolding right in front of your eyes! You do not see that you have started this, with the exception of your error with Tia, people like you, they want to talk with you.

  “Tobias said he’d like to spend more time with you and take you around the property, show you the cemetery, introduce you to the mule. Sydney, I think because she is wasting time thinking she is dying, wants to talk to you very soon. Margaret Mary, for me a woman very hard to understand, said she would meet with you. Oh, and Allison, she just oozed about how wonderful you are. Looks like you, too, will have a new BFF,” she says with a slight barb in her voice. “However, what I am most excited about is that Tia and CC said they wanted to talk with you. I did not think that would happen after you made such a mistake at the first meeting.”

  “Gee, Sonia, how do you really feel about that,” I ask her, marveling at
how she can both charm and annoy me at the same time.

  Sonia’s phone beeps with a message from Erica, “M, tell J re contest! cu l8r.”

  “Erica wants you to know that the women have decided that they are tired of calling the new building ‘the new house.’ They want it to have a name. They are opening a contest like they did for the M and M. I, of course, expect to win this. However, Erica insists that you, too, should enter.

  “Jessica, what Erica asks is unimportant. I have something more important to talk to you about. Do not worry your head about naming that place. I will take care of it.”

  I laugh out loud at her.

  “Silence, Jessica,” she says sweeping her hand in the air. “I tell you, this is important. I need to settle something with you before you go to Africa.

  “Yesterday,” she says, newly serious, “I was at The Grange House because I was working with Elizabeth to redo my will, make a power-of-attorney, health care proxy, living will, and all the other documents should I be incapacitated or die.”

  “Are you kidding me? Sonia, you are like, thirty-what, and the healthiest person I know!”

  “Hush. Jessica, I think about all the women there, and I think about Sydney. She’s not that much older than I am. I need to make sure Erica is OK if something happens to me.

  “I have written that she will be yours,” she says gulping. “I have written that you will take care of her. That you will love her and guide her. I trust you to make sure she will remember me. Not only what I wore, but what I said.”