“All that’s work!” Lillian snaps. “What do you do for fun?”
It is a full minute before Ophelia answers. “I read books, or Annie and I sit on the back porch and talk.”
“Annie’s a young woman. Don’t you have any friends your own age?”
Ophelia thinks for a moment then says, “A number of apothecary customers are my age. Herman Harris is older!”
“They’re customers,” Lillian argues, “not friends.”
“But they’re like friends.”
“It’s not the same. Do you go to their house and have coffee? Do they come over just to play pinochle?”
Ophelia has to admit they don’t. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not friends,” she adds.
Lillian rolls her eyes in a highly dramatic fashion. “You need to get a life.”
“I have a life,” Ophelia says sharply. “A fine life!” Then she stands, leaves Lillian sitting on the sofa in the sunroom and starts thumping her walker toward the door.
“Living with old memories and a young girl to take care of you is not a fine life,” Lillian calls out. “It’s just sitting around waiting to die!”
Ophelia hears but doesn’t turn around or answer as she angrily thumps her way back to the room. Before she climbs into the bed she yanks the divider curtain closed.
That afternoon when Sam and Pauline come to play pinochle, Ophelia says she’s not in the mood.
“Not in the mood?” Sam says. “After you’ve won the last two times?”
“Pay no attention,” Lillian tells him. “She’s just pouting ’cause I told her the God’s honest truth.”
Pauline gives an exasperated sigh. “I swear, Lil, there’s times when you ought to keep all that honesty to yourself.”
After she closes the apothecary, Annie comes to visit. This is the first time she has seen the curtain drawn. She nods a quick hello to the pinochle players and hurries around to Ophelia’s bedside.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” Ophelia replies. “I’m just not in the mood to socialize.”
“Are you sick?” Annie puts her hand to Ophelia’s forehead, but it’s cool to the touch. “I don’t think you have a fever. Is your stomach okay?”
“My stomach is fine.”
“Well, then why—”
“I told you, I’m not in the mood to socialize.”
“But for the past three weeks you’ve—”
“Do I have to explain every single thing?”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Annie replies. “It just…”
Ophelia hears the hurt in her voice. She reaches out and places her hand atop Annie’s.
“I’m sorry for being so crotchety,” she says. “I think I’m a bit overtired tonight.”
Annie gives a sympathetic smile. “Too much therapy?”
Ophelia nods. “I think so.” She doesn’t mention the sunroom incident.
Annie lifts Ophelia’s head, plumps the pillow then eases her back into position. “How about if I read to you for a while? That might help you to relax.”
“That would be nice.”
Annie picks up the worn copy of Rebecca lying on the nightstand and starts to read. The stress of this day has been too much for Ophelia. Before long her eyes close, and she begins snoring softly.
Annie replaces the book on the nightstand and starts to tiptoe out. The pinochle players are gone and the overhead lights have been dimmed, but as she moves past the second bed Lillian speaks.
“You’re not doing Ophelia any good,” she says.
Annie stops and turns. “Are you talking to me?”
“Of course I am,” Lillian says. “You’re not doing Ophelia any good.”
This statement takes Annie by surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“You mollycoddling her the way you do. That’s not going to help her stand on her own and be happy.”
“She doesn’t need to stand on her own,” Annie says angrily. “She’s got me to take care of her!”
“Exactly!” Lillian comes back. “So when she goes home, she’ll be an old woman lying in bed with you waiting on her hand and foot. Then she’ll die!”
Annie gives a gasp that sounds as if she’s been punched in the stomach. “How dare you! I love Ophelia and would never let something happen to her! Why, right now we’re doing everything we can to make sure the house will be comfortable when she comes home.”
“Oh, great,” Lillian chides. “Then she can wallow in her memories and die even faster.”
“You’re intolerable!” Annie says, then turns on her heel and heads for the door.
“Maybe so,” Lillian calls out, “but I’m also right!”
Every Right
Lillian has a voice that at times can sound like a foghorn. Although Ophelia had dozed for a while, the sound of that foghorn woke her. She’d said nothing but listened to the entire conversation.
Annie has been gone for almost an hour when Ophelia finally climbs from the bed and pulls open the curtain. She looks Lillian in the eye and says, “You shouldn’t have done that!”
“Done what?” Lillian replies. “Tell the truth?”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s the truth; you have no right—”
“I have every right,” Lillian cuts in. “I’m your friend.”
“That doesn’t give you—”
“Yes, it does,” Lillian interrupts. “If I see you making a mistake and don’t say something, then I’m not much of a friend.”
Ophelia turns away, then hesitates and looks back. “What mistake am I making?”
“Expecting Annie to stay there and take care of you.”
“I’m not expecting anything,” Ophelia replies defensively. “I’ve asked her to work in the apothecary, that’s all. I’m planning to hire someone for the other things. A live-in housekeeper, maybe.”
“Ha!” Lillian sneers. The sound of it is like a slap in the face. “You know Annie won’t let you do that; she loves you too much.”
