by Robyn Carr
“Thank God. Their mother is a nutball.”
“Do you want to see Bobbi?” John asked.
“Oh, yes, I need to. Surrogate Mom, I guess. Their dad is on his way.”
Seeing Bobbi lying there, all that heavy makeup washed off, her blond hair smoothed away from her face, she looked so young, so innocent. Harmless and sweet. It was a reflex that drew Charley’s hand to Bobbi’s brow, touching her. The girl’s eyes fluttered open and Charley smiled reassuringly. “How do you feel?” she asked in a tender, maternal whisper.
“I’m okay,” the girl croaked. “Is Trude okay?”
“She’ll be right back—she’s just having her knee wrapped.”
She struggled to sit up. “I should go with her...”
“No, no,” Charley said, gently pushing her back down. “You can’t get up for a while. You hit your head. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t understand, Aunt Charley. My sister can’t handle anything without me. She’s not very strong...”
Aunt Charley? That stopped her for a second. She wasn’t this girl’s aunt. And the girl wasn’t even friendly enough to have chosen the term out of affection. Hope again? Delusional? Or just a liar?
One thing at a time. “Bobbi, I called your dad. He’s coming immediately. First flight he can get.”
All the stress seemed to flow out of the girl’s body and she lay down with a flomp. “Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Thank you! Thank God. When will he be here?”
“Well, it’ll take a few hours. Your, ah, mother is in the waiting area.”
“Oh, please, I can’t deal with her right now. Please? Tell her I’m too sick or something. Is Pam coming?”
“Pam?”
“My step... My dad’s wife. Pam.”
“Wife?” Charley asked in a soft breath. “Your dad said the situation was complicated, but I don’t think he adequately prepared me. What’s going on?”
Her eyes bubbled with tears. “Can I have some water, please?” she asked.
“Sure. Let me ask.” Charley went outside the drawn curtain, hailed a nurse and fixed Bobbi up with a little glass of water. She fluffed her pillow. Then she smoothed her cool brow again. The girl slowly got a grip so she could attempt an explanation.
“We don’t know what’s wrong with my mom. She won’t get counseling. My dad divorced her five years ago. He hasn’t lived with her in six. He’s remarried and I have a little brother and we live with Dad and Pam...but my mom still pretends to be married to him.”
“Oh, for the love of God! What about those Christmas letters?”
“Those letters are so embarrassing. Up to two years ago she drove all the way across town to our school to volunteer and she’d carry on, talking like we all live together. They had to finally ask her to stop volunteering because she was disruptive. She’d talk about vacations we were never going to take. They almost had to arrest her to get her to stop going to the country club where she and my dad used to be members. She had to get checked out by the shrink or we weren’t even going to have to go there for weekend visits, and the shrink says she knows what’s real and what isn’t, but it doesn’t seem like it. She acts so crazy.”
“Oh, Bobbi...”
“Do you know what it was like driving out here with her? We just can’t do that anymore. Trude can’t take it—she’s too fragile. She’s anorexic, anyone can see that. I think my mother’s craziness made her that way. It gets worse every time we’re with my mother. On the way out here Trude could hardly eat anything. When our mother was throwing out our jeans and stuff, buying us this fancy summer wardrobe that we hated and getting us done over, I thought Trude was going to just lose it. Mom had all these rules we had to follow so none of her sisters would know about Dad or Pam or little Matt...”
“Sisters?” Charley asked.
“You and Aunt Meg. We didn’t even know about Krista. And now I hear there’s another one!”
“Oh, honey, I had no idea. I mean, I could see she was pretty strange, but this is just sounding worse all the time.”
“I can take it. I don’t let her get to me. But Trude just can’t handle it anymore. I don’t care what Dad and the counselor say, Trude needs to not see our mother.”
Charley was devastated by this story. She leaned down and pulled Bobbi into an embrace and held her. “Oh, you poor baby,” she crooned, rocking her. She didn’t even bother to tell her the truth, that Hope was her cousin. It only took seconds before Bobbi was crying softly. So much for her being able to take it. “Were you running away? Is that what you were doing?”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry! I hope I didn’t hurt anyone. I never even saw—”
“It wasn’t your fault, Bobbi. It was a drunk driver. And don’t say you’re sorry for running away. It sounds like you had to!”
“We were just going to go home. We have a credit card for emergencies. We had to, that’s all.”
“Of course you had to!”
“You mean...you understand?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll talk to your father about this when he gets here. I don’t care how busy he is...he has to keep you safe from this lunacy.”
“Charley?” John said from behind her. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could I see you for a moment? She’ll be right back, Bobbi. Okay?”
Charley and Bobbi both nodded and wiped at their eyes. Then she followed John.
“Sorry to pull you away, but this is important.” John held her elbow and escorted her toward the waiting area. He stopped in the doorway and let Charley see for herself.
