He smiles, thinking of her. He guesses she was right: things do have a way of getting to him. Everything has a way of getting to him—this dog in his lap, he would weep over her if he were alone, that’s the truth. He’s a man who feels too much and he’s miserable in love, just as his mother feared he would be, and so he tries to avoid it. Still. He crossed the road.
What Babies Can See
Link is at Nola’s house, sitting at the kitchen table with her. She’s finishing making her card for Tiny and Monica’s baby in advance of their finally going over to see him. Iris is going to take them, as Maddy and Matthew left early to go to an art gallery in St. Louis. The baby’s name is Anthony Edward, and Nola is drawing flowers to twine around his name, which will be the front of the card. She’s already written the message on the inside:
To Tiny and Monica
Congratulations on that you have a new baby boy!
May he be smart and funny and a pleasure to be with!
We will all help with him whenever you say!
“Can you go a little faster?” Link asks.
“No,” says Nola.
Link looks at his watch, then begins tapping his heel.
“You are very impatient,” Nola says. “You should take it easy. You see more, that way.”
“See more what?”
“See more everything.”
She leans back to survey her work. “One more thing,” she says. “A bee. He’ll like to see a bee.”
“He won’t see it,” Link says. “Newborns can’t see very well. Everything is blurry. And they can’t see far, either. Also, they like the colors black and red best. Your picture is mostly pastels.”
Nola regards him. “You don’t always know everything.”
“Didn’t say I did.”
“But you act like it.”
He shrugs.
“I think Monica’s baby will see the bee. And anyway, she said she would let me hold him.”
“That doesn’t follow, what you just said. Holding him doesn’t have anything to do with what he sees.”
“Ha. That’s what you think.”
“Be right back,” Link says.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to look on the computer to see if holding babies makes them see better. If there have been any experiments.”
“You don’t need an experiment for everything. Some things you can’t tell by an experiment.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t have time to tell you now,” Nola says. “And don’t leave—I’m almost done.”
Iris comes into the kitchen, her car keys in hand. “Aren’t you ready to go yet?”
“Sheesh,” Nola says. “The Rush Patrol.”
“We have to get going, because after that I’ve got to get to the farm to help the guys paint the kitchen. I’m getting so close to being able to move in! And when that happens, we’re going to have a picnic supper out there—won’t that be fun?”
“My mom told me,” Nola said. “We’re bringing baked beans. That you really bake. In a special pot that looks like it’s chubby. There’s bacon and maple syrup and catsup in there. And lots of spices. I think allspice is one of the spices.”
Link sighs.
Nola holds up her drawing. “Don’t worry—I’m done, see?” She holds up her drawing. “I made the bee really big. He’ll see it.”
When Nola, Iris, and Link arrive at Monica and Tiny’s house, the baby is crying loudly and Tiny looks ready to weep, too.
“Whoa,” Link says, hanging back. But Iris and Nola rush forward.
“I sent Monica out for a pedicure,” Tiny says. “She fed the baby just before she left, but she hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when he busted out crying real loud. I changed his diaper. I rocked him. I even sang to him, although that might have made him cry more. I took him for a car ride. But he just won’t stop!”
“Here,” Iris says, mustering a kind of authority in her voice she doesn’t really feel. “Let me take him.”
Tiny hands the baby to her and then watches anxiously as she tries to quiet him. She speaks quietly into his ear, then sings to him as she walks about. She jiggles him. She takes him over to the window, then into his bedroom, then out into the hall. Finally, she comes back out into the living room.
“Well,” she says. “I think this is good for his lungs, anyway. That’s what they say, that crying is good for their lungs.”
“I shouldn’t have sent her out,” Tiny says. “And she told me, she said, ‘Never mind about me, the first priority is our son. I don’t need a pedicure.’ But she had such a longing look on her face. And she’s been getting up with him even though I tell her I’ll get him and bring him to her in bed. Sometimes I don’t think she sleeps at all. Not one word of complaint, but I really thought she could use just an hour for herself. Thank God she’ll be back soon. She should be back soon. And when she hears him screaming, she’ll be mad she left.”
“You were trying to do a good thing,” Iris says, rather loudly, to speak over the baby’s cries. “He’ll be all right.” She rocks the baby in her arms and asks him doubtfully, “Aren’t you tired from all that crying? Want to go to sleep?”
Nola sits on the sofa and pats the space beside her. “Sit here, Iris.”
“What?”
Nola points to Iris and pats the sofa again.
Iris settles herself next to Nola, the baby stretched out on her lap. Even red-faced and screaming, he’s beautiful. And oh, the size of his fingernails!
“Let me try something,” Nola says. She takes out her drawing and holds it over the baby. “See?” she says. “Bzzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzzz!”
The baby abruptly stills, and looks up at the drawing.
“See?” Nola says, looking across the room at Link. “Bzzzzzz!” she says.
Link crosses over to look down at the baby. “He doesn’t see it, I don’t think. He’s not really focusing on it. But he likes that sound.” He kneels down and makes buzzing sounds of his own. “Good idea, Nola. I’ll try it with my mom’s baby after it’s born. We don’t have a control variable or anything like that, but I think the hypothesis tests out. I mean, if it works twice in a row, it’s got to be statistically significant.”