“Okay, suppose you’re right; suppose she and Oliver do decide to stay there. I don’t see what harm—”
“Pleeeaase!” Lillian groans. “You’ll be a millstone around their neck. Don’t you remember what it was like when you and Edward were first married?”
Ophelia remembers. She remembers it all. The warmth of lying together, the lazy Sunday mornings, making love in the kitchen, on the back porch and hidden in the dark shadows of the weeping willow.
Lillian doesn’t wait for Ophelia to answer.
“If you love Annie,” she says, “you’ll give her the same chance at happiness you had.”
Ophelia doesn’t look back. She doesn’t want Lillian to see the tears. Without saying anything more, she closes the divider curtain.
~ ~ ~
Ophelia doesn’t climb into the bed; instead she pulls the window shade up as high as it will go and sits in the chair. From here she can see most of the sky. The moon is full and bright, but she looks beyond it and searches for the familiar constellations. There in the midst of those stars she will find Edward, and this is a night when she needs to feel his nearness.
Tonight Ophelia’s heart feels like a stone in her chest. It is as if everything she loves has been taken from her again. She replays Lillian’s words over and over.
Don’t you want to give her the same chance you had with Edward? she hears Lillian argue.
I am giving her the same chance, Ophelia tells herself. I won’t be a burden. I’ll hire a housekeeper. I’ll tell Annie she doesn’t have to work in the apothecary unless it’s what she wants. I’ll explain that she owes me nothing, that she and Oliver are free to live their life as they will.
Even after Ophelia has gone through all of these rationales, she cannot shake Lillian’s words from her mind. Annie will never accept that; she loves you too much.
Tonight more than ever before, Ophelia wants Edward to come to her, to comfort her and give her the guidanc
e she needs. She closes her eyes and tries to will him into being, but the best she can do is remember their days together.
She picks through her favorite memories. They are like pages of a much-loved book, worn and crumpled from use but never changing. Thinking back on that first Christmas, the night Edward unveiled the starlit loft he’d created for her, she can feel the warmth of his arms and the passion of his kisses. As she sits looking into the sky and praying that he will come, her eyes fill with water and tears fall.
~ ~ ~
Annie is looking up at the same sky. Oliver is already asleep when she slides from the bed and tiptoes out to the backyard. She spreads the comforter on the ground and sits. She also remembers Lillian’s words.
Then she’ll die.
She tries to picture the future but can see only happiness. Ophelia settled in the new room with her treasures surrounding her. Wallow in memories? Impossible, Annie tells herself. Ophelia loves those precious memories. They are a joy, not a burden.
A small voice in the back of her mind whispers, Really?
Really is a question Annie cannot answer. Only Ophelia knows the answer.
The first light of day drifts into the sky as Annie returns to bed. By then she has decided she will ask Max to rush the drawing for the new room. Once she has shown the drawing to Ophelia, Annie believes she will be able to see the truth.
She will keep a close watch on Ophelia’s expression, be aware of any telltale sign—a wrinkled brow, a saddened sigh, a twitching at the side of her mouth.
If that happens, Annie is uncertain what she will do. She cannot go and leave Ophelia to fend for herself; nor can she stay and have her wither away from lack of purpose.
There is no good answer. She can only pray that Oliver’s recreation of the loft will bring Ophelia the happiness she deserves.
Perchance to Dream
In time Ophelia becomes so weary that her head falls onto her chest. She then slides her feet from her slippers and reluctantly climbs into bed. The weight of Lillian’s words is still heavy in her chest.
When sleep finally comes, Ophelia’s memories become as real as the day they happened. It is a July night, a night too hot for sleep. She and Edward lie on the lawn, feeling the grass beneath them. An afternoon storm has soaked the ground, and the cool dampness is refreshing against her skin.
Edward sits up and leans over. He kisses her nose then his lips slide down to her mouth.
“It’s too hot to sleep,” he whispers.
She moves her mouth across his cheek and tastes the salt of his skin. Ophelia knows what he wants and giggles.
“Not here,” she says. “Not out in the open.”
He gives a hearty laugh, one that is fat and round, thick with happiness. He takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. With his kisses trailing across her bare shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist, he guides her toward the willow.
She reaches out, pushes aside a handful of the drooping branches and they move into the shadows of the tree.
They lie on the ground and he kisses her, tenderly at first and then with a passion hot as fire. When he pulls her to his chest, she can feel the pulse of his heartbeat and it matches the rhythm of her own. She opens her eyes to see the beauty of his face, but what she sees is her mother standing in a tangle of willow branches with a disapproving look stretched across her face.
Ophelia screams and bolts into an upright position. Before she has dismissed the dream, Lillian is standing beside her bed.
“What’s wrong?” Lillian asks. “Are you alright?”
For the moment Ophelia is too shaken to speak.
“Do you want me to call for a doctor?”
“No,” Ophelia replies. “It was just a bad dream.”