Hope was perched on the edge of her chair, tilted toward the man next to her, talking in an animated fashion. But the man was sound asleep. He was snoring, and with each out-breath, his dentures moved. He looked to be about ninety and, by his clothing, might be homeless. This had no impact at all on Hope, however. She talked in earnest; she waved her hands for emphasis. Her voice was soft but high-pitched and people were staring at her. Charley crept closer to hear. Just as Hope didn’t seem to realize the man was sleeping, she was oblivious to the fact that other people were listening.
“We’ve actually had the house on the Cape since Trude was about three years old, but sometimes we don’t see it for a year. I’d like to spend June and July, but Franklin is just too busy. And if he has business in London or Paris while the girls are on summer hiatus, I like going along, take the opportunity to shop, see a few plays. It’s good for the girls, don’t you think? But no, we’d never rent out the house on the Cape! Not any more than we’d rent out our own home while we’re abroad! I couldn’t bear to have strangers in my house! This summer we aren’t going to the Cape at all, of course, because we’re having our summer at the lake house, just like I did when I was a girl. I don’t know when to expect Franklin. He’s been quite tied up. That’s the price—he’s a senior partner—men in power, you know, have a nasty habit of forgetting they have a family sometimes. But don’t even get me started on that! Fortunately, I have many friends who share that lot in life, women married to powerful, wealthy men. I meet most of them at the club. Some I’ve become close to through my charity work in the city...”
Charley was mesmerized by this speech Hope was giving to a passed-out bum. She gaped and couldn’t seem to look away. After a while she felt someone tugging on her elbow and she allowed John to pull her away. Charley, unlike Hope, was speechless.
“I’ve called for a psych consult, Charley. She doesn’t seem to be causing any real problems at the moment. We’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t wander off.”
“John, what the hell is all that?”
“Not my bag actually, but she’s definitely out of reality. Could she be bipolar?”
“Hell if I know. John, she sounded just like that at dinner last night! It’s all fabricated, B
obbi tells me. All that business about her vacations with her husband and children? Her houses? Her clubs and charities? According to Bobbi none of it is true. She hasn’t been married to their father for years!”
John raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. “I’ve heard of people not adjusting to the divorce, but that’s a little extreme.”
“She’s been a little like that all her life. One of her sisters attempted suicide and another was locked up in juvenile detention and Hope wondered if lavender would be too springlike a color for the winter formal.” She shook her head. “I had my own problems. I never had the time to think of her as crazy. We all had our own problems. In fact, at the time, her behavior was the least crazy.”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“I’ve got to stay with Bobbi,” Charley said. “I need to talk to her. Can we get her out of emergency soon?”
“As soon as the orthopod clears her. We’ll see if we can find a semiprivate room for the girls. But, Charley, don’t wear the kid out.”
Slightly distracted, Charley ran a hand through her hair. “She thinks I’m her aunt! I’ve got to try to explain our family to her.”
“Jesus, on top of a head injury?” John said. “If she didn’t see stars before...”
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve met my family.”
* * *
By noon Frank Griffin had arrived and the girls were together in a semiprivate room. And Franklin was a complete surprise. He was a youthful and fit forty-five. Though his hair was thin up top, he wore a six-inch ponytail. He was tanned and healthy looking as if he spent a great deal of time outside. After he assured himself that his daughters were all right, he impetuously embraced Charley and squeezed her until she squeaked. When he let go of her he had grateful tears in his eyes.
Hope had prepared Charley for a distracted, insensitive business executive. A picture of a starched white shirt, double chins, abrupt and dismissive behavior came to mind. A man without time for his family—hadn’t she said so? Not true of this Franklin, who preferred to be called Frank. He was sweet, relaxed, casual and attractive. And he wasn’t a business executive.
“Oh, I was. A CPA and vice president of finance for a small but very successful investment firm. I left that job years ago for a quieter, more manageable life as a shop owner. That’s how I met my wife, Pam, also an escaped executive who was tired of the rat race and wanted to have a baby. We’re dropouts. We sell bikes, and also have a large add-on to the store where we sell imported tea, herbs, vitamins and natural supplements.”
“You’re kidding!”
“We’re cyclists. Long-distance riders. I left the job before I left the marriage and I think that’s what did it to Hope, put her over the edge. She’s been like this for years now. Somewhere along the way I must have hurt her very deeply...”
“Hope has been like this since she was a teenager,” Charley said. “If she didn’t like the way things were, she invented something she liked better. And right now I suppose she’s making up a life for a psychiatrist. She’s been escorted to the psych ward.”
“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head.
After a long afternoon in the hospital, Charley and Frank retired to a restaurant for a badly needed bottle of wine and food. They had permission from Bobbi and Trude—two tired and relieved little girls in possession of their father’s cell phone number if they needed him.
“What makes you think it was your doing?” Charley asked.
He shook his head sadly. “She barely resembles the sweet young woman I married. She was so filled with good intentions. She tried so hard to please my mother, to get her approval. It was impossible but Hope never seemed to understand it had nothing to do with her. My mother was an old snob. No one in the family ever took her seriously. There are only two or three people on the East Coast she truly admired.” He shook his head and laughed. “Hope was so determined. She was going to do everything the Griffin way! She would make us the toast of Philadelphia. I broke her heart when I told her nothing could make me more miserable.”