“Whoa,” says Tiny.
“He’s going to be a scientist,” says Nola.
“Maybe,” says Link.
The door opens, and Monica walks in. “Oh, hi, everybody! How’s it going?”
Like a chorus comes the answer: “Great!”
All We Need
Goulash is what the Confession Club is having for dinner, and Toots tells the women right off the bat that she used Velveeta for the cheesy topping and if there are any objections to that, let her know. Because if there are any objections, she supposes she could make that person or persons a sandwich. Or something.
Iris clears her throat, but when Toots looks quick and narrow-eyed as a reptile over at her, she says, “Oh, no, that wasn’t … I actually like Velveeta. It definitely has its place!”
“I agree. And one place is right here in this dish. And in macaroni and cheese. Why people think they need to quattro macaroni and cheese, I have no idea. It just ruins it if you try to get so fancy.”
When they are having their toffee bars and coffee, Toots looks at her watch and bangs the table with her spoon. “I forget who’s going tonight,” she says. “Whose turn is it?”
Silence, and finally Toots said, “Well, did we all forget?”
“No,” Dodie says. “It’s me. I’m just trying to think of how to get started.”
“Just start at the very beginning,” Gretchen sings, in her best Julie Andrews imitation.
“I guess it’s more that I need to start at the end,” Dodie says. “I want to talk tonight about assisted suicide.”
Not a sound. Everyone stops eating and drinking.
Dodie sighs. “I have to talk about this, and I hope you’ll let me. I hope you’ll try to be objective and keep an open mind.
“Now, I know a lot of people think suicide is wrong. A lot of people think it’s a sin. But I don’t. I think it can be a reasonable solution to a problem. To a terminal illness that you know isn’t going to get better. I don’t see any reason to suffer when you don’t have to. I believe that when the bad outweighs the good, why, then it’s time to move on to the next big adventure. That’s how I see death, as the next big adventure. And I’m not just being Pollyanna-ish about it. I think death is natural and even beautiful. What I want to talk about tonight is my plan for my suicide. I’d like all of you who can to help me.”
“Dodie!” Rosemary cries out softly.
Dodie holds up a hand. “Now, see? That’s what I don’t want. Just please hear me out. And then we can all talk about it. I know it might be too much for some of you, but let me tell you what I have in mind. Okay?”
The women all nod.
“Excuse me,” Karen says very quietly. “Would it be rude if I got some water?”
“If it was rude, it would be rude to ask the very question,” says Gretchen. “Which you just did.”
“Get your water—I don’t mind,” Dodie says.
When Karen returns to the table, Dodie says, “So here’s my plan. I want to pick a day and have a party. I really do. I want to have it at my house and I’m going to spend money. I’m going to spend a whole lot on flowers. And a lot on appetizers and a lot on desserts. Because who doesn’t like flowers? And who doesn’t like appetizers and desserts? I’m going to hire Smackin’ Good Caterers—I like them, and they wear the cutest hairnets, with rhinestones on them. They’ll do all the cooking and setting out and cleaning up; you all won’t have to do any of that. But maybe you could decorate. I want very cheerful decorations.
“I want a lot of good music. Maybe one of you could act as the DJ. I have an old-fashioned stereo, and I have a lot of good big-band records, and that’s what I’d like to be played. ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’—that would be a good song to play. Oh, and any Jo Stafford, and Bing Crosby and Perry Como, too—I always loved Perry Como. And Dinah Shore—she never did get the recognition she deserved for being a very fine singer.
“I want to be at the party for a few hours and then I want to go in my bedroom and lie on lavender-scented sheets and have a one-on-one with each of you. Then what I’m going to do is take some pills. And here’s the very hard part. If they don’t work, I’ll need one of you to give me an injection. Anyone willing to do that?”
After a long silence, Dodie says, “Well, I’m pretty sure the pills will work. I’ve done my research. So the other thing is, someone will have to call the funeral home. Will anyone volunteer to do that? Tell them I want one of those pod burials, where you turn into a tree.”
“What are you even talking about, Dodie?” Rosemary asks. “What do you have?”
Dodie frowns. “What do I have?”
“What’s the diagnosis?”
“What diagnosis?”
“Your diagnosis! The one that you got!”
Dodie blinks. “Oh, I see! No, no, no. Nothing’s wrong, other than the usual old-age complaints. No. Guess I should have said that first. I’m just planning ahead. I couldn’t sleep the other night and I was thinking about all kinds of things, like how I need to update my will, and then I started wondering how I’ll die, and I realized I don’t want to be dependent on someone else saying when. I want to say when. Oh, I know I could have an accident or whatever, but if it’s some kind of serious illness, I want to say when. And how. So I just thought I’d talk about that here, where I can say anything. You’re my best friends. My confession tonight is that I might kill myself, but I’ll make it as much fun as I can.”
Joanie makes a sound that might be crying, but no, she’s laughing, and soon all of them are. And they agree, to a woman, to help if the day comes—if they’re still here.
Maddy says, “You know what? This is like those extreme tightrope walkers, the ones who go between skyscrapers and mountaintops.”