~ ~ ~
Lillian understands how dreams can shake you to the core of your being. After Walter died she lived with them for almost two years. She’d come from the funeral back to the house they’d shared for the whole of their marriage, and there he was in every corner of every room. The smell of him still in the clothes left hanging in the closet. A smudge of paste stuck to his toothbrush. The toe of a slipper protruding from beneath the bed. A thousand times Lillian thought of clearing the place out, taking those perfectly good clothes to the Goodwill store so a needy person could make use of them. But she didn’t.
Getting rid of Walter’s things would be like watching him die all over again. Lillian doubted she could make it through such an ordeal. Besides, she had no need of an empty closet.
So for the full two years everything remained just as it was the day he died, and every night the dreams came. Long before daylight Lillian would awaken soaked with perspiration and tied down by a tangle of sheets.
Then Hermione came into her life.
It was the Saturday before Memorial Day and three clerks had called in sick, so there was only one checkout open. The line at Peterson’s Market snaked through the produce area and back past meats. Hermione, with her six large watermelons, stood directly in front of Lillian.
Were it not for the fact that the line moved slower than molasses Lillian would have said nothing, but after fifteen minutes of standing in one spot curiosity got the best of her.
“What are you going to do with all that watermelon?” she asked.
Hermione chuckled. “I’s supposed to bring dessert to the party, and there ain’t nothing sweeter than summer watermelon.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth,” Lillian replied.
“They got plenty more back there,” Hermione said. “If you want to go grab yourself one, I’ll save you a place in line.”
Lillian gave a sorrowful sigh and explained that she’d been alone since Walter passed on, and as much as she loved watermelon a whole one would surely rot before she got around to finishing it.
Hermione peered into Lillian’s basket and spied the four cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and a single can of Spam.
“You planning to eat that stuff?” she asked.
Lillian nodded.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Woman like you ought to know there ain’t a peanut’s worth of nutrition in that mush.”
“Well, it’s not easy when you’re cooking for one,” Lillian replied defensively.
“That ain’t even cooking. That’s just heating up!”
Hermione pushed the pitiful looking basket to the side and hooked her arm through Lillian’s.
“You is coming with me,” she said. “It’s time you learned what good eatin’ is.”
That was Lillian’s introduction to Hermione Bushweiler and Baylor Towers.
Two weeks later she put her house on the market, and within the month she’d moved into a one-bedroom apartment two floors up from Hermione.
When she walked out of her house for the last time she finally said goodbye to Walter. She carried the good memories with her and left the bad ones behind.
Not once has she regretted the move.
~ ~ ~
Studying the dazed look on Ophelia’s face, Lillian asks again, “You sure you don’t want me to call for a doctor?”
Ophelia shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. I just need to do some thinking.”
Lillian reaches over and hugs Ophelia. “I’m here if you need me.” She pulls the divider to a partially open position. It is enough to afford Ophelia privacy while still allowing Lillian to keep an eye on her.
That morning Ophelia barely picks at her breakfast, and when Lillian’s friends come to play pinochle she declines an invitation to join them.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much fun today,” she says. “I’ve got worrisome things on my mind.”
“Playing pinochle is a good way to forget your worries,” Pauline suggests.
“Not today,” Ophelia repeats.
She leans back into the pillow and closes her eyes. Although she is not part of the game, Ophelia listens to every word that is said. Remaining on the sideline, she can hear the sound of friendship. Not the type of frien
dship she has with Annie but a partnership of equals. A back-and-forth good-natured chiding that has fondness squeezed between the barbs.
“You’re the worst pinochle player ever,” Lillian tells Sam.
He laughs. “Yeah, but that’s because you cheat. I saw you palm that card!”
“Why, I never…”
Pauline gives a deep hearty laugh.
The sound of such a laugh brings back memories Ophelia had perhaps forgotten. She allows her thoughts to slide back to the countless evenings she and Edward shared with friends: dinner parties, croquet on the lawn, Sunday picnic lunches.
She recalls the time ten friends crowded into Edward’s new convertible and drove all the way into Richmond just to see the new Marilyn Monroe movie. Ophelia had laughed until her sides ached, and, oh, what fun they had. Funny that after all the years she is just now remembering these things.
Four hands have been played when Ophelia calls out, “On second thought I will join you.”
“Great,” Sam says, “I’ll grab a chair for you.”
Ophelia climbs out of bed and pushes the divider curtain open. “I can’t let you have all the fun without me.”
Pauline deals the cards and a new game begins.
When the aid comes with lunch trays for Ophelia and Lillian, they set aside the cards. Pauline and Sadie have brought their own lunch in a brown bag. Sam has no bag, so the others share. He eats half of Pauline’s sandwich, Sadie’s crackers, Ophelia’s pudding and the bowl of orange slices on Lillian’s tray.
During lunch Ophelia asks the question picking at her mind.
“Such wonderful friendships,” she says. “How did you all meet?”
“Baylor Towers,” they reply in unison.
“What’s Baylor Towers?”
“A senior residence,” Lillian replies. “We all have apartments in the building.”
“Yeah,” Sam adds, “and the good thing is no kids! Dogs, cats, fish, even monkeys are okay, but no kids.”
The Loft Page 6