“Oh, Frank...”
“I finally couldn’t take any more of it. My God, her lists alone were enough to drive me mad. If I’d wanted to marry my mother, I could have chosen from a parade of Philly girls already picked out for me. When we divorced, no matter how many times I told her it was because that uppity lifestyle just made me unhappy, Hope never believed me. She always thought I left her because she just hadn’t done it well enough. There was just no—”
“Frank, it wasn’t you,” Charley said.
“It was mostly pretense with my mother, too, God rest her. My sisters and I, we were usually amused by Mother’s efforts to be...well... We were amused when we weren’t pissed off. Our family has some money from a good furniture business that my father and uncle built plus some clever investments. If you bought land a few generations ago, urban growth being what it is, there was money to be made. But Hope could never quite get that straight, that my mother was just a wannabe rich matron who was born to a farmer. She told people her ancestors came over on the Mayflower. It was rubbish.”
“But, Frank, this has been going on with Hope for years, since she was about fifteen. She moved in with our grandparents about then and pretended they were her parents because they were rich and socially prominent.”
Charley put her hand on Frank’s arm. “Your girls haven’t met their grandmother, Hope’s mother. They’ve only met their great-grandmother. Their grandmother, Josephine, lives a very simple, low-key existence and manages a flower shop. She’s one of the kindest, loveliest people I know. And I’m not Hope’s sister, I’m her cousin. Her sister Krista was just released from prison. Hope had some notion she was coming home to get an inheritance... There’s no inheritance. I could go on but you’d need a chart.”
Frank stared at Charley in disbelief.
“We’ve got some catching up to do,” Charley said. “I hope you’re going to be around for a couple of days. For the girls’ sake, you should hear the reality of our family. They deserve a shot at a normal, healthy life and part of that depends on them understanding their roots. Denial doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“Spoken like a true talk show host.”
“Canceled talk show host. Right now I’m just on the mop and bucket detail...”
“Which means?”
“Cleanup crew. Looks like we’ve got three or four generations to tidy up before summer’s over. And I just can’t imagine how that’s going to be done while keeping Meg’s health as the priority.” She took a deep breath. “I’m tempted to shut the whole thing down right where it is. Krista and I can take care of Meg. But Hope needs more help than we can give.”
“You can count on me,” he said, pouring the last of the wine into Charley’s glass. “She’s the mother of my children. I have responsibility there.”
She smiled at him as she covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry we never got to know each other, Frank. You’re a good guy.”
Chapter Eleven
After what was, under the circumstances, a perfectly lovely visit with Frank, Charley drove only as far as Megan’s house in the city. She had a key and warned John that she’d be staying there for the night. She’d checked in with Meg and Krista several times throughout the day, reassuring them that the girls and Hope were all fine, which they weren’t really. But they were in no imminent medical crisis and Charley decided to give the full story in person. In case all of it upset her sister. It was possible Meg could feel some responsibility, having set up this summer reunion as she had.
In fact, Charley couldn’t remember Megan ever being emotionally upset. She had always been strong and serene and philosophical. Why she would have cancer was such a mystery. Why anyone would have that awful scourge was perplexing but Meg had done all the things Charley had convinced herself were necessa
ry to avoid the beast—she laughed often, she loved thoroughly, she didn’t hold grudges, she exercised and ate healthy foods and she’d never been particularly vulnerable to illness. She was small of stature but hardy. The only blight on an almost perfect marriage with John was their inability to conceive. Even with the help of doctors and piles of money.
And yet here they were. The already crazy family was imploding and Meg was probably dying. Charley was asking herself, what would be the greatest gift she could give her sister now. The answer was out of her reach.
She had breakfast in the hospital cafeteria with Frank. He had spent the night in the chair in his daughters’ room. They didn’t really need him there but he didn’t want them to wake in a panic and wonder if they were safe. They had another fantastic visit but this time Frank wanted to know more about Charley and her personal life.
“Michael,” she told him. “We’ve been together for twenty-two years, have a son, Eric, but we haven’t married. Michael wants to marry now. My life is so crazy right now—don’t you think I’d love to just turn my back on all of it and escape into matrimonial bliss with the love of my life?”
“No,” Frank said with a smile. “I don’t think that for one second. Trying to sort a few things out, are you?”
She rested her forehead in a hand and groaned.
“I’ve been there, Charley,” Frank said. “I left my wife, though she was clearly vulnerable. I had to rescue my daughters from their mother and it wasn’t easy. I made so many mistakes, and yet I did the only things I could do. I’m still doing all I can and I’m not sure it will ever be enough. Just do yourself one favor—tell the truth about how you feel and what you’re going through.”
Trite, she thought. Oversimplified. We’re dealing with mental illness, cancer, family dysfunction. Plus, I’m fired and unemployable. And I’m in some kind of weird romantic power struggle with the man I love. How I feel is fucked.