“What do you mean?” Dodie asks.
“Everybody wonders why they do it. I think it’s because the relief of their not falling is so exhilarating. And you didn’t fall, just now. So to speak. We thought you were falling, but you’re not. And the relief is exhilarating.”
“Yeah, well, we all fall eventually,” Dodie says. “Which was the point of this talk. I appreciate your listening. And agreeing to help. See? Now I can cross that off my list. Now all I have to do is clean out my attic and my basement, throw away all my underwear and the pots and pans I can’t get clean anymore, and I’m ready to croak.” She points to the platter of cookies. “Pass that over here.”
“Can I say something?” Maddy says.
“Of course!” says Toots, who always takes it upon herself to answer any general question.
“I just want to say how grateful I am to this group. The Confession Club. You’ve taught me the value in opening up, in confessing all the things I used to think I had to keep inside. Including, I guess, my need for other people. I was always so scared to acknowledge that.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Dodie says. “That’s what life is, at its best. A confession club: people admitting to doubts and fears and failures. That’s what brings us closer to one another, our imperfections. I remember my first day in high school, three hundred years ago. I sat in a row between two girls. One was real pretty and perfect-seeming, real nice, too. And it seemed like she wanted to be friends. But the one I did become friends with was the one on the other side of me, whose slip was showing and who got just terrible grades. Betty McPherson: she’s still my friend.
“It’s all well and good to congratulate someone on something good that they did, or to acknowledge what’s wonderful or exceptional about them. And we should do that; we should never be spiritually stingy. But to say out loud our missteps or inadequacies—to confess in an honest way and to be lovingly heard—well, that’s the kind of redemption we need on a regular basis.”
“You know what else this club does?” Toots says. “It shows that when you ask for help, you’re usually asking for it from someone who wants to give it. We forget how ready people are to help. You can talk all you want about the evil spirit of man. But I don’t think it’s true. I think most of us are just dying to be good. And one way we can do that is to forgive the bad in others as well as in ourselves. I don’t say don’t hold people accountable. Help them be accountable. But to say those words to yourself or another? ‘I forgive you’? Most powerful words in the world.”
Maddy is quiet. Then she says, “I’m … I think I might cry.”
“Good!” says Toots. “First off, crying is good for you; it releases stress hormones. Secondly, I have the prettiest hankies all ironed and stacked up in my dresser drawer. Let me run upstairs and get one.”
“Bring down a few,” Gretchen says.
The women begin speaking, low-voiced and hesitant at first, then louder and faster. The cookie tray goes round and round.
Outside, the moon rises. The wind is still. All over town, leaves hang on trees like open hands.
Oh, What a Beautiful Morning
All morning, it rained hard; the drops fell like little bullets. The workmen doing the gutter work as well as those painting the outside of the house stayed away. In a fit of charity, Iris told the men who’ve been working indoors to take the day off, too. Remarkably, as promised, the house is nearly finished after only six weeks.
She’s bought furniture and fixtures and appliances, and all the walls are painted in the creamy white color she decided upon. She’s bought new towels and linens, more pots and pans and cooking utensils. She picked out a pleasing mismatch of dishes from various thrift stores. “They
speak the same language,” Maddy said, about the dishes. “But they’re not all saying the same thing.” Leave it to Maddy to understand such things. She is as irrationally nuts about bowls as Iris is, especially ones with polka dots. She even photographed a stack of bowls and framed it for Iris.
The only thing Iris hasn’t decided upon is a bed. She has said it’s confusing trying to figure out which kind to get. But the truth is that she likes sleeping downstairs, in John’s old bed. She likes the scent of the hay. She likes the memories, though they hurt a bit, too.
Today Monica and Tiny and their baby are coming for lunch. It had looked like they’d need to eat inside, but then, about fifteen minutes before they were due, the sun came out. So now Iris, wearing her gardening clogs and one of Lucille Howard’s gingham aprons over her jeans and T-shirt, is setting the picnic table she bought for the backyard. She figures the inconvenience of a little mud pales next to the sight of acres of land and a true-blue sky, a color Nola calls wowsome. Out here, they’ll see the curious llamas lined up along the fence line and the chickens gossiping in their noisy cliques. They’ll see waving wildflowers, they’ll enjoy the scent of the wet earth, and they’ll have the opportunity to view close-up the air and water show put on by the birds and the bees and the butterflies—Iris likes nothing more than to watch birds bathe in a mud puddle. Next week, the baby goats will arrive.
She lays down a vintage tablecloth, plates, glasses, and silverware. In the center of the table, she puts out a big vase filled with things she gathered yesterday: coneflowers and wild petunias and blue-eyed prairie grass. Then, hands on hips, she stands back to survey the table, the land, the house. She believes that what she has created here is an expression of faith in the widest sense of the word. She understands to the bone the value of this particular kind of resuscitation. What a feeling, to have taken a risk that so many others might have advised against, and to have things come out this way!
When her guests arrive, Iris exclaims over baby Anthony for so long that Monica finally says, “Oh, for Pete’s sake! Take him! Tiny and I will bring out the food!”
The Confession Club (ARC) Page 20